This will hurt me...

I'd happily walk the plank for you.

We might not be able to make a cricketer out of him, but by golly he will be a fine wood-cutter!

A spot of weather coming off the mountain. Lindisfarne Bay. September 2012. Wordless Wednesday.

Art? Lindisfarne Bay, Lindisfarne. September 2012. A Room with a View by E. M. Forster: Repressed Edwardian culture. Sharp sketch of the stupidity of the upper classes and the effects of shifting mores. Good stuff. B+

Who is that man?

Cracks in the road. Wellington Road, Lindisfarne. April 2012. This poem by James Wright really is one of my all-time favourites. I've waxed lyrical about this poem to quite a few people over the years, and more than a handful struggle to believe that the image of a frog destroyed by a car could ever be interpreted romantically. I assert that it is! [SPOILER ALERT] This is a poem about risk . Sometimes, just sometimes, the risk is worth it. Small Frogs Killed On The Highway , James Wright Still, I would leap too Into the light, If I had the chance. It is everything, the wet green stalk of the field On the other side of the road. They crouch there, too, faltering in terror And take strange wing. Many Of the dead never moved, but many Of the dead are alive forever in the split second Auto headlights more sudden Than their drivers know. The drivers burrow backward into dank pools Where nothing begets Nothing. Across the road, tadpoles are dancing On the quarter...

Ezra ruminates on interest rates on a rock outside of the Commonwealth Bank down in Lindisfarne. His conclusion? The elasticity of substitution is under-appreciated...

Ezra and I like to share a saveloy whenever we are waiting for the bus.

There is a hole in my plan. Lindisfarne Village, Lindisfarne. March 2012. Tuesday Q and A and we visit the mysterious Scottish Meme ! 1. Where are you from and where do you live now? I am from the city of Burnie - on the Tasmanian Riviera (the north west coast)- but I now live in Hobart, which is 600 kilometres away to the south east. 2. Favourite childhood story/ book/ film? No single one in particular. Off the top of my head I know that I enjoyed Peter and the Wolf , George's Marvellous Medicine and Watership Down . 3. If you could change gender for a day what would you do? Once I shifted from in front of the mirror I might nip down to the pool. 4. Do you feel you family is complete or would you like more/some children? I think that we're right. Four seems a good amount. Any more kids and we are outnumbered! 5. What do you do/Where do you work and do you enjoy it? I'm currently aiding community-based mental health services in the developme...

Dyin' ain't much of a living, boy.

Hot day. Sunglasses. Hat. Calippo . For that moment, nothing else matters.

Who (or what) is being protected? Ford Parade, Lindisfarne. January 2012. Two books this week, with one departure of the norm and another collection of short stories from an unknown German. The first is Tasmanian Tiger Ed Cowan’s In The Firing Line . Essentially the diary of the Australian domestic cricket season as seen through a player [then] on the periphery of the international game, Cowan struck lucky to decide on this endeavour the year that Tasmania won its second Shield title. While these books are often dry affairs, Cowan is both brutally honest in his assessment of himself, his cricket and the impact of his chosen career path on his loved ones. Moreover, he offers great insight with some considered and oft-unspoken views on the state of State cricket in Australia and the future of the game. I was particularly drawn to his observation on the effect of Twenty20 on both the domestic and international game. His frank and portrait of life as one of the invisible ‘not quite top-run...

Just a couple of dudes sitting down, shooting the breeze and waiting for something to happen...

It's like Grand Central Station down in Lindisfarne Village on a Sunday Morning....

Riding a horse into a deserted town centre for a high noon shoot-out is so passée. We use scooters now.

What would Bon Scott do? Lindisfarne Village, Lindisfarne. November 2011. Just managed to complete the one book this week, and what a disappointment it proved to be. Hans Keilson’s The Death of the Adversary is an odd little portrait of a nameless young man tracking an unnamed “adversary” whom he watches rise to power in an unnamed country in the 1930s. Keilson – a German Jew – wrote the book while in hiding in the Netherlands during World War Two. Interestingly, the novel itself has been lauded as a ‘lost’ masterpiece in the last few years. Now, I shall be frank and confess that although I think that the book is a really interesting piece of history, as a literary work it seems a little uneven to me. Perhaps it is a deliberate narrative device, but the jarring (and repetitive) series of notes ruminating on the rise of Hitler, his motives, personality, as well as the nature and causes of the rise of fascism and anti-Semitism is clumsy and wooden (perhaps this might be a poor translat...