All difficult things have their origin in that which is easy, and great things in that which is small.

Once, twice, three times a lady. Sandy Bay Veterinary Clinic, Russell Street, Sandy Bay. August 2011.

So there was a man, and a woman. The man was quite fond of the woman. The woman tolerated the man. The man would buy the woman things. The woman accepted these gifts, but insisted that they were not at all necessary.

She quite liked the flowers, resented the chocolate fudge but her favourite presents of all were the jewellery pieces. Glimmering brooches, glittering ear-rings and nifty necklaces designed to showcase a dangling décolletage. Indeed, it was the man's persistence in the fripperies of fashion that eventually convinced her to grant him certain amatory privileges reserved for only the most generous suitors.

You can imagine her surprise when he knocked her back. It seems that he was only interested in her Wi-Fi connection. He was later spotted buying Lily of the Valley for a busty little librarian with a penchant for online gaming and watersports.

Comments

Roddy said…

I could take or leave the internet. I do believe though that I would miss your blog. No daily dose of my cherished family.

30 August 2011 at 16:02

Roddy said…

Yes, ever!!

2 September 2011 at 20:00

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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