This will hurt me...

Here you can see the view of Lower Sandy Bay from Battery Point, with a seagull lurking in the foreground.

This photo was taken just down the road from the house that I lived in when I first moved to Hobart. I've got to admit that walking past it reminded me just how bloody miserable I was at the time. In fact, I was surprised that - in 2009 - just how miserable I remember being throughout 1996. I'm not sure that I was fully aware of the fact at the time.

They say that the years between 16 and 22 are the best in your life, I'm quite happy to have found out that this is a crock. Thank god for that.

Sleep or no sleep, I think that I have yet to enter my prime.

Caution is often a worthy pursuit. Yesterday, the local rag tallied up the names registered in all of their birth notices for 2008, with few surprises on the popularity lists. Yes, there will be many more calls of “Jack”, “Charlie”, “William” and “Oliver”, and wails of “Ella”, “Sophie”. “Mia” or “Charlotte”. And no, poor old Henry and Ezra failed to make the top twenty yet again!

But let’s be honest, that’s not what we’re interested in. The real action can be found lower down, in the nonconformist department.

How could you go past the fonetik [sic] charms of Jaxon, Deklan, Febie and Koen?

A favourite of mine was sweet little Shakyla (beloved sister of dear little Jakayla).

Other standouts include Avah, Maja, Jagger, and who could forget Bayliss-Jay?

If we are blessed with another boy, I must keep in mind Ajay, Jakem, Brumby, Bensig, Cayd, Fearghas, Taz and Bruck (yes, Bruck!)

Obviously if we break the run of boys, we shall have to steer towards Akashia, Brinkly, Aradia, Oscara, Jazlyn, Mimosa, Sosanne or the angelic Lional (Lional!).

The best part of all of this is that we can rest assured that schoolyard bullying will remain alive and well into the future. For that, we should all be thankful!

And here I was this whole time thinking that tequila was the medicine for regret!

I thought that I'd do Mount Wellington a favour and show you how she looked at lunch today. No snow, but they are apparently predicting cooler temperatures on Thursday, so there is always a chance. There must be a cruise ship on its way!

The odds for a decent night's sleep tonight?

Slightly less now that I've managed to pick up a nice old burn on my wrist via the oven this evening.

Good times.

It is an exquisite form of torture, sharing a room with a teething baby. There is something almost to be admired in the proficiency in timing one’s waking to maximise the disruption to his the sleep of both parents.

Seriously, wait for them to get in bed, maybe let them browse the Internet a little on matching laptops, let them just nestle into sleep then WHAM!! ”WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

See for me, an intense wail ensures that I won’t back to sleep for a minimum of 45 minutes, but more usually between 45 minutes and 90 minutes.

Ez has been waking every two hours.

You might be able to see the frustration here. Thus, for every two hour cycle of baby sleep, I generally get somewhere between half hour to an hour.

And he doesn’t really go back to sleep after 5 am.

And Henry wakes between 6 and 6:30.

And I leave for work at 7:20.

It is a good thing that he has a nice smile.

Oh, the above photo was taken yesterday morning just off Sullivan's Cove. For some reason, a lot of people race yachts to Hobart around this time of year. I'm not sure why, but it might have something to do with sharks.

I thought it only fair with you that I share this image snapped during my lunchtime stroll along the sunny Derwent. How about this for a lovely summer sky?

The sun is obviously feeling a little like me today: struggling.

Back at work.

AND I'm all alone in the office.

AND politicians' lackies and journalists on the blower every other second.

AND I have a blinding headache.

AND I am all out of mother's little helpers.

AND Ezra didn't want anybody to get sleep last night.

AND I have a big pile of 'to dos' on my desk.

AND I need a haircut.

At least it is starting to feel like summer.

It's the last day before I have to return to work, so I spent the morning doing one load of washing after another, out to the regatta grounds for The Hobart Kite Festival (our kite went excellently, I might add), nip back home for a nap (they had one, I didn't), then (after one last load of washing), back out again for the Mercury Kidz in the Park. I'm not sure what exactly kidz are, but there were baby goats. Knowing the Mercury, it was probably a typographical error.


