(My) photo of the day, Or I won't insult council workers if I know what is good for me

Here are some fine representatives of the Hobart City Council that you regularly see down at Salamanca on weekday mornings. Council workers are wonderful. Hard working, polite, and handsome, they truly are magnificent!

Now, after having a dig at French rail workers and Australian teachers in the past few days, I have not let the fact that my father-in-law happens to be a council worker influence this commentary in any way, shape or form. For the most part, council workers are fine upstanding citizens...

...until they get a sniff of the compo, that it. :)

Comments

Anonymous said…

Well, I guess it is a nice post then. LOL

20 May 2008 at 20:22

Jim Klenke said…

totally objective and a great observation.

20 May 2008 at 21:35

Political Umpire said…

Kris I've done a post about this story here http://www.theage.com.au/news/cricket/baggy-green-is-not-just-for-when-any-cap-fits/2008/05/19/1211182703541.html

on which I would be interested in your views. I think it's one thing if the Australian cricket board wants to take money ahead of anything else. It is quite another if they try and bullshit about doing it, which, excuse my French, is what they've been up to.

Best

Ump

20 May 2008 at 23:11

Ineke said…

Couldn't agree more.

21 May 2008 at 01:07

Ken said…

Change the name on the truck and you would think you were in my town:)

21 May 2008 at 07:51

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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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