This will hurt me...

We're struggling. Mawson's Place, Argyle Street, Hobart. January 2013. As you know, the Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (and RSS feeds.) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning... Sitting Is the Smoking of Our Generation. Dads Caring for Their Kids: It's Parenting, Not Babysitting. Toys and games: Are we paying for products that teach? Misogyny stinks, but we need to say more than 'This is horrible, poor us'. Celebrating Cassandre: Gorgeous Vintage Posters by One of History’s Greatest Graphic Designers.

Things are looking up in Mawson Place ! [Thank you, I'll be here all week...] This one has a slight 2001: A Space Odyssey vibe to it, only without a bunch of randy monkeys carrying on. One imagines that Friday and Saturday nights more closely resemble that particular scene. Here is a poem: I She argued that I - as in me - must be mistaken . Knowing myself - the I in the equation - I doubted it. Far more likely - reckoned me - is that she has erred. Nobody is perfect, she says. However I must be close .

Down low at Mawson Place on Sullivan's Cove. I was hiding from a wallaby. Regular readers will know the commitment and ardour that have proven numerous times in the past with regards to highlighting the dangers that within the cold, black hearts of diminutive, cute ‘n cuddly creatures. If there is danger in the world, I’m onto it. Whether we are talking about marauding wallabies harassing old folk or badly-named kids , I’m there. Whether it is depraved seals molesting chaste penguins, I’m there. Whether it is something as ostensibly innocent as a boorish remark from an uncouth parrot , or as serious as neo-Nazi raccoons rampaging across Europe, I’m there. So when I heard about a racoon (I’ve no word as to whether it is sympathetic to Hitler or not) who chomped down on spirited Russian reveller Alexander Kirilov’s trouser snake , I thought “here we go again!” Yet on closer inspection, I must defend the right of this particular raccoon to use all reasonable force to repel the ...

Some time ago I had an acquaintance who was – at that time – involved with a much older woman who treated him abominably . She would curse at him in public. She would mock his lovemaking abilities in front of mutual friends. She flaunted her (numerous) external dalliances as if they were a virtue. She hit him, bit him, and scratched him. She routinely emptied his bank account to purchase gaudy baubles and trinkets, only to proclaim them “tat” and ridicule his inability to fund more luxurious possessions. One day, she up and left him without a word. “Cheer up old son,” I said to him, “you’re better off without her.” “But you don’t understand,” he pleaded, “they were the best years of my life. She made me so happy .” He was in love, you see.

Mawson Place, in the CBD by the waterfront. At night. Final report finished. Must sleep now.