It's not enough that we do our best; sometimes we have to do what's required.

Straight lines are the order of the day today. Here are Hydro Tasmania building, old and new, presented to you in stunning black and white.

In order to bail me out of having to think too hard about today’s post, I’ve embraced the meme and take up the challenge presented to me by Lizabee & Co!

It’s a well known fact that I simply reek of awesomeness. Like Old testament God, people quake and tremble in wonderment at my feet on a daily basis. At least, I think that’s why they quake and tremble at my feet. It could be something to do with Swine Flu.

First though, a definition:

Awesome
Adjective
Causing awe or terror; inspiring wonder or excitement. So impressive or overwhelming as to inspire a strong feeling of admiration or fear.

And now, the list!

Seven things that make ME awesome

Charm: like George Clooney on charisma steroids, I have charm oozing from every pore.

Intelligence: in terms of intelligence, it’s best to think of me as HAL from 2001, only with higher self esteem and less psychopathic tendencies

Looks: dude, have you seen me?

Grace: imagine the offspring of Audrey Hepburn when mated with a gazelle (work with me here), that’s how I glide across a ballroom to the swoon of all in attendance.

Cool: you know Michael Holding’s voice and Viv Richard’s swagger? Where do you think they learned that then?

Character: honesty, respect, integrity, and fairness. I once shot a man for insulting my Mother’s chicken, that is how much I value honour.

Modesty: only the most modest of men could possibly compile this list with such honesty, integrity and (not least of all) modesty.

So there we have it, the secret to my success!

If you also are assured of your own awesomeness, please feel free to take the challenge and explain it to the world.

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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