You may not be interested in strategy, but strategy is interested in you.

Looking over Bass Strait. Table Cape, North West Tasmania. February 2012.

This Watery Wednesday features a snap taken during our very recent jaunt up to my old stomping grounds up in the North West of our fair State.

The great thing about the North West is that, whatever town you're in, there is a fair chance that should you turn and face north, you'll catch a glimpse of Bass Strait, the sea strait that separates Tasmania from the Australian mainland. Probably because of its limited depth, Bass Strait is notoriously rough, with many ships lost there during the 19th century. Because of that, you'll spot an awful lot of lighthouses dotting the coast.

This photo - taken after a particularly rough Sunday night - was taken right next to the Table Cape Lighthouse. Table Cape itself is a rather spectacular flat-topped promontory - geologically speaking it is a large volcanic plug - with a sheer drop to the sea.

Right in front of me here there is a very steep embankment that falls sharply about 170 metres (550 foot for those stuck pre-1789) decline.

It makes for a decent photo...

Sharks patrol these waters. Bass Strait as seen from Table Cape, North West Tasmania. February 2012.

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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