Everything has been said before, but since nobody listens we have to keep going back and beginning all over again.

Ezra looking positively angelic. Another photo from the stock file. However, I have spent the past day and a half taking photos of the pair of 'em! Some of will have to turn out good 'uns.

What doesn't hurt - is not life; what doesn't pass - is not happiness.

You may have noticed that - children of mine aside - I rarely post photographs with people in them. I'm very shy about photographing the mug punters in the street, onlyI don't know why. So here you go, a standard street side view of Hobartians going about their business!

I'd like to know what you think is going on here? A complex heroin importation scheme? An insurance scam? Ribald commentary on Beyonce's [ahem] assets? Footy tipping gamesmanship? Old school chums? Musings on the whereabouts of Haold Holt?

C'mon people! Give a brother a hand...

True peace is not merely the absence of tension: it is the presence of justice.

Here s the gang quite a few months back now. Henry didn't look like a roadie for the Greatful Dead and Ezra still had a basketball head. Jen pretty much looks the same, however. I myself have a few extra grey hairs.

Pros and Cons of Toddlers Part Six

Pro #5: They're EASY TO BEAT. Henry loves competitive games: hide and seek; chess; Connect Four; Brandings; Catch and Kiss; Scrabble; anything really. Him being a toddler means that I have an unsurpassed win ratio, as he isn't very good.

Con #4: They're TOO EASY TO BEAT. Winning without a challenge is just not fun. Seriously, this evening I had a good half hour of hide and seek, and Henry hid in the same two places over and over. Compounding this poor strategy was a tendency to giggle the whole time, and then shout "I'm here by the drawers" half a second after I start looking for him. He's just rubbish at it. Where's the glory in that kind of victory?

It's not enough that we do our best; sometimes we have to do what's required.

Straight lines are the order of the day today. Here are Hydro Tasmania building, old and new, presented to you in stunning black and white.

In order to bail me out of having to think too hard about today’s post, I’ve embraced the meme and take up the challenge presented to me by Lizabee & Co!

It’s a well known fact that I simply reek of awesomeness. Like Old testament God, people quake and tremble in wonderment at my feet on a daily basis. At least, I think that’s why they quake and tremble at my feet. It could be something to do with Swine Flu.

First though, a definition:

Awesome
Adjective
Causing awe or terror; inspiring wonder or excitement. So impressive or overwhelming as to inspire a strong feeling of admiration or fear.

And now, the list!

Seven things that make ME awesome

1. Charm: like George Clooney on charisma steroids, I have charm oozing from every pore.


2. Intelligence: in terms of intelligence, it’s best to think of me as HAL from 2001, only with higher self esteem and less psychopathic tendencies


3. Looks: dude, have you seen me?


4. Grace: imagine the offspring of Audrey Hepburn when mated with a gazelle (work with me here), that’s how I glide across a ballroom to the swoon of all in attendance.


5. Cool: you know Michael Holding’s voice and Viv Richard’s swagger? Where do you think they learned that then?


6. Character: honesty, respect, integrity, and fairness. I once shot a man for insulting my Mother’s chicken, that is how much I value honour.


7. Modesty: only the most modest of men could possibly compile this list with such honesty, integrity and (not least of all) modesty.

So there we have it, the secret to my success!

If you also are assured of your own awesomeness, please feel free to take the challenge and explain it to the world.

Traditionalists are pessimists about the future and optimists about the past.

Here is Ezra back when he was a little angel, and not the grizzling, snotty, always into cupboards and drawers, toy scattering domestic terrorist that we've been faced with most evenings.

When I die, I would like to go peacefully, in my sleep, like my grandfather. Not screaming in terror like his passengers.

Equal parts Pacman and David Lynch, I like to think of the tail lights of the cars in front as we cross the Tasman Bridge as hungry little ghosts eating the sins of teenagers the world over.

That’s right, it’s Theme Thursday, and we’re talking GHOSTs.

They’re odd birds, ghosts; never happy, always moaning, wailing, dragging chains about and getting ectoplasm on the good curtains. A lot like children in that regard.

I’ve never liked ghosts. Call me spectrally-bigoted, but the notion of some undead soul wandering through my walls while I’m endeavouring to seduce my wife is just plain wrong.

So no, I won’t be signing any of your goody goody, namby pamby, hoity toity, wishy washy, lardy dardy, know it all know nothing do gooders petitions to give ghosts and ghoulies the vote.

