See how many are better off than you are, but consider how many are worse.

So you go through here... Fossil Cove. February 2013.

To celebrate today's Sunday Top Five I thought that I'd offer up My Top Five Sentences Found At The Beginning Of The Third Paragraph Of Page 73 In Books That I Can Reach From My Bed!

"On 7 March, Hitler signed the directive."

"Use an immersion blender to purée the soup in the pot, but only partially; leave some of the mushroom chunks intact."

"The boy squatted in the mouth of the cave watching the sun disappear behind the mountains and deep shadows gliding across the valley floor."

"That's a horse," I protested; "not a locomotive."

"His caresses were so delicate that they were almost like a teasing, an evanescent challenge which she feared to respond to as it might vanish."

I shall leave it to you, dear reader, to figure out which selection belongs to one of A Spy In The House Of Love, The Second World War, Bring The Jubilee, I Am The Clay or From A Polish Country House Kitchen...

...and you end up here. Fossil Cove. February 2013.

Comments

Roddy said…

I thought for a moment that you may have let the kids loose with a spade or two. Not a bad hole.

17 March 2013 at 18:56

Kris McCracken said…

They ate their way through.

21 March 2013 at 19:55

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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