Ez proved the best kite flyer of the family, but that should be no shock.


Henry ended the kite part of the day with a choc mint ice cream. Yes he chose choc mint over the rainbow option.

To close the day, we went out to the beach, had a go on the play equipment, ate squid and chips, and then home to fold washing.

Good times.

That does mean that I am far too tired to pen anything caustic or witty. I'll sharpen up tomorrow, I promise.

Look, I know that it was in the Australian Financial Review, but I found it funny.

After the adventure climbing the mountain, yesterday the lads and I opted for a more sedate walk into Lidisfarne village to pick up some milk, fruit and veggies. Here you can see the view of the Tasman Bridge from atop the highway overpass.

So yesterday we were all feeling pretty good. That is, we were until we heard the Australian team announced for the third test. It is difficult to follow your team when there are so many nobs in it. It is difficult to follow your team when the selection policy lacks clarity at times.

It is difficult to follow your team when the selectors keep sticking with Matthew Hayden and bloody Brett Lee, despite both doing nothing of late to warrant selection. They keep picking Symonds despite a) not having scored a run all summer; b) not being able to bowl; and c) not being able to stop getting on the piss all the time. His Queensland teamates can't stand him, but hey, "he's a good team man", even moreso when the team is full of nobs.

But yesterday was the final blow for this household, to pick Doug "the big bald mug from New South Wales" Bollinger over Ben "the stud from Tasmania's North West Coast" Hilfenhaus was too much. I won't even mention the fact that they've chosen a ginger too. This really is the lowest point for Australian cricket since the time Richard Soule was overlooked in favour of Ian Healy. You know it is a low when I am agreeing with Graeme Smith and barracking for South frigging Africa!

We have so many fit, young talented and (especially) attractive cricketers down here in Tasmania, we've won the Shield and one day finals in recent years, and yet the still won't pick us!

I've run the rule over the side and can see no reason why George Bailey can't come in for Clarke, Tim Paine can't replace Haddin, Luke Butterworth couldn't have replaced Symonds. Brett Geeves should have replaced BLee at the start of the summer, and choosing Siddle over Hilfenhaus is a complete and utter JOKE.

So Henry, Ezra and I are giving up.

We shall be boycotting the Australian cricket side because of the apartheid-like policies against Tasmanians. What is more, we are advocating the cessation of the state of Tasmania (changing the name back to Van Diemen's Land, of course), and making our own way in the world!

...Now bear in mind that we began out ascent of the great behemoth at 10:43. We reached the summit at 10:59. The snow started to fall at 11.10. Our decision to abort the mission and leave in the face of gale force winds and increasing snowfall (as evidenced in the top photograph), was taken at 11:23.

It was at this point that Henry turned to me and said - in a French accent, oddly - "Daddy, Henry a bit cold".

So we headed back.

Here is the view from Henry's window as we endeavoured to manoeuvre our way out of the pickle we found ourselves in. Even the normally stoic Elmo was a little perturbed by the tempest that had arisen around us.



I will not lie to you, there were tears. A quick slap in the face from Henry calmed me down however, and we made our way gingerly back down to civilisation (via the bakery). To emphasise the shifts in weather, the photograph below was taken at 11:41, just eighteen minutes after the one at the top of the post. Finalmente!

Having learned our lesson, we begged her forgiveness. In her mighty majestic manner, she gave it freely.


On the way back, we sat in silence and considered our near brush with DEATH.

That's not quite true actually, we had Justine Clark's I like to sing on the car stereo, and I've not had a moment without the bugger circling my brain since.

But that, as they say, is another story.

...The look of apprehension on young Henry's face tells much of the tale. Elmo put on a brave front, but even the ever present positive vibes that emanate from the furry red gem could not dispel the facts as they emerged.

Our pleasant jaunt was beginning to turn into a nightmare.

You must understand the sub-Antarctic tendencies of Mount Wellington. As if aware of our insolence, the mountain struck back.

