Patriotism, when it wants to make itself felt in the domain of learning, is a dirty fellow who should be thrown out of doors.

It's a waiting game: Jen and Henry, Tullamarine Airport, Melbourne. April 2011.

There really is a limited amount of opportunities to take photographs in an airport, especially when you are on toddler-guarding duties. Henry can be entrusted with the trusty Sony PSP (and cross your fingers that the battery holds out), but Ez is like that 1980s pop combo Wa Wa Nee; he needs stimulation.

It's a waiting game: pilot fiddling, Tullamarine Airport, Melbourne. April 2011.

We tried to arrange for a little jaunt up in a 737, but there were just too many forms to fill out (and people to bribe), so we stuck to a knock off Dorcas the Explorer [no relation] merry go round instead.

It's a waiting game: planes await, Tullamarine Airport, Melbourne. April 2011.

Oh we can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible...

Comments

Roddy said…

The fun part of being alone at the airport is that you only have yourself to entertain you. There is only so much coffee you can drink, and I don't drink alcohol. I also don't take pictures of planes.

9 June 2011 at 20:38

Thomas Hammerlund said…

I like the silhouette.

9 June 2011 at 20:52

ratatouille's archives said…

Hi! Kris...
I agree looking-back at some incident[s] always are funnier than when the incident[s] were occurring.
Thanks, for sharing the photographs and quote too!
deedee ;-D

10 June 2011 at 08:11

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, it's boring.

Sixmats, they came up well.

DeeDee, it was horrible.

10 June 2011 at 16:58

Roddy said…

Yeah, tell me about it.

10 June 2011 at 20:10

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

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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