He who stops being better stops being good.

Zipping about Fredrick Henry Bay. March 2010.

Sunday Top Five, you say?

How about Five Interesting Battles For The Armchair Military Historian!

The Brusilov Offensive: Two million casualties and losses? And no-one's heard of it. Madness! Literally. Lenin should thank Brusilov.

Battle of Suomussalmi: In the dead of Winter, eleven thousand Finns embarrass fifty thousand Soviet troops.

The Battle of Stalingrad: You might have heard of this. Hitler comes a cropper on the Volga.

Third Battle of Ypres: Latterly this has become known as Passchendaele, but at the time it was the final instalment of the Ypres series, and a good example of why mud is not a friend of soldiers. The before and after shots of the town tell some of the tale.

Battle of Hydaspes: C'mon, elephants! An army of ~~Greeks~~ Macedonians stick it to 'em up their the Khyber Pass! A big win for the ~~Greek~~ lad, but it was to be his last...

Comments

Magpie said…

Look at the color of that water!! Lovely.

6 June 2010 at 15:56

Kris McCracken said…

I did manage to spy a heap of quite large crabs while snorkelling that day. I didn't tell Henry though, I'd never have got him in the water if he knew.

7 June 2010 at 15:14

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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