Great indebtedness does not make men grateful, but vengeful; and if a little charity is not forgotten, it turns into a gnawing worm.

Somebody isn't paying attention. Expensive apartment block, Wapping. Hobart, October 2010.

I cannot speak for you, but my whole family and I find that time spent browsing the brochures one of life’s joys. Oh what joy can be had in casting witty and urbane bon mots about things that we will never want or need!

The casual ease with which the mountains of catalogues can be SNIP SNIP SNIPPED! away in dedicated training sessions with the scissors. Indeed, as a very small fellow (still in the rolling phase), Henry used to EAT the junk mail. If I remember it correct, the Harvey Norman furniture (vintage ’07) was his favourite.

Whatever the case, the complex above may well not accept junk mail, but it’s certainly getting it.

Comments

Roddy said…

How could business survive without the abundance of junk mail generated. We must all accept junk mail for what it is. Educational literature.

3 November 2010 at 22:17

Sue said…

I love junk mail. Especially on toast.

4 November 2010 at 20:09

Kris McCracken said…

I enjoy browsing. To tight to buy anything, of course...

5 November 2010 at 11:31

Roddy said…

You at least know what is out there without having to leave the house. And if you do decide to buy then there is always the internet. Just order on line.

5 November 2010 at 13:05

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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