This will hurt me...

Next stop, eating a hot dog !

Temperance & General Mutual Life Assurance Society building, the corner of Murray and Collins Streets, Hobart. June 2011. So loud . So very, very LOUD... [The bread has become moldy] , Charles Reznikoff The bread has become mouldy and the dates blown down by the wind; the iron has slipped from the helve. The wool was to by dyed red but the dyer dyed it black. The dead woman has forgotten her comb and tube of eye-paint; the dead cobbler has forgotten his knife, the dead butcher his chopper, and the dead carpenter his adze. A goat can be driven off with a shout. But where is the man to shout? The bricks pile up, the laths are trimmed, and the beams are ready. Where is the builder? To be buried in a linen shroud or in a matting of reeds— but where are the dead of the Flood and where the dead of Nebuchadnezzar?

Badda bing, badda boom! There once was snow, now there is not. Col tempo la foglia di gelso diventa seta . Forgetaboutit!

Well well well, it's the Aurora Australis! As seen from the Derwent, Hobart, May 2011. After last week's free-for-all, this week has seen the ratio drop considerably; with a combination of no bus trips, no lunch breaks and both children and PSP close to hand has seen me finish just one (and slowly make my way through another). The Beacon is an odd little novel that explores concepts like family, ambition, truth (all that jazz). Riffing off the question of what happens to those implicated by the rise of 'misery memoirs' ('grief porn'?). At the centre of the book is the strangely stilted May Prime, sister of Frank, who has written a bestseller called about his cruel childhood at a remote North Country farm through the 1950s. In it he accuses his late father of terrible cruelty and his family of collusion. Although Frank's memoir portrays himself as a victim, the actual novel [ The Beacon ] revolves around his siblings, who must live with what he has written. ...

On a cold day you can sneeze forever.

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 ...

Here they are all lined up over a treacherous waterway in the bustling metropolis of Melbourne. Note to future parents: start thinking up strategies to get children to walk past water features without sticking there hands in...

An old furnace. St Johns Park, New Town. June 2011. Here are SIX things I have reconsidered my opinion upon of late: U2's Zooropa . Keeping one's mouth shut. Guinea Pigs. Slash and burn (in relation to the public sector). Traveling with children. Wales.

Ezra does his best Jimmy Barnes circa '82 (specifically Forever Now )...

Flipper, is that you? Melbourne Zoo, Melbourne. April 2011. The seventh seal? Kiss from a rose? United States Navy SE a, A ir and L and team members?' Andre? Seals and Croft? Australian Fur Seal or Kelpie without legs? Melbourne Zoo, Melbourne. April 2011. Something or other...

Henry reclining in foreground with tea cosy on head. Hobart Cenotaph in background. Ezra midground.

Let it snow let it snow let it snow. The view (!) from above. Mount Wellington, Hobart. May 2011. So I get a week’s rest do I? With two small children and a gardening job that looks more like landscaping? I think we’ll have to find somewhere to go and photograph instead…

Pierce the soul, don’t they?

Just how many tigers are too many tigers? Melbourne Zoo, April 2011. I expect that three or four tigers probably constitutes too many tigers. Once you get beyond a couple, they start to bicker and argue, and the food they require to keep that healthy sheen and lustre to their coat becomes quite expensive. In fact, I’m just about ready to rule out those eight tigers I’ve been bidding for on E-Bay…. Sunday Top Five. Already? I’ve got it! Today’s top five is Five Words That I Commit To Using In Everyday Conversation In The Course Of The Next Week (And That You Should Too)! Anencephalous : “You see, the fundamental problem with that guy is that he is anencephalous. That’s the long and the short of it. Bloviate : “Her tendency to bloviate in times of crisis makes her completely unsuitable for leadership. Gobemouche : “His capacity to immediately identify and bring round every gobemouche in the room makes him a man worth knowing.” Ornery : “Yeah, I know him. He’s a particularly ornery fello...