Don't hit at all if it is honourably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft.

Sometimes the road less taken is less taken for a reason! Hastings Caves State Reserve, the Huon Valley. May 2012.

Sunday Top Five and even though the sun is out and the day is pleasant, I continue to struggle through with this flu. That said, I have managed to do three loads of washing, hang it out and make a litre of dark chocolate mousse, so life could be worse.

I hear that the Olympics are on. I hate the Olympics. Well, maybe that's unfair. I find them boring. Even that's a stretch. So today's Top ~~Five~~ Eight: My Memories Of Olympics Held During My Lifetime!

I can't recall a single thing about Beijing (Ezra was born around the time of the Opening Ceremony). Sorry China.

I know that it was in Athens the time before, but other than some odd shenanigans involving two Greeks on a motorbike, I didn't see anything else.

Sydney was rammed down out throats here in Australia, but for me the memorable aspect was the Roy and HG show, and that consisted of taking the piss.

Atlanta was in my first year of Uni, so I was too busy for it. I do recall that poor fat bloke that they said blew those people up (even though he didn't). People didn't seem to like it. Too much Coca Cola or some such.

Which leads to Barcelona, the only Olympics I recall spending any time watching. I had the video set up to to capture the things that I wanted to see. Alas, the former Soviet republics couldn't beat the Americans in the basketball so the whole things was a bit of a bummer. I did like that bit with the flaming arrow though.

Before that was Seoul, when I seemed to be at school during any events worth watching. I only really recall the 100 metres men's final and Michael Gross losing the 200-metre freestyle. I was relieved to see (most of) the Soviet bloc back, because I always barracked for them against the imperialist Yankee scourge. Yeah, I've always backed winners. Other than that, Spike Cheney seemed to have been dudded in the boxing, but really, "boxer dudded by the judges" could be from anywhere, anytime...

Los Angeles? No Soviets or East Germans left it as a cakewalk for the US, and they seemed to react in the manner that has made them so popular in the eyes of much of the world. It probably set the tone for my relationship with the concept of 'America' (as distinct from 'Americans'). There really is only so many times that you can take "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! before you get the urge to protest against the invasion of Granada. Sorry America, you didn't distinguish yourself here...

Which leaves... Moscow! Despite my tender years, I do vaguely recall four bald Australian men winning the 4×100 men's medley relay in the pool. Then again, that memory might be a reconstruction from repetition since!

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 ...

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. ...

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...

This will hurt me...

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