Be not afraid of greatness: some men are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.

Here you can see some of Hobart’s finest skyscrapers from the vantage point of Davey Street. It’s easy in the midst of such awesome sights to get confused and image one’s self in one of the world’s great metropolises [metropolopoli?], like New York, Shanghai or Burnie.

On the subject of big cities... [nice segue dude]

There is a kind of Groundhog Day effect when one sits towards the back of the 4:45 Risdon Vale express. Seemingly interchangeable malnourished-looking, undersized squeaky-voiced miscreants compete in a simplistic game of one-upmanship that has a tendency to focus on five key areas. [The faint-hearted please note that the language gets a little ripe).

1. A complete breakdown of syntax and grammar (“Like this guy like was like that other guy like like that we saw at Johnnos”);

2. Tall tales of petty criminal endeavours (along the lines of “I nicked THIRTY Mars Bars from Chickenfeed the other day...” “oh yeah? Well I nicked FIFTY Polywaffles from Newtown Woolworths...”);

3. Random acts of juvenilia (burping competitions; exposing one’s underdeveloped genitals to the girls across the aisle; pathetic acts of self harming involving cigarette lighters);

4. Utterly improbable stories of sexual exploits (e.g. one pock-marked pipsqueak and four separate girls across a ‘normal’ weekend? My things have changed since my teenage years);

5. Rapid-fire substitution of perfectly adequate adjectives with filthy swear words (instead of “i briskly walked past this attractive young girl at the entry of the supermarket”, you get, “I fucken spotted this fucken slut right near fucken Woolworths”).

Actually, in truth, it usually goes more like: “I fucken stabbed this fucken ho who I fucked nines times last weekend after I fucken robbed TEN meat trays by shoven ‘em down me pants... [BURP]”

It makes for quite the pleasant ride.