This will hurt me...

In respect to my feminist friends out there scattered over the globe, I thought I'd post of pair of lady-friendly comics today. The lady above - courtesy of the Married to the Sea - reminds me of both Henry and Ezra, who despite lacking the requisite criteria for womanhood, are both fine young ladies . Yes, we've embraced renowned crackpot feminist academic Judith Butler's notion of Gender Trouble in this house. I particularly like Lucy's justification at the end of the strip below. There should be more of it. As I've said before, I consider Lucy something of a personal role model. Indeed, I consider myself a great example of a strong woman .

Autumn morning sunshine can't be beaten for colour. Here is the sun coming up over the river, as seen from Franklin Square. Yesterday I erred in judgement and taught Henry the Queen song We Are The Champions . Now I can't stop him from yelling it at me (well, his version goes " Me Are The Champions" ). This brings back a number of horrifying memories of my older brother besting me in some kind of sporting endeavour, to then pummel me and sit atop my chest sing the above song. Do you have a song that evokes similarly terrible memories? I'm not counting anything by The Osmands, as they just don't count.

Here is Henry looking cranky while I try to photograph him colouring stuff in. I had the day off today, so spent the morning colouring in these blob things with Henry, and dare I say it, my efforts to keep inside the lines surpassed Henry's. That said, he's rapidly catching me. Later on, we found ourselves out meeting with some visiting theatrical-types. Of course, the dirt magnets got bored and eventually dragged me off to find something more interesting to do. We ended up charming some tourists from upstate New York, who were so impressed by the Henry and Ezra double act that they showered them with gifts all the way from the good ol' USA! These two could turn out to be effective little money spinners if I just come up with the right idea...

Here is a rebel gang of seagulls who routinely hang out on Elizabeth Street, just outside of Town Hall. I call the the Town Hall Mafia . Here's a poem: Humdrum You have had nature explained to You and You are bored with it.

Man, if there is one thing that I CANNOT stand, it is war rudeness poverty theft man's inhumanity to man wanton environmental destruction wives who neglect their stockings . C'mon girls, as the ad says, husbands admire wives who keep their stockings perfect . Conversely, husbands detest and abhor slovenly oafs who crash about like drunken moose with ladders from here to eternity. Fair dinkum ladies, check out that look of disgust the dude above is giving his wife while she's there knitting away, completely unaware. She'll only have herself to blame if he starts fooling around with a more careful dame. This message was brought to you in the interests of marital bliss and harmony between the sexes.

Although it's not a wet and eager Bo Derek slowly emerging from the surf in a one piece and simply dripping with charm , I firmly believe that the above glamour shot of Ezra is very much worthy of a 10 . You see, it's already Theme Thursday again, and this week's challenge was the word TEN . In the spirit of the motion picture about a horny middle-aged man from 1979, Ezra and I decided to do a photo shoot in a style that I like to call "late-70s Playboy". Customarily, this would involve an interior shoot on carpet, with broken sunlight swathed across a curvaceous brunette wearing little more than a smile and a strategically placed prop. Whether or not you have Brian Ferry records gently crooning off in the corner is entirely up to you. In the interest of good taste though, coupled with the fact that I am certain that Jennifer would refuse (and probably storm off), I decided stick on some Roxy Music and go with a [somewhat] dressed and slightly less curvilinear –

To continue the Henry double feature today, here is the little wrinkled prune at two and a half years! He's eating cheese!

I thought that I'd give all the Henry fans out there a treat today and post a photo that Jen took of a four day old humongous monster little bloke. He looks somewhat different now.

I spotted this lovely sky on Sunday evening when I put the rubbish bins out. Here you're looking across the Derwent River over onto Cornelian Bay. Overheard on the bus this morning: "Some speed freaks came in smashed up some chairs and wrecked our bong, but they left when they realised that no-one would fight them." They didn't say whether they were bikies or not ...

No Jen is not torturing the poor little mite with knitting needles in his head, she's knitting him a hat! Yet before you go and finish knitting that hat, it pays to check that the size is right. Thus we have a baby on the bed grasping circular needles while his father callously photographs him. It is indeed a cruel world.

Car parks, as a general rule, incredibly ugly. If you're after symmetrical lines though, they can be a source of many photographs. I was going through an old notebook the other day and spotted a quote that I'd scribbled down no doubt three sheets to the wind that I wanted to reflect upon. The source was a - in a sad, pathetic, Hobart sense - a hipster doofus. He was arguing about being lumped in with a cohort that I assumed he identified with: "Yeah, I know those guys, and yeah, we like... we do drink with them pretty much every night of the week, but it's not like I'm part of some uni bar scene." See, for mine, nightly gatherings in the same place with the same people pretty makes you part of a scene. That said, I'm pretty confident that the closest to a "scene" that I frequent these days is a Playgroup scene. So I'm interested, are you part of any scene? Would you care to confess to the world your involvement in any "scenes" in

Here are the gruesome twosome investigating the wonders of my old ghetto blaster . Quite what they make of the cassette decks will be interesting to know. An element of me is saddened by the fact that they are not treated to the privilege of scratched vinyl records. Oh the joys of Boney M's Moscow forever stuck in an endless loop of a groove of a battered old seven inch. No, it's the pops and pips of digital audio for these two.

Sometimes it's enough to just have a lay down on the grass and gaze up at the sky through the eucalypts. Australia is a lovely place to be, and everybody knows that Tasmania is the pearl in our oyster! Which got me thinking. The other day I was on Facebook - you can find me here (I know, I know) - and I downloaded that little application that lets you pick top fives. Now, I've always been partial to a list, whether it's the top ten pop songs that last for two minutes and forty two seconds ( There She Goes or Whip it at number one),? or the three best Big M flavours (can't go past banana), I like making lists. So the prospect of expending thirty seven seconds making yet another top five intrigues me. The other day I pondered the all important [read: not at all important] "Five places other than where I live now where I could live". I went with (in no particular order): Germany The Czech Republic Hungary Barbados Estonia It was hard to leave out Finland, bu

Ezra likes to cite extensive passages of Goethe as he gazes out at the ocean. I'd like to share them with you, only my German just isn't up to it. I do know that he is very keen on The Sorrows of Young Werther at the moment (we're reading it before bed), but don't all young lads?

Here is Henry wandering along Seven Mile Beach, on Hobart's eastern shore. He was looking for something, but was not quite sure what it was. I have a new concept to introduce today, the thirty second poem. It's an innovation sure to take the world by storm! Perfect Nobody’s perfect. Well, there was this one guy. But, I killed him. He was making me look bad.