The less men think, the more they talk.

Late afternoon swim. Little Howrah Beach. January 2014.

I think that I owe you a Q and A. How about the Summertime meme?

1.) What first tells you that Summer is here?

The girls are showing a lot more of their thighs.

2.) Name your five of your favourite distinctively Summer habits or customs.

Swimming, snorkelling, evening runs, early-morning walks and fruit platters.

3.) What is your favourite smell of Summer?

The beach.

4.) What is your favourite taste of Summer?

Icy poles.

5.) Favourite Summer memory?

Swimming during intense electoral storms.

6.) Extreme heat or extreme cold? Which would you choose and why?

Hot hot hot!

7.) What books do you plan to read for the season?

Good books!

8.) What is your favourite part of summer?

Anything involving the water.

9.) What's your favourite quintessentially summer food? Least favourite?

Fresh berries are my favourite. I don’t usually eat what I don’t like.

10.) Best beverage to beat the summer heat:

Water.

11.) Least favourite/most annoying thing related to summer?

Sand on my towel is frustrating.

12.) Pick one: the lake /the beach.

Beach, baby beach baby give me your hand, give me somethin' that I can remember!

13.) Most amusing summer vacation trip you've ever taken?

Amusing? I don’t really think any fit. I’ll say Burnie in 2011.

14.) Most ridiculous/ cringe-inducing/ blush-provoking summer outfit you have seen? (Bonus points if you yourself were wearing it!)

There was a wig a bloke was wearing the other day…

15.) Your absolute dream summer afternoon would be

A stroll, a swim, an ice cream to follow up.

16.) If you could go anywhere on summer vacation where would you go?

Somewhere with warm water and lots of fish.

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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