History is mostly guessing; the rest is prejudice.

Hinsby Beach, looking to the south-east. Taroona, May 2010.

If I could, I would locate any workspace I would be required to be at each day right on a beach. I am not too fussed which beach, just some beach somewhere, preferably protected from the elements by a well-placed bluff. That and a view off into a vast expanse of ocean with all the glories that sea and sky can conjure up through the day.

A small, but well ventilated, glass box set upon a windswept coastline would be a vast improvement on a cubicle, strip fluorescent lighting and the now closed venation blinds that constitutes my vista these days.

That’s my dream. What’s yours?

Comments

smudgeon said…

I think it might be hard to top your beach-office combination. Perhaps a beach without excess quantities of seaweed?

27 July 2010 at 09:04

Julie said…

I have just got myself a grand-daughter so I dream of reality.

27 July 2010 at 10:10

Magpie said…

My dreams depend on the day.
Yours sounds lovely....I'm afraid I wouldn't get a lot of work done, though in your glass box by the sea.

27 July 2010 at 12:31

Roddy said…

I believe that I have the best of most worlds as my office/work site embraces the ocean each and every day. It can become mundane though. The one advantage is that it is ever changing. Also having the ocean as a vista from the balcony when at home.

27 July 2010 at 16:50

Kris McCracken said…

Less LOUD women too...

4 August 2010 at 17:47

Mad as hell

So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

This will hurt me...

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