This will hurt me...

Here is another of what I label my 1970s Yugoslavia photographs. More Tuzla that Sarajevo perhaps, but a wet winter's shot nonetheless. Yes it is 10 Murray again looking tired.

I promised it on Wednesday, so here you can have it now: part one of Ten True Things About Me:

• As a lad, my favourite colour was RED. At some point, my favourite colour has shifted to BLUE. I believe that this relates to a temperamental shift, rather than any unconscious political motives.


• When I was in high school - a period I broadly detested, by the way - people would often say "these are the best years of your life". I do not have the words to possibly express how depressing and disheartening that was to me. Gladly, they were quite wrong. [As an aside, how miserable their own adult lives must have been!]


• The depth of my feelings for both of my sons surprises me on occasion. Ultimately, it is something of a relief, as I honestly wasn't too sure how I'd feel about them before they arrived.


• I like chickens more than I like dogs. Dogs smell and too easily tolerate abusive relationships. I don't respect many dogs.


• I have only ever spoken the words "I love you" - in a romantic context - to one person. That seems to surprise people, and their surprise surprises me.

From last weekend, you can see a still hairy Henry, with an increasingly scrappy Ezra, both enjoying the mess that they have made of the lounge room.

Here, they are re-enacting the Second Punic War, with Henry taking the role of Hannibal, and Ezra the role of Scipio (that would be Scipio Africanus).

It did not result in a cleaner house.

Another sunrise over Davey Street. To paraphrase Mr Hendrix from some time ago, excuse me while the sun KISSes the sky. Those of you who live in proper cities will be delighted to hear that this line of cars is what constitutes "heavy traffic" here in Hobart.

It's Theme Thursday you see, and the challenge today is that of KISS.

I would like to expand on the subject of KISSing, however life prevents me from exploring it in too much depth. That said, it is a practice that I quite enjoying – in the right sort of company of course.

Alas, I am required at a three hour navel gaze interface all morning, so the best that I can manage is a list of five things that I’d rather be KISSing than go to this meeting today:

1. Decrepit harpy Dame Margaret Thatcher (with tongues);


2. The mangy cat that lurks around my bus stop of a morning (no tongues);


3. A large sandpit full of mud, nails and dead gum leaves;


4. Six of Snow White’s seven dwarves midgets little people (the current concern over swine flu prevents me from tonguing Sneezy);


5. Current Hollywood trainwreck Mischa Barton.

Hang on a tick... Another look at that photo... Scrub that, I’d rather go to the meeting if it’s all the same!

He's hungry, and he's headed your way.

Be very, very careful.

So you have all witness the BEFORE, now behold the magnificence and transformative beauty of the AFTER!

I must give great credit to the proud and dignified conduct of my oldest baby, Henry [despite what he says, he'll always be my baby] upon getting his hair cut yesterday evening. He was tremendous. I hope that his keen supporters based in the subcontinent don't feel too let down by his neater appearance. Don't worry ladies, it won't last for long!

Anyway, I have a whole bank of photos left to post, so we'll be seeing long haired Henry for a little while yet...

It's looking grey out over the waterfront area of Hobart. Rain you say? A fair chance, I'd wager...

Yesterday I received the good news that I was to receive a prize. No, not the Nobel, Booker, Pulitzer or “Best Team Man” for the Lindisfarne Two Blues Under-8s, I have been humbled by “The Honest Scrap” award!

Tony – over there on ßench – has seen fit to honour my fine work here at this blog, and rescue me from the daily torment of having to think of something to write about. For that I am eternally grateful.

That said, I am also a contrary bugger, and award everyone who reads this post the award. Call me lazy generous, but I can’t just pick ten others, for fear of disappointing any of the two billion or so bloggers out there on the INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY.

As a recipient, I am to “tell ten true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows”. On this point, I shall also be breaking the rules by posting five things today, and five things on Friday. I do this to save me from thinking about something to write on Friday best entertain you fine readers.

So here we go, part one of Ten True Things About Me:

• I really don’t like the name Darren. Really. I hate it, actually. If someone comes up to me and says “Hi, I’m Darren”, it takes all my willpower not to spit on the ground in disgust. The Darrens that I have met in my life all seem to be bad eggs.



