There is no more miserable human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision.

This one is from way back in early-May, as Ezra decided to tackle the gruelling ultra marathon-esque Mother's Day Classic (FOUR excruciatingly difficult kilometres of terrain).

Somewhat typically, Ez opted to take a back seat, leaving Henry to take the glory in the prime role. I like to think of Ezra as Friedrich Engels to Henry's Karl Marx.

In strategy it is important to see distant things as if they were close and to take a distanced view of close things.

I took this photo back in February, down in the Salamanca district. As you can see, there are four Zebra Finches perched on the neck of what may or may not be an authentic Les Paul. The guitar was plugged in and run through a distortion pedal to an expensive stack of Marshall amps.

The finches themselves were strumming out what sounded like to my ears the outro to a song I like very much: Elton John's 1972 paen to astronauts and cosmonauts the world over, Rocket Man (I Think It's Going to Be a Long, Long Time). Like me, they like Elton's old stuff much better than his new stuff (by new stuff, I'm talking post-1983).

Quick question to the mob though, what do you think is going on here? What's the point supposed to be?

A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence.

Here is a special "beefcake shot" for Henry's friend Evie, who visited today. He's not stopped talking about her all afternoon.

I think that he's smitten.

He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.

Unfortunately this has been indicative of the kind of morning that I have been setting off into of late. Here is the up the highway towards my bus stop on Monday morning. The fog is okay, because it generally means that I won't get rained on...

I thought that in the spirit of inclusiveness, I'd give you a list of Things I Don't Like:

• Vampires


• People who like vampires.


• Fairies.


• Adults who dress like fairies.


• Those hats that people buy at Salamanca Market with leopard print trim and fuzz at the top.


• People who wear those hats that people buy at Salamanca Market with leopard print trim and fuzz at the top.


• Overly sensitive television personalities.


• People who say "It shouldn't be a problem, I don't think" when they really mean "I think that it shouldn't be a problem".


• Men who carry umbrellas.


• People who are really friendly to you when you're taking photographs, then walk away in disgust when they find out that you're not foreign at all, just another Tasmanian.

You cannot have a rational discussion with a man who prefers shooting you to being convinced by you.

Here is a shot of the back of Jen's head and the handsome young Ezra promenading down the main street of Richmond. We had just brunched on tea, scones with raspberry jam and clotted cream and set to walk it off to Australia's oldest bridge. Yes people, the pride of Richmond is over one hundred and seventy-five years old. That will impress those of you living in cities that were settled in 600 AD!

To answer a question from the comments, Ezra is closing in on his first birthday (minus one month and eight days). If anyone wishes to send cash, please feel free to do so.

Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go it's one of the best.

Oh lord, here we are back at Theme Thursday again. It just keeps coming in quicker and quicker...

Above, you can see two blokes happily eating Vegemite sandwiches, checking out the local talent, and no doubt amusing each other with snippets of Foucault’s Discipline and Punish. All the while, the gently SWING in gentle Hobartian breeze.

Of course, a normal person would leave it at that. I had a manageable theme – SWING – I had an appropriate photograph, but no, that won’t do. You see, this week I saw the topic and one thing leaped immediately to mind. What that says about my mind is another matter, as it reveals a sort of degeneracy and perversion that I hope you have come to expect from me by now.

I didn’t think “toddlers in playgrounds”, “the graceful arc of the cricket bat” or indeed “dancers moving in rhythm to the band”.

No, I thought about SWINGING. SWINGERS and the filthy, grubby SWINGING LIFESTYLE.

Now, for the non-swingers out there, SWINGING refers to "non-monogamous sexual activity, treated much like any other social activity, that can be experienced as a couple." Think of it as “Dick and Jane enjoy many things together: long walks on the beach; ornithology; a romantic meal, followed by the latest Meg Ryan film; engaging in sexual relations in the immediate vicinity of others; engaging in sexual relations with other people while watching; or indeed, engaging in sexual relations with friends, strangers, couples, the homeless and who knows what else”.

