This will hurt me...

A firm rope is needed to keep me at work today, especially given this shocking cough that I seem unable to shake off. These ropes, however, are not shackled to me; rather, they are all that keeps the pirate brig tourist pleasure craft Windward Bound from pillaging the penguins who make Macquarie Island their home. If only I had a rope, however, for I am due in a three hour meeting shortly. Jesus, save me...

The clock tower at Hobart's General Post Office bathed in nice winter afternoon sunlight. We've had too little of this lately, as it's mainly been raining. Time for the Sunday Top Five! Today I am revisiting my Top Five Ever Karaoke Performances Total Eclipse of the Heart : for the amateur vocalist, the sheer overwrought emotion of Bonnie Tyler's raspy voiced paean to wandering lovers the world over is a good song for the confident (or inebriated) to belt out. Come on Eileen : a rousing, jaunty little number that harks back to the music hall. The chanting bit in the middle can rescue strugglers. The fact that there are not many words also helps. Sexual Healing : easily the most challenging of the bunch, as not many are blessed with the pipes of Marvyn Gaye. That said, the degree of difficulty makes it a triumph if pulled off, especially if the intent is to send a [ahem] message to any ladies in the audience. Suspicious Minds : you can't have Karaoke with an Elvis t...

I'm not sure what these birds are doing lurking up on some luxury flats above Salamanca Square. Whatever it is, it can't be good. I've seen that film by Hitchcock. No, birds gathering, it has to spell doom . As I was looking at this photo, one thing that struck me was the yellow tone. I don't do a lot of yellow, and I don't know why...

Okay, okay, settle down. It's another "surface of the water" shot. I can't help it that I like them . This one I'll call The Curse of Transcendental idealism or, Wer bin ich? . I don't like the label neo-Kantian . I am far more comfortable proclaiming myself a neo-Fichterian . I proudly proclaim that that self-consciousness is a social phenomenon, and that every subject's self-awareness is predicated on the existence of other rational subjects! Christ, I have to stop reading Kundera on the bus, it brings up all sorts of stuff I thought long buried...

Theme Thursday yet again, and today the theme is LIMO . One assumes that we are to talk about a limousine , that is, a luxury sedan with a lengthened wheelbase and usually driven by a chauffeur. The cocaine being snorted off a high price call girl's breasts is an optional extra. I think that I am safe to assume that these three are most definitely not waiting for a LIMO. The stop would indicate that the Metro X-press (how hip) to Glenorchy is more likely. As my sloth in getting this post up might indicate, I've been busy, so I've little time to waste! The first thing I think about when I hear the word "LIMO" is wanker a story shared by a world weary colleague who mused on the differences between an American and an Australian , and yes, there is a LIMO involved. In many ways, Australians and Americans are alike. Former English colonies. "New World" rather than "Old Europe". Outposts in a rich an bountiful, yet dangerous and foreboding, land....

What sort of Mexican food might one expect to find from a place with a neon cactus in the window? It used to do the job, but since its embrace of the "fish-bowl margarita" crowd of screeching happy hour harpies, the quality of the food has diminished in lock with the ambience.

"Please pick me up." " Please pick me up." " PLEASE pick me up." "Pick me up." " PICK ME UP! " "Please pick me up." "Please."

It's off to work, and it seems like I might not be the only one take a detour by the waterfront this morning. Alas, this was last week. This morning we've got snow halfway down the mountain, unceasing drizzle, and a southerly so chilly that it would perplex a penguin. Here is a poem that I have written: A Poem That I Have Written we do that we took that we want that we need that we know that we hope that we wish that we knew that we wanted that we asked that we heard that we stopped that.

Cockatoos looking for a feed by the side of the highway at lunchtime, Geilston Bay. The cockies are back, and by golly they don't half make some noise! Think thirty newborns eager for a feed, and you're on your way to imagining the delight of a big flock of cockatoos. That said, flock is entirely unsuitable as the collective noun. If pressed, the appropriate term of venery might be " an ebullience of cockatoos ". How about " an exuberance of cockatoos "? " An imbroglio of cockatoos "? " A seraglio of cockatoos "? I dunno. What do you reckon?

