One must be very naïve or dishonest to imagine that men choose their beliefs independently of their situation.

So I will end this crop of Sydney photos with some water. I quite like walking past this series of fountains and water features. It smells of chlorine, which makes me think of public pools, which makes me think of girls frolicking in swimwear, which I find relaxing.

I need that right now.

I've had poor old Henry hanging off me for two straight days, as he is feeling poorly. It really has to be seen to be believed. The lad is clearly struggling, but he does appear to be embracing his illness with some gusto. It's even generated a new nickname, Dame Judy Dench, as that's who his melodramatic approach to expressing his unease this weekend reminds me of.

Comments

Dina said…

Aww, be well, sweet Henry. And hang in, dear parents of Henry.

30 November 2008 at 21:31

Anonymous said…

Ah that looks like my kind of place.

Hope the drama queen feels better soon!

30 November 2008 at 22:34

Layrayski said…

Aw poor baby. I hope he gets better soon! (I like the association you have for the chlorinated water) =)

1 December 2008 at 02:43

Kris McCracken said…

Dina, he was better this morning, albeit up and running about at 5:30! Jen tells me that he's a bit of a misery now though, he's probably tired though.

Jackie, it is a bit of an oasis amid the chaos. Dame Henry needs one too.

Layrayski, it is not a bad association to have, I will admit!

1 December 2008 at 11:26

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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