Of course, the phenomenon of swinging often associated with the sexual revolution of late-1960s and early-1970s, which occurred after the upsurge in sexual activity that appeared possible by the ready availability of safer sex practices. People became more explorative, inquisitive and broad-minded. Or, to look at in another way, they lost their sense of shame, dignity and devotion.

One of the two anyway.

Now, I’m not one to judge, but I am reasonably certain that the swinging lifestyle is not for me. I am far too jealous committed. My distaste is not rooted [ooh err missus] in any moral or philosophical objections against the notion of swinging itself. Whatever gets you through the night is the extent of my philosophy. That said, I reserve the right to be grossed out by my neighbours, that is the beauty of freedom and democracy.

Let me share with you a tale that expands upon my distaste somewhat. Don’t worry, it isn’t explicit.

A particular esteemed [former] colleague of mine – who also happens to be and occasional [and spiteful] commenter on this very blog – once elbowed me in the ribs in the middle of some interminable training event some years ago and nodded to another participant in the training, and confided to me that she herself (and her husband), were active in Hobart’s vibrant swinging scene. At first I assumed her comment a cruel and malicious yarn, our forte.

However, she insisted that it was indeed true, and that her reasons for conveying this information to me were wholly honourable. She feared that – as fresh meat – I may be vulnerable to her vile and wicked web of debauchery,

Worsening this predicament, the individual in question was known to us by the unkind moniker of “Robber’s Dog” – as she was regrettably equipped with a head that resembled that of a robber’s dog.

That is the thing, you see, SWINGING seems to be the domain of many flabby, greasy, wholly unattractive middle-aged people.

I still see this woman about in a professional capacity, as she has progressed through the ranks.

I shudder every time.

And reject any invitation to dinner.

No rational argument will have a rational effect on a man who does not want to adopt a rational attitude.

So this morning you got the mountain (with bonus snow) as seen from Salamanca, this evening you are treated to a Henry-eye view of the mountain as it overlooks Geilston Bay (without snow).

He told me that eventually he will own this bay, and every yacht within it. Fingers crossed.

Space and light and order. Those are the things that men need just as much as they need bread or a place to sleep.

Here is a special, [almost] real time post this morning. It was as cold as a loveless marriage this morning, and the culprit was revealed as I arrived in town and finally saw the mountain! It's been hidden behind clouds for the best part of a fortnight (almost non-stop rain), but today it emerged plastered in snow.

Man’s consciousness not only reflects the objective world, but creates it.

Here I am training Ezra to avoid the cars on the road. As you can see, he scoffs at danger.

Some say that one picture is worth a thousand words. I happen to think that one picture of Ezra is worth 1 billion words.

Ads that I like: #84

I do miss the days when anti-psychotic drugs were mass marketed to the community. Who hasn't wished for a script of Thorazine/Largactil when faced with a cranky old bastard moaning about not having enough sugar in his tea, the paucity of bananas in his childhood or the lack of Vera Lynne on the radio these days.

Yet why stop there, look at that list of symptoms: hostility; irritability; abusiveness; incessant talking; restlessness...

I have an idea:

Men will cease to be fools only when they cease to be men.

Here is a monkey - a Japanese Macaque to be precise - with a lemonade Icy Pole. Most probably, this monkey has venereal disease. As soon as I tell you that, you will know that we must be in Launceston!

Launceston is an interesting city, it's record-breaking in many ways: Launceston was the location of the first use of anaesthetic in the Southern Hemisphere; it was the first Australian city to have underground sewers; the first Australian city to be lit by hydroelectricity; it is widely recognised as the "blockie" capital of Australia; and last (but certainly not least), it has the highest parentage of VD-infected Japanese Macaque monkeys living within its municipal boundaries.

Take a bow Launceston!

Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food.

Here's another from the Hits 'n Memories basket. This was taken at around the time that Henry started standing up unaided.

We're getting serious flashbacks now - to the point that the post-traumatic stress long suspected is almost confirmed - as Ezra begins that constant test of endless attempts to climb into the oven, get his hands on the steak knives, scale up the pantry, rewire the heat pump on and on and on it goes...

Oh yes, they look all sweet and innocent with their chubby little thighs, beatific grins and ebullient zest for life. Yet, on a daily basis, this zest takes on an ephemeral quality. All of this want need to learn at every single point through the day wears you down.

