No man lives without jostling and being jostled; in all ways he has to elbow himself through the world, giving and receiving offence.

Hello cocky. East Derwent Highway, the Lindisfarne/ Geilston Bay Border. September 2011.

The rural and remote health workforce innovation and reform strategy, that’s what I’ve got on today.

I was in two minds as to whether to wear the suit or an akubra (with semi-permanent squint and a gratuitous piece of grass wedged between gritted teeth. As there will be doctors involved, best to go with the suit. I couldn’t pull off an akubra anyway...

Then I remembered that most of Tasmania is considered 'remote' and relaxed a little.

Comments

Roddy said…

Did you convince the cocky to move North to Burnie on the premise that I can give it a good home.
My doors are always open for the likes of our feathered friends.

26 September 2011 at 21:12

Kris McCracken said…

I've spoken to it. Expect him in three to six days.

1 October 2011 at 08:06

Roddy said…

How will I know it is him?
Oh, and by the way. I'm not home.
Sunny Queensland again.

1 October 2011 at 12:55

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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