The use of history as therapy means the corruption of history as history.

It is Summer in Tasmania, and that usually means two thing: enormous cruiser liners filled with wealthy retirees kitted in gold lamé tracksuits dripping in diamonds; and rain, rain and even more rain. Take a look at these green leaves, can you tell that we're in a drought?

I attended a VIM [Very Important Meeting] today. No cake, no biscuits, no fruit. Just business, and a few thirds of baguettes packed with salad presented lovingly on a platter caked with lettuce leaves. I wish that I had the nerve to take a photograph, but that would risk sending the dogs to the door of this blog, and I'm not sure that I'd want that just yet.

You can always tell the difference between a VIM and a CAC [Casual Aggreable Chat], and it can often be found in the nibblies. One organisation that I deal with regularly cater their CACs with pizzza (an accommodating mob, they usually go a supremo and capricciosa, which allows me to be generous upon the appearance of that abomination of the pizza world: the Hawaiian).

Of course, you'll never see a pizza at a VIM. Similarly, you'll never see sausage rolls, cocktail saveloys, scones, chicko rolls, hot chips or dim sims at a VIM. You never see Tim Tams, Iced Vo-Vos, Monte Carlos or Kingstons at a VIM. VIMs are far above biscuits out of a packet.

I'll be honest with you, I've never even seen cake at a guaranteed, bona fide, fair dinkum VIM. Truth be told, I've never seen anything that I would broach eating at a VIM.

VIMs you see, are not about eating. Pissant talkfests are about cake and biscuits, bitching and moaning. That's not what VIMs are about at all. VIMs are about big wigs pow wowing with VIPs. VIMs are about interfacing. VIMs are about linkages. VIMs are about strategic partnerships between movers and shakers.

VIMs are not about ordinary people.

VIMs are about lots of cucumber, discretely tucked away in napkins on boardroom tables because you can't stuff a thousand dollar suit full of cucumis sativus. That's not what VIMs are about.

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...

Search This Blog