• As an enthusiast of the sweet science – think geometry and physics fused with repeatedly hitting someone in the head – I was delighted when my childhood favourite to legally change his name to from ordinary old Marvin Hagler to the far more entertaining Marvelous Marvin Hagler. For a brief period there, I considered adopting the moniker Curious Kris McCracken.



• Despite, or perhaps because of, spending a few good years of my life mired in the ‘grand’ works of Postmodern and Post-structuralist philosophy – think Baudrillard, Lyotard, Derrida, Deleuze, and Kristeva (amongst a myriad of others) – I am reasonably certain that (a few interesting enough questions aside) for the most part it is a load of indulgent, po-faced, relentlessly negative and poorly written nonsense. I’d call it intellectual masturbation but masturbation is supposed to be pleasurable.



• I have always had a thing for Romania. No idea why. You would think growing up with Ceauşescu as the standard bearer would have put a boy off, but it didn’t.



• I subtly – too subtly it seems – tried to seduce my lovely wife in the winter of 1999. She did not properly fall for my immense charms until the late-autumn of 2001. In this sense, think of me a romantic form of hepatitis.

On Sunday morning, Henry and I indulged in a spot of firefighter training. Numerous books before bedtime and Fireman Sam hard-hitting documentaries have enthused the lad about the notion of suiting up, getting the hoses out, and rescuing fair maidens, kittens and wealthy benefactors orphans.

That said, our precise drills revealed one problematic area that needed immediate attention: HAIR.

The hair presented a fire hazard. The hair limited his vision. The hair was entirely unfirefighterlike.

So we booked the cut.

The hair was cut this evening.

I shall post the photos tomorrow. Consider this one the "before" shot.

Seven Mile Beach would be a nice spot to be today, after last night's storm I bet that there would be some interesting clouds happening on that horizon.

As it is, I'm stuck at a desk, with the Tasmanian Prison Service on my mind.

Woe is me.

Here is Ez, bunkering down in a wooden hut at the base of Mount Everest. He's decided to bite the bullet, throw caution to the wind and exercise his new found enthusiasm for climbing and follow in the footsteps of Hillary, only this time sans Sherpas!

In a somewhat amusing anecdote, Ezra actually confused the notion of a Sherpa with sherbet, and actually ate a half dozen when he arrived in Nepal.

We laughed like drains.

Of course, we upset the locals and quickly had to leave the country.

Everest will have to wait.

Crikey, check out that... [ahem] microwave.

A fabulous... [ahem] idea here, microwave and conventional oven together.

[Adjusts seating position.]

[Ahem] The thing that I admire most about this advertisement is its use of an enormous pair of breasts subtlety.

He is our old mate L'Astrolabe basking in the sun again down in Sullivan's Cove. They'll be off molesting penguins again soon.

It’s a very serious business. A very serious business indeed.

Have you seen that film War Games? You know, the one where Ferris Bueller is playing Berserk and all of a sudden he's got the KGB, the CIA, FBI, DEA, PTA and BURP on his tail, the Kremlin of red alert, Johnny 5's girlfriend shocked and an angry Dabney Coleman bristling at the camera.

Anyway, Henry with a laptop is kind of like that. Only more like the one where Ferris Bueller cruises around in a Ferrari and ends up channelling a hoarse John Lennon.

Rounded corners on a building? What witchcraft is this?

Here is the corner of a building currently being erected in town. I know it has something to do with the medical research faculty of the University, but that is the extent of my knowledge. Beyond that, I am Sgt Shultz.

Sunday Top Five!

Henry's Top Five Words For The Morning

• Bikkies


• Picture


• Hankie


• Crumpet


• Nanna

Sometimes a bloke can be a bit groggy when he first gets up. The mind is generally cloudy, reactions slow and muted.

It's at this point that I like to shove a camera in someone's face.

We've had a bit of rain about this week, which acts as a bit of a disincentive to get out with the camera. If you are interested in shots of raindrops or puddles, this is the place to be. Here is a railing down in Sullivan's Cove, just across the road from Parliament House. I haven't counted each raindrop, but won't stop you if you wish to.