This will hurt me...

That really is some shade of red.

Jennifer save me. Seven Mile Beach. January 2013. Australia Day? I don't like it. Stupid flags... Australia Day , John Tranter ‘Lovely, isn’t it? The water views? And there’s something historical about the Harbour – go on, help yourself, there’s heaps more prawns – of course in the old days it was totally unimproved. But they brought in boatloads of crims – and screws, prostitutes, a few politicians to run the show and look after the profits. A set-up built to last.’ So spoke a Sydney business identity, over lunch on the water – oysters, chardonnay – ‘Another lobster, love?’ – while far below his former partner drifted fathoms deep through the blue gloom, in a concrete suit, to his final bottom-of-the-harbour scheme among the barnacles and the bones dozing in the wavering light. A seagull sailed across a paler blue. The rigging tap-tapped against the mast; nearby, rich kids wasted a weekend on Daddy’s yacht. ‘See that boat? The Sergeant here reckons ...

The right pair of feet can be incredibly interesting.

Eastern Shore entrance on the old Hobart Bridge . Rose Bay. December 2012. What's to Become of the Boy: Or, Something to Do with Books , Heinrich Böll: A brief memoir of a boy's life in Köln in the years immediately following the Nazi seizure of power. An interesting angle of the coming of age tale. B . The Stranger , Albert Camus: It's hard to believe that I've managed to avoid the classic exemplar of the existential novel this long. I feel silly about doing so. A+ . End of a Mission , Heinrich Böll: Extremely funny, in a quiet, dry sense. As usual with Böll, a fantastic tale with fully realised characters. I loved it. A- .

Jen and Hen risk life and limb down on Opossum Bay...

Conspiracies abound. The Intercity Cycleway, just south of the Tasman Bridge. December 2012. Theme Thursday today has me musing on the tendency for people to look for the RHYTHM of things. The currents that explain life. They find cadences, intervals and melodies in way that things work (or don't work). Ultimately, in this disordered world I'm never ceased to be surprised by the ceaseless desire that many have for find order, explanations or RHYTHM to the flows of history and events. To be sure, it's usually some combination of a profound lack of intelligence or a missing reflective capacity to understand or interpret things. Or indeed it can be the (more dangerous, to my mind) product of both misguided and excessive educations. It's the only explanation that I have for the common feature of conspiracy theories, shadowy explanations or totalising, panoptic ideological theories behind the (quite simple really) messed up and confused nature of reality. Basically...

Can you spot him?