The fact that we set out on a fine and clear day mattered not a jot. Nor, it seems, did the fact that we sit smack bang at the height of our summer.

No, these "facts" (and how I spit out that word here today), were of no consequence to the mountain, nor the gods of nature themselves. For, as ye shall see below, nature had one of her brutal ripostes up her sleeve.


A snowstorm!

To be continued...

...Laughing like drains, Henry and I point out home base, Geilston Bay to Ezra (FYI, it's the second bay on the left of the Tasman Bridge in the photo above). Oh how hollow those boastful laughs feel as I type this now from the discomfort of my hair shirt and shame of my battered pride.


As you can see from Ezra and Jennifer's faces, the scale of nature's response to our hubris was somewhat unexpected.

To be continued...

...as expected, we knocked the bastard off in little time. Rising one thousand two hundred and seventy one metres over the city of Hobart, we thought ourselves gods for one moment.

Laughing and frolicking gaily like spring lambs in a jolly meadow of clover, we took happy snaps and toasted each other with bikkie bears.

The large radio and television transmitter [above] was a source of great amusement for the men in our party, affording us the opportunity to remind Jennifer of the phallologocentric omnipresence of modern, capitalistic societies. How we laughed!

Skipping through the abundant native flora, little did we know how soon we would be laughing out of the other side of our faces!


Amused by the ease of the task, we made our mistake: mocking the gods with our arrogance. Well, Ezra and Jen were okay, but Henry and I can get quite obnoxious at times, and my weren't we arrogant today. For that, we were to pay a dear price...

To be continued...

...So we headed up the mountain.

Our provisions were scant - a camera to record our triumph, a small box of sultanas, six chocolate coated tiny teddy bikkie bears, five ritz crackers, one apple, one mini tomato and ham quiche, a small supply of water and an ample bosom - but the lads would not be deterred. That damnable mountain had sat there mocking them for too long, and now it would pay for its insolence!

The day looked a fine one to tame the angry beast, and were confident of an easy trip to the summit...

To be continued...

So one computer is feeling better again, and the other is on its way back to health. The LOL sharks have been as disappointing as the latest hot young things forecast as the future of music. If that's the future of music, set the dial back to 1969 please!

But I don't want to talk about it right now. I want to talk about today. I want to talk about the adventurous start to 2009 for the motley crew that constitutes my family.

After a rough New Year's Eve that involved no alcohol, fisticuffs, or young lovelies in tube tops with ill intent; but rather more teeth, lots of screaming and very little sleeping; this morning we decided to take advantage of the cool but clear day and that a quick jaunt would be just the tonic.

Our intention was to perhaps stop of at a little French patisserie, pick up ourselves a few little tarts and croissants, some café au lait and chocolat chaud to go around and then off to a playground for a bit of kick to kick, a spot on the slide, maybe a backflip or two off the monkey bars.

But no. The scene: in the car, jumpers of, the mountain looms into view. Henry says, in a firm, cold voice: "Mountain mummy; mountain daddy". It was clear, the lad wanted (no, needed), to conquer the mountain again!

To be continued...

Another day, another year, ANOTHER pre-post. I have even had to resort to posting one of Jennifer's photographs!

Here you can see the lads sharing a bowl of grapes. Well, actually, they are playing poker with grapes as the pot. The problem with these two is that Henry favours a straight game of seven card stud, whereas Ezra prefers a variation of Oxford stud with a complex mix of a kill game and wild cards. Consequently, I have had to implement a rule in which their guns (Christmas presents) are not allowed on their person while a game is underway.

It really is like Deadwood in these parts of late.

Onto technical matters, I can assure you that if the computer is not yet fixed, and the computer robot dude is still posting this, my New Year's resolution will involve fixing it. I do hope to have found the Windows XP disks that Henry has stashed away somewhere by that time.

If not, I fear that the rss feeds will now be at two thousand, and I expect to be at least twelve hours behind the latest EPIC FAIL shark LOL that has hit the global village.

I really hate being behind the times in terms of EPIC FAIL shark LOLs. It makes me feel like less of a person.