This will hurt me...

So yeah, there is a bit of dried snot, crumbs and a chunk of ham on him. Granted, that's a bit gross. He's still cute though.

You may not think it, but the history of barbed wire is one of the most interesting that I have ever read about. Lucien B. Smith of Kent, Ohio got a US patent in the in 1867, and was the first wire technology capable of restraining cattle. This made intensive animal husbandry practical on a much larger scale. Barbed wire also emerged to have another quite useful feature: that of fortification in a military sense. Thus, the emergence of barbed wire was an integral part of explaining the kind of trench warfare in the First World War. Of course, this is not simply the straightforward notion that barbed wire "gets in the way" - which it does - but wire was not placed either solely used to impede or stop the passage of soldiers. The most common strategic use was to channel them into narrow passages in which small arms, particularly machine guns, and indirect fire could be used with greater effect as they attempted to pass. Thus you can generate the sort of result that saw the Brit

He goes up slide. He does down slide. He goes up slide. He does down slide. He goes up slide. He does down slide. He goes up slide. He does down slide. He goes up slide. He does down slide. Time to go now. He throws tantrum. He goes over shoulder, He goes in car. We go home.

Here are the Organ Pipes of Mount Wellington with a smattering of snow. The Organ Pipes are dolerite columns that range up to 125 metres tall, and are a fine example of a s crag . Apparently people climb these things. For fun. Really. Mind you, there is a whole community of people who think that fairies are real , so it takes all sorts... Anyway, this is the kind of winter I can cope with! Snow! A chill the the air but sun on your cheek! Blue sky! Enough rain now people! We need a break! I've got playgroup tomorrow! Have a poem: romance she knew that he wanted her wanted ownership of her of the idea of her at least part of her wanted to be wanted for her wanting wanting came naturally as breath naturally he wanted an answer she wanted questions of course things got messy it wouldn’t couldn’t shouldn’t work it didn’t work of course

Here is Ez spinning some discs just a couple of days ago. At the moment, he's a bit Lee "Scratch" Perry in terms of mood, and I'm hoping that he doesn't descend into Phil "Loony Tunes" Spector. At this point, I'd take Cliff Richard...

Here is the river Derwent enjoying a spell of good weather yesterday morning. Of course, it is Theme Thursday yet again, and the theme is a challenging one for me, stuck here in Tasmania during the coldest and wetest winter in my memory since that Annus horribilis of 1996. The theme, you see, is that of FESTIVAL. A FESTIVAL is an event , usually staged by a local community, which centres on some unique , interesting or exciting aspect of that community. Back in June we had the Ninth Antarctic Midwinter Festival down here in Hobart, but the only event I wanted to go to got called off because of winter rain. Who knew that Huskies don't like getting wet? You see, it's been too cold, too wet, and there have just been too many pandemic scares to get anyone in a party mood. My house have pretty much seen an endless loop of coughing, cranky and tired people clutching wet handkerchiefs while snapping at each other and grizzling. Oh, and complaining about the endless rain. Yes, th

Here is hairy Henry showcasing his version of a chonmage ( 丁髷, ちょんまげ ), a form of Japanese traditional haircut. It is most commonly associated with the Edo Period and samurai, but more recently, you might recognise it from those really fat blokes in nappies. Originally, it was a method of using hair to hold a samurai helmet steady atop the head in battle. When I (politely) informed Henry that he was neither Japanese, a Samurai, or indeed a fat bloke in nappies (he's a lean bloke in underpants who poos on the toilet now), he promptly had a haircut!

Fortunately St David's church spire is blocking the hideously ugly functionalist tripe of a building on the corner of Liverpool and Murray Street. Quick tip for new players: Google is your friend. If you have a question, ask Google.

I kind of think that Ezra here resembles an evil genius. The faintly cocked wrist, the look of utter disdain, the ever so slight upturned nose. Yes, this is a fellow poised to push a button that will open a trapdoor, dropping some poor bugger into a vat of acid. Filled with crocodiles. With sub-machine guns. And poor dental hygiene.

I am not sure that I knew what I'd find looking up this tree. We don't have squirrels or chipmunks here in Australia. There aren't any koalas in Tasmania. A possum would be in bed by now (and probably pee in you face anyway), and there aren't a lot of leaves about at the moment. Maybe I knew that I'd see the sky. How long do you think that it takes for someone who proposes to talk about thinking about talking about thinking about something to generate a sufficient vacuum of inanity to literally - and of course I mean that in a figurative sense - suck their own head into their own backside? The other day I saw a fellow do this, and it took approximately seven seconds .

It's hard work getting everybody to stand still long enough to snare a photo. This is the best that I could manage!

Concrete, bricks, leaves, grass, trees... We've got the makings of a town here! This photo was taken down near the blubber pots here on Salamanca Lawns. As canny readers will have already noted (see the "Currently Reading" section on the side bar), I am very much enjoying Chinua Achebe's thoroughly excellent Things Fall Apart , years later than I first intended! If you've not already, pick it up. Aside from a general Molly Meldrum-esque "do yourself a favour" [and doesn't that pinpoint me in cultural, geographical and temporal place?] I thought it would be nice to share a thought that resonated with me from the text: "No matter how prosperous a man was, if he was unable to rule his women and his children (and especially his women) he was not really a man. He was like the man in the song who had ten and one wives and not enough soup for his foo-foo ." On that score, it shames me to say that I am not much a man! It's a great read thoug

What compels them to find the highest point, and then endeavour to stand bolt upright? I don't know the science that might be able to explain it, but I do know a little arithmetic: heavy rain + cranky baby compelled to climb + toddler oblivious to rules = not a lot of fun .

Is says on this here street sign that the General Post Office is five minutes walk away. Now, if you can see that big clock tower there, that's the GPO. It is [approximately] one hundred metres away. Granted, there is a slight incline that (might) slow you down, but five minutes? The only response I have is: BAH! Time for the Sunday Top Five . Today's topic is Five Reasons That It Might Take You Five Minutes To Walk From The Corner Of Davey Street To The GPO in Hobart : You don't have any legs. You stop to count each and every fallen leaf along the way. You get hit by a bus as it mounts the curb. Hobartian bus drivers appear to be trained to do so at every opportunity. You decide to stop and enjoy the pleasures of one of the local "beats" that can be found along the way. You are from Devonport, and consequently get confused and lost.