This will hurt me...

I swear that when Henry knows that he's in trouble, and you're set to give him a right royal bollocking - a father's privilege - his eyes grow larger.

I call it the animé effect.

I'm just glad I had boys, I'm certain that the animé effect for girls involves parasols, frilly knickers and lots of bending over...

Self portrait in a car park, August 2009.

As the only lady in the house packed to the gunwales of testosterone, poor Jen suffers intolerably. Even dear, sweet, lovely little Ezra™ has embraced with great vigour the masculine world of balls, drums, wild animals, mixed martial arts and random shouting.

That said, Henry has his oven and has established a keen interest in the kitchen, even if his spiel is more Gordon Ramsey than Julia Child. He’s also shown an eagerness to learn the fine art of knitting (i.e. stabbing me with the needles and lynching his little people with the wool). He enjoys the supermarket (“What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that daddy?” “What’s that?” “What’s that?” “WHAT’S THAT?”)

We have Colin – the baby dolly introduced to Henry when we learned that Ez was on his way. Henry enjoys bathing Colin, wrapping Colin, changing Colin, dressing Colin, putting Colin to bed, feeding Colin, throwing Colin at me. That sort of thing.

Henry helps with the washing. He helps mop the floor, and he – in a fashion – wants to brush our hair. Both lads are fascinated by the vacuum. Henry has graduated from folding clean face washers to folding clean handkerchiefs. If I did not have an ideological opposition to ironing – i.e.,
an elitist con job designed to distract attention away from the subjection of the proletariat to the bourgeoisie and focus instead on creases – I am sure that they’d both be happily waving an iron around each morning.

You see, despite being two of the finest examples of masculinity, my lads are new men. Not metrosexuals, that pathetic fusion of airheaded vanity, unthinking consumerism and poorly chosen shirts, they are NEW MEN, fusing all that is good about the stereotypical man – honourable, strong, robust, physical, brave – with the traits that OLD MAN perhaps lacked – sensitivity, good hygiene, a nurturing spirit.

"You talkin' to me?"


"You talkin' to me?"


"You talkin' to me?"


"Then who the hell else are you talkin' to?"


"You talkin' to me?"


"Well I'm the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

It's morning, it's spring, it's Hobart, it's the sea, it's boats, it's sunshine! You know what that means?

It's PIRATE TIME!

Oh wait, no it isn't. It's FATHER'S DAY.

Sunday Top Five!

My Top Five Children:

1. [tied] Henry and Ezra.

3. [unfilled]

4. [N/A]

5. [late scratching]

Henry: "Are you a bounty hunter?"

Bounty Hunter: "A man has got to earn a livin'"

Henry: "Dyin' ain't much of a living boy."

A pair of Eastern Rosellas spotted over the road from our place this time last week. They make a fine sight on a clear, brisk morning. My guesstimate would be that there are twenty or so pairs living within four hundred square metres of our house, so they can often be found.

Things that are annoying me this morning:

1. the same old morons;
2. the burn I picked up on my right hand last night;
3. anti-vaccination idiots;
4. stubborn, hard to remove stains;
5. play dough.

Here is an angry little bloke trying to get into the storage room at the Geilston Bay Community Centre. Now, yes I am a member of the Board, but I am unsure as to whether that grants access for all of my family to the treasure trove within.

A stickler for process, I've had to yellow card Ez for his transgression, and put him on notice...

Yes, it is the barbed wire that can be found on the fire escape at my work site again! Yes, there is barbed wire on the fire escape, such is the genius of our dominant classes here in Tasmania. Featured here is one of the very many cruel means that concentrated power utilise to stifle the revolutionary intent of proletariat. Of course, I have either

a) had a small victory in securing the shift to a four day working week; or

b) been duped into a further - and unknowing - web of Repressive Tolerance.

Either way, I now have Fridays off!

To escape the drudgery of a further neo-Marxist critique of Australian non-government service delivery, I have turned to noted scholar (his book on Marx and human nature is well worth the effort), and proficient blogger Norm Geras, and his meme of En-title-meant.

The concept is a simple one: answer the questions using only the titles of books you've read this year and without repeating one.

Describe yourself: If This is a Man, Primo Levi

How do you feel? [like a] Penguin Lost, Andrey Kurkov

Describe where you currently live: Another World, Pat Barker

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? A Small Town in Germany, John Le Carré

Your favourite form of transportation? Night, Elie Wiesel [sleep being the only trip I take these days]

Your best friend is: The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, John Le Carré

You and your friends are: [similar to] The Spies of Warsaw, Alan Furst

What's the weather like? [like] When the Wind Blows, Raymond Briggs

You fear: Ignorance, Milan Kundera

What is the best advice you have to give? No One Belongs Here More Than You, Miranda July

Thought for the day: Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe

How would you like to die? Towards the End of the Morning, Michael Frayn

Your soul's present condition? The Truce, Primo Levi

Thankfully I've kept a list of everything of read since Henry was born. I knew that this here blog would come in handy one day!

It's the reappearance of Hairy Henry! This should cause rejoicing in the streets of the greater Delhi area. It will be like Gandhi Jayanti all over again!

It’s Theme Thursday folks, and have we got a fantastic theme set up for your pleasure today!

Did it convince you?

I tried, really, I tried.

What in blazes can I talk about today?

I’ve got a photo of a chimney in Battery Point. It could be brickworks, or a crematorium, or just an over-enthusiastic homeowner with cold toes. Truth is, I don’t know.

It does make for a nice picture. But then again, I would say that.

The theme today is BEGINNING.

And this is the

END

"Blood oranges, you say...?"

Hmmmm...

One of my very few shots that contain people (not spawned by me). Here we are on a chilly winter's afternoon waiting at the lights on Davey Street. Hats are indeed in order, and even dear little Ampelmännchen is starting to feel the chill!

Alas, winter is departing! This morning, I awaited the bus amid glorious spring sunshine. Sure, there was snow on the mountain and it was four degrees when I arrived in town, but blue sky and a heartening sun can do a lot to cheer a man up.

No it isn't CSI Henry. He's not looking for DNA traces on a bloodied hammer or anything of the sort.

No, we are talking fossils. Deltopecten limaeformis, Trigonotreta stokesi, Paraconularia derwentensis, the gang is all here.

Henry (and Ezra) have spent a lot of winter in the museum, you see. Warm, dry and full of stuffed things, it's not a bad spot to let them roam. If only we could convince Ezra to stop tackling the stuffed wombat...

Here is the corner of Kirksway Place here in Battery Point, better known as the HQ of such luminaries as the Tasmanian office of the Commonwealth Department of Health and Ageing; the Department of Family and Community Services; Girl Guides Tasmania; the Hobart Embroiderers' Guild Inc; and the Southern Tasmanian Spiderman Sexual Addiction Support Service. I've made one of those organisations up, but I'm not saying which one.