Charm is a way of getting the answer yes without asking a clear question.

Here is one from a while ago now. For some reason the photo that I had uploaded had deteriorated in quality from its pre-uploaded form. It’s a shame, because I had a very nice photo of Ezra preparing to repulse the Tsarist hordes of Aleksandr II Nikolaevich (it’s all very well to emancipate the serfs, but he is not going to get his grubby, imperialist hands on our Casino!)

Anyway, that photo is just not going to happen tonight, so you’ll just have to use your mind’s eye to envisage it yourselves. Think ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ with children operating heavy guns and you’re there.

In the absence of that image, I delve deep into the well of unused photographs to find one from last year of a more youthful, gentler Ezra re-enacting one of our favourite discussion points: the Second Battle of the Masurian Lakes. Here, Ezra takes the role of Lieutenant-General Pavel Ilich Bulgakov as he bunkers down in the long jump sandpit – standing in for the Augustów Primeval Forest in modern-day Belarus – with the Russian 20th Army Corps as a snowstorm prepares to move in.

What you can’t see is Henry, creeping around the High School gym area in the role of General Fritz Wilhelm Theodor Karl von Below, leading the German Eighth Army into a surprise attack to crush the Russian 10th Army’s Southern Wing.

Suffice to say, a good time was had by all!

Comments

Kris McCracken said…

Henry won.

But then he lost.

15 June 2012 at 18:20

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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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