I've featured a lot of pictures looking north on Elizabeth Street, but from memory this is one of the few taken looking south. This was taken on Thursday, at around 4:30 pm, as I am grumpy waiting for the 4:20 express. Sunday Top Five! A wisp of melancholy and an intense feeling of being old accompanied my oversight of a "best singles on the past decade" list online yesterday evening. More precisely, I either failed to recognise, or flippantly dismissed most of the entries. You see, my formative musical years happened some time prior to the year 2000. Thus, today's list. In chronological order, I present to you My Five Favourite Record Albums of the 1990s ! U2: Achtung Baby R.E.M.: Automatic for the People Pulp: Different Class Radiohead: OK Computer Wilco: Summerteeth Just missing the cut were a long list, culled to a very short list that included: Manic Street Preachers' The Holy Bible ; Portishead's Dummy ; Guided by Voices' Alien Lanes ; Pavement...

Here is another hairy Henry running for his life. Crocodiles. Today we went to playgroup. No-one else was there. Good thing I have a key.

Sneaking a peek, I can see an icebreaker and an old Manly ferry. The things you'll fund! and it's the past - it's over - remember when - remember when? - remember that? - of course - i do - space and time - i do - worth it's weight - definitely - and it's there - there it is - but i can't tell you anything - i know - don't know how to sleep on my own - i know - i know 'cos i know - come on then - come on down - come on come on - that chick's gone crazy - screaming - yelling - and she sure made a lot of noise

Here's something different for today's photograph: an Irish stew I made a few weeks back. Modesty prevents me from waxing too lyrical about it's excellent taste. I can, however, share with you a little secret in the cooking. Half the amount of water or stock you put in, and double the amount of stout! I use Cascade Stout , a fine, creamy brew with a hint of chocolate about it. Just the tonic for a shocking winter.

It's another hairy Henry this evening, this time holding out a n olive branch stick for all the peoples of the world. Don't trust him peoples. As soon as you get close enough, he's liable to whack you with the stick and make a run for it!

Late afternoon in Salamanca, and here is a lamp no longer powered by whale blubber oil. It sits atop the entrance to the Salamanca Arts Centre, which doubtless is filled to the brim with testaments to man's inhumanity to man/woman/animals/trees/the planet/common sense and decency. Art these days can be a real drag. Ahhh, but enough about that, today is Theme Thursday , and this week the theme is SHADOW . Of course, late afternoon is a good time to creatively utilise SHADOW in photographic endeavours, that seems too feeble a response. However, the neo-Marxist activities I alluded to yesterday coupled with my self imposed harsh deadlines have forced my hand to rush this week. So here is a bit of short prose I have written right now for your amusement. She liked to think of the world as black and white . The people that she knew were either good or bad . People could be good , but go bad , but he had not heard of someone go from bad to good . The men in her life were gay and straigh...

Here's Ezra from a few weeks back. It's funny, but his recent conversion to walking has already seen him shed some weight from those cheeks...

Another morning, another one of 10 Murray, another one of the moon in the sky. Are you sensing a pattern? I am as busy as a Marxist beaver today, the masses against the classes and all that jazz. That said, I am making headway, so HURRAH COMRADE!

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...

Waiting at the bus stop yesterday morning, I spotted and photographed some interesting colours in the sky to the east. The show in the sky was useful actually, as the bus didn't show. Bastards. Which gives me an idea for Tuesday Q and A : What withering bon mot should I include in my latest letter of complaint to the bus company?

There has been no shortage of revolutionary zeal from Ezra this evening. He's not happy, and he doesn't mind sharing it. There is a touch of the Toussaint L'ouverture's about his breast beating however, which does not bode well for the sustainability of his approach. There's only so much grumbling that l'état can take before des mesures draconiennes become necessary...