A learned blockhead is a greater blockhead than an ignorant one.

I've featured a lot of pictures looking north on Elizabeth Street, but from memory this is one of the few taken looking south. This was taken on Thursday, at around 4:30 pm, as I am grumpy waiting for the 4:20 express.

Sunday Top Five!

A wisp of melancholy and an intense feeling of being old accompanied my oversight of a "best singles on the past decade" list online yesterday evening. More precisely, I either failed to recognise, or flippantly dismissed most of the entries.

You see, my formative musical years happened some time prior to the year 2000. Thus, today's list. In chronological order, I present to you My Five Favourite Record Albums of the 1990s!

U2: Achtung Baby

R.E.M.: Automatic for the People

Pulp: Different Class

Radiohead: OK Computer

Wilco: Summerteeth

Just missing the cut were a long list, culled to a very short list that included: Manic Street Preachers' The Holy Bible; Portishead's Dummy; Guided by Voices' Alien Lanes; Pavement's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain; Radiohead's The Bends; and Spiritualized's Ladies and Gentlemen, We Are Floating in Space.

No place for the Macarena, unfortunately.

What else have I missed? Who have I dissed?

Feel free to voice your dissatisfaction.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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