The common people will let it go. Oh yes, they’ll sell liberty for a quieter life. That is why they must be led, sir, driven, pushed!

I am sure that there are some countries where such a photo can score you twenty years hard labour, so I will relish posting this photo of a younger Henry relaxing in the tub.

He entered the territory of lies without a passport for return.

Another day, another boat. Here we have an Royal Australian Navy patrol boat parked in front of the Silo apartments that I've featured a few times before.

I had my upper right molar removed yesterday. The extraction itself was fine, but by golly, trying to sleep with a mouth full of coagulating blood is a trick that I struggle with!

Merry Christmas indeed...

“Maturity,” Bokonon tells us, “is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists, unless laughter can be said to remedy anything.”

One of the luxuries of never having to drive is the advantage of having a nap without killing everybody.

Alles hat ein Ende, nur die Wurst hat zwei.

Things are getting rather hectic down upon Kingston Beach, with a re-enactment of the Battle of Jutland to celebrate the birth of Christ!

It's my day off today, but any joy is tempered by a dentist appointment with that dreaded word ringing in my ears:

extraction.

Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people.

Here is Henry from a while back rocking it Cyndi Lauper-style

Debt is the prolific mother of folly and of crime.

As this blog has demonstrated over the past 1,607 posts, Hobart is home to a lot of boats. What I have not stressed is the propensity for the owners of many – if not a majority – of those boats to pick a terrible pun as a name for their boats. Believe it or not, Concerto in Sea [pictured above] is indeed one of the wittier examples to be found in our many marinas and boatsheds around town.

Just as in naming a child, the pressure of picking a moniker that will be able to weather the tests of time, trends and mean-spirited individuals is immense. I would like to think that I’ve performed well thus far with the world-renowned Henry and Ezra [with the added pressure of the puntastic surname of McCracken], and thus would flourish if faced with the challenge of a virgin ketch trembling in anticipation at the prospect of a lick of paint and a dignified name.

That said, today I face a new kind of anxiety, Theme Thursday pressure! The Powers That Be have decided – in their infinite and munificent wisdom – to utilise a suggestion of mine as this weeks’ them. Moreover, what a theme it is!

Indeed, HISTORY, is mine!

The pressure of delivering upon one’s own them is colossal. Ever the squeaky wheel, I have pissed about and moaned constructively critiqued some past themes as discriminatory against us plebs located in the Southern Hemisphere. SNOW in summer! SAMHAINHALLOWEEN – a festival about the end of harvest – in Spring! SUMMER in WINTER! Yes people, I have been a robust advocate for the rights of Antipodeans for a long, long time.

Naturally, as a vocal critic of such inequity, the pressure is firmly upon me to deliver. I expect that there are many cruel fuckwits out there willing to suggest that I myself am HISTORY. Of course, they are right. I am indeed HISTORY. They are HISTORY. Believe it or not people, you are HISTORY too!

Many idiots people fall into the trap of assuming that HISTORY is past, HISTORY is dead or that HISTORY is anything but present. They are mistaken. HISTORY can never be dead. Like the parrot in the sketch, it might be sleeping, but only the fool confuses the two. HISTORY lives, HISTORY breathes and HISTORY both drives, and moves with, the currents that create, inform, deny, change or influence HISTORY itself.

The misconception is rooted in the notion that HISTORY is about them. It is about great men and weighty matters and significant events.

BAH! I say.

BAH! and PFFTT!

HISTORY is about us. HISTORY is about you and me and Vikrim the wholesale fruit salesman in Visakhapatnam; Jelena from Jelgava who works as a chemist in the day, but plays cards at night; or Abdul of Accra who enjoys street soccer but wants to be a teacher. HISTORY is in the details. Wars, treaties, empires raised and empires fallen is nothing more than the collated detritus of everyday life.

We are everyday life, therefore my dear readers, we are indeed HISTORY...

One ought to go too far, in order to know how far one can go.

Nothing pleases the little bloke more that a job well done. Whether it's climbing a mountain or seducing a supermodel, you can be assured of a big smile at the end of proceedings!

You know, that might be the answer - to act boastfully about something we ought to be ashamed of. That's a trick that never seems to fail.

The Grand Old Dame makes another appearance in yet another hurried post as I hurtle towards Christmas with nary a concern for my health and sanity!

I'm going to miss her when she's gone.

It will be as depressing as the time I realised that the Keanu Reeves' character in The Matrix has the poncey name of Neo, rather than the subtle genius of Neil as the Christ figure of the pretend world.

