This will hurt me...

Ezra, wait your turn!

Honestly, it’s like walking around with the Beatles, screaming girls squealing, screaming and throwing themselves at Henry and Ezra left, right and centre…

Learning to surf. Clifton Beach, December 2010.

We’ve had a bit of a slow reading period over Christmas and the New Year (if you don’t count kids’ books). Actually, I enjoyed the kids’ books somewhat more than one of the novels I just finished.

For the record, the new Charlie and Lola book Henry and Ezra got for Christmas – Slightly Invisible – is a tour de force. It is an absolutely new and completely original book from the mind of Lauren Child. Without wanting to give too much away, Charlie and his gravelly-voiced East Ender chum Marv are in search of strange and tricky creatures. Of course, they would prefer to do this without little sister Lola bothering and interrupting. Luckily, Lola knows exactly how to catch strange and tricky creatures and enlists a little bit of help from her (slightly) invisible friend, Soren Lorensen, and the pulsating narrative goes from here….

Equal parts Dostoyevsky and Evelyn Waugh, the forever delightful Charlie and Lola explore the blurred boundaries that exist between siblings. Highly recommended!

Second is Luck, by Gert Hofmann. This one came with good reviews, but I must say that it really just didn't do it for me. A child's-eye view of a family in decline is usually meaty subject matter with potential, but when your major characters fail to engender any kind of sympathy, and while the young narrator could (should?) be the source of this sympathy, in this book he seemed merely a cipher to the other (frustrating and annoying) people in his life. Maybe it might work for you, but I can’t recommend it in any good conscience.

However, much was redeemed by a cracking little book by another German, Uwe Timm. The book is The Invention of Curried Sausage, and it’s a beautiful mediation on women, men, circumstances, knitting and curried sausage.

It’s a lovely capture of a specific time and place, and reflection on what are really universal human relations. As the title indicates, at its heart is the search for the inventor of the Currywurst, a popular German fast-food consisting of hot pork sausage (cut into slices and seasoned with curry sauce (regularly consisting of tomato paste blended with curry) and generous amounts of curry powder,

As interesting as the mystery behind the sausage is though, for a short novel the arch is grand in scope: subtle resistance in a totalitarian state, post-war economics, gender relations in wartime, age and beauty, trust and desire, personal moments stolen during times of profound change.

It’s well worth the effort, and I couldn’t recommend it more highly. It won’t take too long to get through either.

First rule of the beach on windy days: when heading upwind, keep one’s mouth closed.

More bloody boats. Racing off Tranmere, as seen from Sandy Bay. December 2010.

Every summer in Hobart means boats, more boats, and MORE bloody boats. Honestly, we have boats coming out of our ears. There are too many boats and not enough sharks. I have long been an advocate of a Bill of Rights for Great White Sharks, including enshrining the right of one (1) boat – plus crew – per shark, per month.

This way, we could keep a check on this rapidly growing boat population, and improve the quality of life of our besieged Great White communities. Honestly, the way that people carry on when one has a simple nibble out of a surfboard, you can imagine what would happen if one did the full Quint to one of these airy fairy, lardy dardy, goody goody, namby pamby, hoity toity, wishy washy, not in my backyard, chardonnay-sipping, doing nothin' do gooders.

They would be calling the WAAAAAAH-mbulence quick smart and we would then have a violent and conceited revenge fantasy on our hands.

It is enough to make you sick.

We’ve been planning our trip to Mars for quite some time now, but have found getting time in the simulators quite difficult.

Thus, we’ve had to make do with playground equipment until I get this centrifugal whizzy whirl – it’s technical name – built.

The chips are slow, but the seagulls are patient. Salamanca Square, Hobart. December 2010.

Sometimes it is best to wait and see before committing yourself. These seagulls understand this all too well. Not wanting to reveal their hand wing too early, they are content to hang back and await a change in circumstances.

Have you ever seen a seagull half squashed on a road? They are the ones that rushed in before being in full receipt of the facts…

These are Chroicocephalus novaehollandiae, more commonly known as the Silver Gull or the ubiquitous “seagull” here in Tasmania. These fellows should be eating worms, fish, insects and crustaceans, but I suspect this gang favours hot chips, meat pies, Hawaiian pizzas and the odd chocolate torte.

Just to keep the spirits up of all you good folk trapped in the bleak, snow-filled north, I thought that I'd post a picture of young Ezra enjoying a dip at our favourite swimming beach, down at Opossum Bay.

The water had a bit of nip to it (as did the hordes of Great Whites), but we managed.

Are you doing much swimming in your part of the world?

The Tessellated Pavement. Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011.

Back at work again for the year, but I don’t want to talk about that. Yesterday we all went on a little road trip down to the in the general direction of the Tasman Peninsula. We didn’t venture too far into the Peninsula, sticking around the isthmus that connects it to mainland Tasmania,
Eaglehawk Neck.

Some nice water above the Tessellated Pavement, Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011.

The isthmus itself is about 400 metres long and 30 metres wide at its narrowest point, and is the natural gateway to the peninsula. The British in the 1830s employed a line of starved and beaten (and consequently very angry) dogs were chained to posts across the neck to warn of any convicts attempting to escape the convict prison at Port Arthur (located further south). The area was also heavily patrolled by soldiers, and the guards' quarters is still there as a handy little museum.

For any convict foolhardy enough to attempt the swim, sharks patrol these waters. I am sure that filled their hearts with some joy. It certainly kept Henry a safe distance from the surf.

Pirates Bay, Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011.

The area is a lovely spot, and features a beautiful and rugged terrain with a number of extraordinary geological formations. These include the Tessellated Pavement; an area of flat rock that looks to be a human construction (see the photos), but is in fact formed by erosion. Also nearby are Tasman's Arch, the Blowhole and the Devil's Kitchen, all striking natural formations that I’ll post pictures of in the next few days.

You know it’s a scenic spot when you upload your photos after getting back from a half-day trip and you’ve somehow managed to take 950 photographs!

Pirates Bay, as seen from the Tessellated Pavement! January 2011.

Hanky does his impression of Jesús down on Clifton Beach. Careful Henry, you know how he ended up...

An emergency hits Hobart docks! Sullivans Cove, December 2010.

Eaglehawk Neck, the tessellated pavement, Tasman's Arch and the Devil's Kitchen.

This is our agenda for today. Let's hope that we don't need an emergency rescue...

That said, if we do happen to go missing, I might get a few extra days off.

He is very, very cute.

This cannot be denied.

Tasman Bridge as seen from the Lindisfarne foreshore. December 2010.

So I hear that Michael Clarke is going to be Australian captain. That's a coincidence, because today's Sunday Top Five is Five Words That I Think Of When Someone Mentions Michael Clarke!

• Anencephalous


• Codswallop


• Flibbertigibbet


• Hobbledehoy


• Panjandrum

This is the inner sleeve of the break up album.

We won't mention the foreign avant-garde artiste...

Keep on the grass. Princes Park, Battery Point. December 2010.

The blandly-titled Princes Park features the impressive structure that lures children from all over Hobart. Unfortunately, it seems that Battery Point has some kind of dress code, as all the kids seem to be little fashion plates...

Grass, Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work---
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.