Only the wisest and stupidest of men never change.

Mysterious birds lurking in the grass of St John’s Park. New Town, July 2010.

I think that these fellows are finches, but I cannot be sure. If there are any keen-eyed twitchers out there who can identify these buggers and set me straight as to whether they taste nice when battered and deep fried, I’d be most appreciative.

That said, I have yet to find a substance that does not taste better battered and deep fried. Indeed, it is the key reason that I do not own a deep fryer.

Comments

Magpie said…

I agree...battered and fried. Mmmmm good...and why I also don't own a deep fryer. :)

6 August 2010 at 12:05

smudgeon said…

European Goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis). Introduced. Crunchy.

6 August 2010 at 12:54

Roddy said…

They look to me like Gaudion Finches.
As for deep fried, I don't know2 that they would have enough meat on their bones.
Still, I have known some to eat Sparrow.r

6 August 2010 at 18:13

Tom said…

they do look a lot like finches. or sparrows, which we have in the states...thick as flies. everything tastes good deep fried, even a nice crunchy beak

7 August 2010 at 06:25

Misfit in Paradise said…

There is a saying that in the south (US) even water is deep fried.

9 August 2010 at 02:15

Kris McCracken said…

Magpie, deep fryers are dangerous!

Me, that explains why none of my Australian Birds books had it there! I will snare a few for Sunday roast.

Roddy, gaudy finches? Hoiw rude!

Tom, I save the beaks for Ez.

Misfit in Paradise, deep fried water? Sounds interesting...

12 August 2010 at 08:54

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...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

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. ...

This will hurt me...

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