If you are ever in doubt as to whether or not you should kiss a pretty girl, always give her the benefit of the doubt.

From the look of these signs, the folks are pretty negative around the Geilston Bay Boat Club. Obviously oars are not forbidden, as there was a healthy smattering of oars littered about the joint.

No work today. We have a holiday. Apparently it is the Queen's Birthday. So, happy birthday Ian Thorpe. I hope that you have a good day, and thanks for the day off.

One should always be a little improbable.

Here is Ez doing his best matinee idol squint into the sun. He is wearing a bib, but I reckon it could pass for a bandanna, a-la Clint Eastwood in A Fistful of Dollars. He is an amazing young fellow, my Ezra. Somehow he manages to straddle the line between Goethe, the outlaw Josey Wales, and James Hird.

It can't be easy.

Faith, n. Belief without evidence in what is told by one who speaks without knowledge about things without parallel.

There's nothing finer than a shag in the shallows on a public beach! Here is a fine specimen hustling up some grub looking south from Howrah beach mere days ago.

So yesterday you got LOVE, today you get HATE:

1. Most Hated Food: NUTS! Peanuts mainly. Not really a nut I know, but the list of things that can kill me is not a short one: peanuts, pine nuts, almonds, hazelnuts, walnuts, cashews, pistachios, macadamias, and they are just the ones I know about! Vile, detestable things!

2. Most Hated Person: I can't just pick one. I generally don't like people who think and carry themselves as if they are learned or broad-minded when in fact they are as - if not more - ignorant, narrow-minded or judgemental than those they look down upon. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of such people.

3. Most Hated Job: Any job where you find yourself getting lumped with work that should be done by those being paid twice as much as you (and they're off eating cake...)

4. Most Hated City: There are many, many things about Sydney that I don't like. To say Devonport would be too easy.

5. Most Hated Band: Any band who don't deserve their legacy. It isn't a short list, but The Clash and The Ramones are right up there.

6. Most Hated Website: Probably My Space. I don't have epilepsy, but I'm sure I would develop it if I spent any time there. Who designed that thing, people with ADD on LSD?

7. Most Hated TV Program: Something "reality". I'm sure that Big Brother has been named on this meme before...

8. Most Hated Movie: I have loathed everything of Lars von Trier after Breaking the Waves, I don't even have the words to explain how much I detest Dancer in the Dark. Honestly, that film is like an elaborate (bad) joke. [ As a bonus, I'd like to add that, I am sure that there are worse films out there, but by christ I hated Mystic River.]

9. Most Hated Artist: Step forward Mr Damien Hirst! [Please collect your stuffed shag at the door.]

10. Most Hated Book: Catcher in the Rye. Again, there are worse books, but the legacy gets me. The central character is so utterly annoying that I'm still angry he didn't get hit by a bus. Who knew they had middle-class emos in the '50s? Phony...

11. Most Hated Shop: Any place with wankers working in it. I'm sure that I don't shop there because everything is too expensive anyway.

12. Most Hated Organization: There is no shortage, I'll be honest. The Westboro Church are too ludicrous to take seriously, so I'll have to give Al Qaeda the nod. They're like peanuts, they're out to kill me and I didn't do anything to them!

13. Most Hated Historical Event: Given the outcomes, the Treaty of Versailles is probably one I'd like to see be given another run with hindsight.

14. Most Hated Sport: Golf. I feel dirty even calling it a sport. It's like darts featuring less beer and worse trousers.

15. Most Hated Piece of Tech: I have a slightly irrational hatred of the iPod shuffle. It seems so pointless.

16. Most Hated Annual Event: God I hate Australia Day. Anything with flags and patriotism generally makes me feel like vomiting.

17. Most Hated Daily Task: Going to work is never fun.

18. Most Hated Comedian: Look, there are less funny people, and no doubt more annoying people, but the fan boys (and girls) that worship at the alter of Bill Hicks have engendered a deep distaste for his work in me. It's just so obvious. And, forgive me for asking, where are the jokes?

I feel much better for that. Thanks!