This will hurt me...

Consider this a unique Tasmanian variant of a traditional game: nude spotlight .

Here you can see a damp Henry with a dry Jennifer reading Sleepy Time Olie , featuring the famous robot "Rolie Polie Olie". Now, I quite like Sleepy Time Olie , as it affords a great wind down into bed time through the course of what is admittedly a gripping text (I won't spoil it for you). The thing is though, in order for the text to properly scan, I have to affect a slight Maine accent. How I have managed to pick up the accent of an east Bangor primary school teacher, I am not sure. I think that it must have something to do with a Stephen King book or two...

Another blast from the past here. Henry is enjoying his [then] new big boy's bed . Of course, three months down the track, he's still sleeping in his cot...

I know that it looks like Elmo has suffered an OD, but he hasn't. He's just had a long day. There's only so much bangers and mash in brown onion gravy that a little red monster can take before it's time for bed. That said, there is a certain vibe about the above photo that screams Keef Richards at the Villefranche-sur-Mer, and I've seen Elmo and Henry stagger around the room to Tumbling Dice enough to know that neither would have been out of place during the sessions for Exile on Main Street . On other matters, I would like to wish everybody a belated Merry Bastille Day for yesterday. I feel that Henry has the potential to be a future Robespierre to his father's Saint-Just, only with far more tickling and far less bloodshed. Also, we've had some good feedback on the impending baby's name , but I'm still open for more. To answer one question, Elmo isn't on the list because we already have an Elmo living here. Two would be overkill, and probably ...