Skip to main content

When a government spends, its citizens eventually pay, either today or tomorrow...


The Blacksmith Shop. Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery, Inveresk. February 2012.

Here, amidst the array of forges, hammers, furnaces and the earthen floor, it becomes possible to comprehend the raw energy and forces of the Industrial Revolution. A walkway guides you through this unique experience with the voices of workers and sounds of machinery. Combine this with the WhistleStop Tour where you'll see a blacksmith at work with furnace fired and machinery powering and this unique experience becomes one of sight, sound and smell.

The Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (as well as dancing hamsters.) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning...

  • Mapping global stereotypes...

  • Are we surprised that Welthauptstadt Germania ['World Capital Germania'] - Hitler's wildly ambitious plan for a postwar rebuilding of Berlin - did not bother to factor in 'people'?

  • A visual trip through British homes from the BBC...

  • Why pardoning Alan Turing might not be a good idea...

  • How did we manage to forget about mutually assured destruction?
  • Comments

    Roddy said…
    Oh for a workshop this size.
    Kris McCracken said…
    It was pretty messy.

    Popular posts from this blog

    Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

    Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

    Mad as hell

    So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...

    Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

    This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...