(My) Photo of the day, Or I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it

Here is a picture taken this morning looking over Kings Pier Marina, which is a lovely spot to stretch your legs at lunchtime.

I took this shot of some of the more modern boats through the rigging of one of the many old brigs that operate around Hobart for most of the year. Now, if I was into the full wankery around art, I would say something along the lines of:

With this image, I was endeavouring to explore the concurrence of old and new, of sail and motor. Through this, the viewer will inexorably ruminate upon the fragility of time and the unceasing march of progress.

Now, although I am fluent in such wankery, I will choose to tell you the real reason that it looks like this:

There were a lot of boats in this morning. It was hard to get a clear shot without walking all the way to the end of the pier, and I had to get to work.

Not nearly as romantic, but it is, sadly, the truth of the matter.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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