No siree.

The only moaning welcome in my house is be either a bit of the other or "if I have to tell you to pick those toys up one more time..."

No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better

Another blast from the past here. Henry is enjoying his [then] new big boy's bed.

Of course, three months down the track, he's still sleeping in his cot...

DON'T PANIC!

It's been too long since I've posted a web comic, so today I'm headed back to John Campbell's pictures for sad children, which always seems to catch my mood.

But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.

Sometimes the best view of the sky can be found by looking down on the ground. Here is a puddle on a patch of ground at the bottom of Elizabeth Street.

Here is a little poem about power.

Doing Stuff

ACTION!
...
wait
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wait
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waiting
...

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nothing
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wait
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wait
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waiting
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ACTION!

Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.

Here is a photo from a few months back of Jen attempting to hypnotise Ezra. I've had to dip into the unpublished stock again, because I fear that the recent crop of photos feature cranky, tired and snot-covered dirt magnets, which is not at all the image the world wants or needs to see of Tasmania.

Thus, until they sharpen up their acts, you'll have to put up with this lot where theu are adorable, photogenic and/or smiling for the camera!

Every sentence I utter must be understood not as an affirmation, but as a question.

I took this photo looking up while down in Salamanca Place last Thursday afternoon. High above the Silos and the trees, that speck of white you can see is the moon.

A new thing for me: TUESDAY Q and A!

Right now, at this very moment, what is your favourite word?

Right now?

I am going to have to go with dénouement.

If you start to think about your physical or moral condition, you usually find that you are sick.

Here is poor old Henry in the bath. As you can see, he was feeling pretty miserable and haggard from his battle with the flu, and even a bit of a splash and giggle in amongst the bubbles failed to cheer him up!

One small step for man...

From way back on June 18, here is the little marvel himself doing the business!



Compare him to Henry from January 2008!

The most important things to say are those which often I did not think necessary for me to say — because they were too obvious.

Here is the face of an old quarry that can be found down next to Salamanca Square. A fair chunk of the Salamanca area itself is nestled into an old sandstone quarry itself. The demand for berths and storage saw the creation of new docks and sandstone warehouses in an area that had once been known as the 'Cottage Green'. The former row of original cottages were demolished for sandstone warehouses, and by the mid-1840s the bustling dock area had become known as Salamanca, in honour of the Duke of Wellington's 1812 victory against the slippery frogs in the Battle of Salamanca. [HOORAH FOR BLIGHTY!]

As I've noted before, the whole waterfront area is re-establishing it's credentials as Hobart's night-time entertainment capital (that is, if one equates the concept of 'entertainment' with 'getting on the piss and having a scrap').

This is only fitting, as early in Hobart's history, it had developed a reputation as a rowdy and debaucherous place. A mixture of crowded terrace housing, pubs, hotels, brothels, and gambling houses as well as various other forms of seedy entertainment for visiting sailors, cock-fighting [ohh-err missus] and dog fighting not least popular in the area.

Sadly, the brothels and gambling dens are gone, and all we're left with are drunk and angry teens shouting "nerfuckenpricks illfuckenkillya whatareyafuckenlookingat" before being dragged off by the police to the jeers of equally drunken girls.

The problem inherent in the surface of things, and only in the surface of things, is the heart of things.

He decided that driving with his eyes open is even better!

One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.

Watch out! They're headed straight for us!

Two ducks approaching on Geilston Bay.

Here's a Sunday Top Five that both honours the dearly departed and embraces the smutty schoolboy within. My Top Five Mrs Slocambe Quotes:

1. "You know, animals are very psychic. I mean, the least sign of danger and my pussy's hair stands on end."


2. "I hope we're not going to be late tonight. Because I've left Winston clinging to the curtain ring; he refuses to come down. The mere sight of my pussy drives him mad."


3. "Well, I hope it's not going to take long. If I'm not home on the stroke of seven, my pussy starts clawing at my busy lizzy."


4. "I hope this isn't going to take long, Captain Peacock. The last time I was late, a fireman had to climb out of my bedroom window and risk his life on a narrow ledge tryin' to grab hold of my pussy."


5. "I've got to get home. If my pussy isn't attended to by 8 o'clock, I shall be strokin' it for the rest of the evening."