I could get behind a saviour called Neil.

Let's make things nice and sparkling clear. This sarcasm - if I may call it such, is very unbecoming of you oh my brothers.

Quick tip for new players:

NEVER turn your back on Henry during a game of chess.

Your horsey will be outta there before you even know it!

The key thing to remember with you Hank is, no matter how well you know the rules of the game, he always has a little lagniappe for you...

The past is utterly indifferent to its worshippers.

More water!

Above is the river Derwent at its most moody.

Apologies for the late post. Meeting after meeting after meeting.

You know how much I like meetings...

He had read somewhere that love had been invented in the eleventh century by the troubadours. Why had they not left us with lust?

A pensive Ez considers man's inhumanity to man down on Howrah Beach.

The past and future are veiled; but the past wears the widow's veil; the future, the virgin's.

It's Monday, and I have taken the day off. That can only mean one thing: the Messiah is coming! I even have a sign on top of a van to prove it.

That said, not even the Messiah can prevent the tardy motorist getting a parking ticket down here in Salamanca. Word on the street has it that Joseph and Mary's donkey - Nigel, I do believe was his name - was ticketed as they browsed through the ridiculous tat innovative arts and craft that you can find in the tourist district.

It's not the despair, Laura, I can stand the despair. It's the hope.

And tonight, before a live studio audience, it's the

JEN AND HEN SHOW.....!

Well begun is half done.

The fine features of the Hyro building in Hobart.

Sunday Top Five Eleven!

Today's list is in celebration of Tasmania's epic run chase to defeat Western Australia on Friday, which saw rookie wicketkeeper Brady Jones snare two fours off the last two balls of a four day game, with no wickets to spare. It is only fitting then that today I offer up my Top Five Eleven Favourite Tasmanian Tigers!

I've tried to keep a balanced squad, but top be honest, my distaste for the two most famous Tasmanian cricketers - Ricky Ponting and David Boon - has seen me pass them over at the selection table. Similarly, two imports - Michael Beven and Shane Watson - have also been overlooked because, well, I've never liked 'em. Thus, the side is not the strongest batting lineup ever seen. That said, if we have a green top and a bit of cloud in the sky, I'd wager that my pace attack would keep any scores very low.

McCracken's Tasmanian Tigers All-Time Squad

Jamie Cox: Wynyard's finest, Cox should have played for Australia, but as always, selectors couldn't or wouldn't look beyond Queensland or NSW.

Dene Hills: Wynyard's second finest, Hills was spoken of as a relacement for Geoff Marsh way back when. Never got the nod, unfortunately.

Scott Mason: a real trier and great team man. Died far too young.

Dirk Wellham (C): most fondly remembered down in the Apple Isle for the time that he hit that annoying intellectually disabled Carlton fan (is their any other kind?) "Barb" in the face with his bat, Dirk was a real bastard. Just what a captain needs to be!

Danny Buckingham: as wide as he was tall, the Burnie boy had a feast for runs only matched for his love of meat pies.

Sean Clingeleffer: I'm saddened that Clinger is now a past Tiger, but heartened that it was his performance in the victorious Shield final that really saw us home!

Richard Hadlee: the first of our one year international ringers, Hadlee strengthens the batting lineup, and also chips in as one of the greatest bowlers to ever play the game...

Dennis Lillee: speaking of which... Lillee played a season down here as part of his surprise comeback to the game. He was picked as the only bowler in Wisdon's five greatest cricketers in the twentieth century.

Michael Holding: Whispering Death was Holding's nickname. Ask Geoff Boycott whether he could bowl.

Colin Miller: I've picked funky Miller more for his first rate off spin, rather than his handy seamers of lusty lower order hitting. He brings a bit of balance to the attack, and the presence of four other quicks means that he can concentrate on the offies. Note, he will be wearing the green hair for this game.

Ben Hilfenhaus: Another product of Tasmanian's north west coast (the source of our finest men), the Hilfenstud is Tassie's most recent (and sixth, in total) test cricketer. He'll work well in tandem with Hadlee and can be the workhorse of the crew.

[At twelth Man: Brett Geeves: Banger Geeves is my favourite non-Hilfenstud Tiger. Very handy with the bat, and a legitimate chance at a test cap. Watch this space.]

My apologies to Bruce Cruse, Mick Farrell, Alistair DeWinter and a host of other hopeless cases from the barren years of bottom placings on the Shield laddder...