Learn as much by writing as by reading.

A flock of Eastern Rosella (Platycercus eximius) grazing away at Geilston Bay High School, April 2010.

At the moment there are a good eighty-odd Platycercus eximius currently calling the grounds of Geilston Bay High School home. A fiery parrot, these buggers don't take "no" for an answer.

Indeed, just the other day, Henry, Ezra and I could be seen fighting tooth and nail with a gang of the crimson hooded toughs. It got so willing, that the crimson masks were so widespread that you could differentiate between man and beast!

Comments

Roddy said…

Who's train of thought do you subscribe to? The rosella is indigenous to Tasmania or the theory that they have only recently arrived?
One thing that I do know and that is that they are now in vast numbers.

28 April 2010 at 12:32

Vince said…

fabulous heading for this post Krispy. I love all those little brightly-coloured rosellas & parrots and similar critters - there are some really lovely parrot-sized birds on Bruny Island I noticed when we were last over there at Dennes Pt.

28 April 2010 at 19:55

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, the rosellas were here first.

Vince! You're alive!

30 April 2010 at 19:14

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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