Make yourself an honest man, and then you may be sure there is one less rascal in the world.

MERRY CHRISTMAS (flower). Royal Botanical Gardens. October 2011.

While I am busy keeping a lid on proceedings in the real world, I will let the robot take care of business on the blog front. Today, the robot gets the great privilege of drafting A Very Special Sunday Top Five. Well, robot...?

Today I present to you The Very Top Five Things That I Like To Do On December 25 That Does Not Involve The [Alleged] Birth Of A Baby Of [Alleged] Uncertain Parentage Or A Fat Bloke In A Red Jump Suit!

Eating chocolate mousse!

Visiting the beach!

Having My Feet Rubbed!

Vacuuming!

Quietly rocking in a dark corner gently hitting my forehead onto the ground!

If I can be bothered, I'll post some pictures of children with presents 'n stuff later on...

Comments

Roddy said…

Well, it is 6.22pm here. 7.22 your time. Christmas thankfully is over for one more year.
Did my grandchildren,your infants have an exceedingly good day?
I and your mother are yet to confront them with our Christmas.
Sometime if February.
Anyway, all the best for the festive season.
You know the deal. Lots of kisses for the kids.

25 December 2011 at 19:27

Kris McCracken said…

I hate Christmas.

6 January 2012 at 14:34

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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