This will hurt me...

A nutty subtexture...

A hint of chocolate...

A tinny residue...

Hmmmm.

Just to the north west of Seven Mile Beach, there is its somewhat lesser sibling Five Mile Beach. At certain times of the day, Five Mile Beach shows off all of the glories that can be found in a tidal flat. Not the least of which is a tendency to mirage.

Is that Garden Isle I see before thee?

Today's Sunday Top Five? In honour of the terrible twosome, I present to you my Top Five Synonyms For The Word "Disturbance"!

• Brouhaha



• Kerfuffle



• Flap



• Hullabaloo



• Ruckus

Just missing the cut were hubbub, perturbation, tumult and good ol' maelstrom!

I feel all discombobulated now...

I'm wondering, if I have access the that blue wall (generally where we camp out on Opossum Bay beach), what chance I could edit in some blue screen special effects?

If so, what should I have chasing the little mite?

Tigers?

Crocodiles?

Bolsheviks?

Feminists?

I always show plenty of caution when crossing here each morning. Especially when I'm crouching down taking photographs.

I've opted for a Robert Lowell this morning, to cheer you all up!

To Speak of Woe That Is in Marriage, by Robert Lowell

"It is the future generation that presses into being by means of
these exuberant feelings and supersensible soap bubbles of ours."
- Schopenhauer

"The hot night makes us keep our bedroom windows open.
Our magnolia blossoms. Life begins to happen.
My hopped up husband drops his home disputes,
and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes,
free-lancing out along the razor's edge.
This screwball might kill his wife, then take the pledge.
Oh the monotonous meanness of his lust. . .
It's the injustice . . . he is so unjust—
whiskey-blind, swaggering home at five.
My only thought is how to keep alive.
What makes him tick? Each night now I tie
ten dollars and his car key to my thigh. . . .
Gored by the climacteric of his want,
he stalls above me like an elephant."

Things are indeed...

LOOKING UP.

I could be wrong, but I think that this tree is connected to the Internet. I hope that it's live blogging on the Tasmanian election from the distinct perspective of a Braddon-based Araucaria heterophylla, but fear that it's more likely to be trolling the Guardian Unlimited sports pages or fishing about for some cheeky upskirts of a barely-legal Athrotaxis selaginoides.


[Or they could be lights...]

Next up?

Inside the nostrils!

Two for the price of one today, and we're again looking at tourists. Of course, today being today, I'm also scrambling to link up Theme Thursday. Tenuous or not, in the Tasmania of 2010, tourists mean GREEN.

Now I'm not talking GREEN in the sense of tree huggin', airy fairy, lardy dardy, goody goody, namby pamby, hoity toity, wishy washy, not in my backyard, doing nothin' do gooders! No, we're talking GREEEEN, as in bread, and by bread I mean dough.

Tourists equal GREEN, bread, dough, cash, dosh, bucks and all that entails.

In Australia, our bank notes come in all sizes, colours and weight. These ships, and these tourists, mean GREEN. The green note, as I'm sure that you all know, are hundreds. Fives are purple, tens blue, twenties orange, fifties bronze and the gold ol' hundreds GREEN. How very apt.

Thus, I find myself in the aisle of the fruit market, armed with little more than two Gravenstein apples and the ninety cents needed to purchase them. In front is a copper lamé-track-suited retiree from Kokomo Indiana holding three GREEN bills wanting to buy two dollar fifties worth of cheese.

Tourists!

He looks very young here! This one was taken way back in January as we rode the rails up at Don River.

Check out the grin.

Oh, the humble Columbidae!

Pigeons and doves people. Pigeons and doves.

Here is a feral Rock Pigeon photographed right outside my office here in Salamanca. You may have seen one yourself. Some people don't like pigeons. Some people don't like pigeons very much at all.

I am not fussed either way. They're okay in a pie, but not the feral ones.

I'm experimenting a little with the post production here. I'm giving Hank here a bit of a silver/bronze tint that I think for some reason sharpens up the image somewhat. What do you reckon?



These were taken at Seven Mile Beach, one of our regulars.

Stretchy?

Tick!

Flared bottoms?

Tick!

Terry towelling?

Tick!

Polyester blend?

Tick!

Extra snug around the groinal area?

DOUBLE TICK?

As a man who likes to make things happen, and as the father of two young bucks who like to make things happen; I've ordered three of these stretch terry jumpsuits (with hoods) in fawn, purple and tawny purple mellow yellow.

Photos to come.

Little blokes in little boats, leaving bigger boats, while surrounded by other boats. It’s the story of my life!

These boats are in Bellerive.

Pretty boats.

All the pretty boats.

The little bloke simply demands that his mother let him in the holiday barn house right away.

It is a good thing that he's so handsome.

No, this isn't the scene from the Tasmanian Tigers CRUSHING victory in the Ford Ranger Cup Domestic One Day Competition. It's the madness of OHA Ships versus someone else down in Geilston Bay...