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Showing posts from June 6, 2010

If everyone is thinking alike, then somebody isn't thinking.


All Day I Hear the Noise of Waters

This rope needs a wash. Sullivans Cove, April 2010. James Joyce was a wonderful writer. He pushed boundaries. He upset people. He was a bad husband. He loved farts. He wrote poems. Here is one. All Day I Hear the Noise of Waters , James Joyce All day I hear the noise of waters Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is when, going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the water's Monotone. The grey winds, the cold winds are blowing Where I go. I hear the noise of many waters Far below. All day, all night, I hear them flowing To and fro.

Man is what he believes.

He wears that t-shirt in an 'ironic' sense...

Laziness has become the chief characteristic of journalism, displacing incompetence.

A gum tree in Taroona. May 2010. Following the demands of the readership, today we're venturing into Jamie Oliver territory, so read the following with a li th sp. I have an RDO today, so Henry and I shall celebrate by making a fruit loaf. We will need: 300g mixed dried fruit 450ml hot Earl Grey tea 90g brown sugar 1 lemon, zested 3 cups self-raising flour 1/4 tsp nutmeg 1/2 tsp cinnamon 1 large (-ish) egg 1. Whack the dried fruit in a bowl, mash up a nice pot of Earl Grey and pour the bugger over the fruit, cover with plastic wrap and set aside at room temperature for a good few hours . 2. Preheat oven to 180°C. Mind your wrists. Butter a loaf pan like Des Renford. 3. Strain the fruit, setting the liquid aside for later use , then combine the fruit with the remaining ingredients. Now, here you need to gradually add the liquid, stirring until a soft dropping [ooooh eerrr missus] consistency is reached. Pour into the pan and bake for 45-50 minutes. 4. Meanwhile,

The basic fact about human existence is not that it is a tragedy, but that it is a bore. It is not so much a war as an endless standing in line.

Ezra is a freak for crabs, a freak . Finds them and eats them. Still wriggling.

Historians are like deaf people who go on answering questions that no one has asked them.

A kayaker checks out the competition down at Hinsby Beach, May 2010. Theme Thursday delivers yet another tricky one this week for us Antipodeans . CANDY. In Australia, CANDY is a stripper . CANDY is a working girl . CANDY is a woman of ill repute . CANDY is not lollies . CANDY is not sweets , nor is it sweeties . CANDY is not toffee , loll-loll or ket . In Australia, CANDY is most certainly not confectionery . The man in the kayak may well be eye CANDY (for some), or arm CANDY (for others), but I would advise against eating him (there are laws about that). I'm glad that we got that sorted...

A man always remembers his first love with special tenderness, but after that he begins to bunch them.

Oh Clifton Beach in the summertime, how I wish I was with thee. Henry, on the other hand might not. Moments after I took this he was felled by a rogue wave, and had to travel home stripped down and shivering...

A lie can be halfway round the world before the truth has got its boots on.

Bunkered in bureaucrats at 10 Murray on a chilly Autumn's evening. May, 2010. By and large, people annoy me. As do dogs. Cats can be annoying, but not crocodiles or Great White Sharks. Children annoy me at 2 am if they're screaming, but not if they're sleeping. Is it my fault or theirs?

Man is a beautiful machine that works very badly.

No, it wasn't taken with a pinhole camera, but that was the kind of effect that I was going for...

Ads that I like: #102

Nothing says FUN like a GUN ! Nothing! You hear me? NOTHING! And no-one is going to take that FUN away from me! NO-ONE!

Not a shred of evidence exists in favour of the idea that life is serious.

Early morning and the sun is nowhere near the yardarm. Elizabeth Street Pier, May 2010. 0⁰ Celsius as I arrived in town this morning. Zero degrees Celsius . I’m wearing shorts. I’m Tasmanian, so shoot me.

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

From the tail end of the cricket season, Henry and Ezra seem bemused by this thing called 20Twenty. Or is it Twenty20? TwentyTwenty? 2020?

Ignorance is the mother of devotion.

The grand old dame™ at night. May 2010. Poor old 10 Murray. Every cold winter's evening she awaits her fate... Trendy open planned coffee shops and a wide screen television.

Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion.

Again, Ez exhibits a 1970s vibe with the fat love beads and amber autumn light.

He who stops being better stops being good.

Zipping about Fredrick Henry Bay. March 2010. Sunday Top Five, you say? How about Five Interesting Battles For The Armchair Military Historian ! The Brusilov Offensive : Two million casualties and losses? And no-one's heard of it. Madness! Literally. Lenin should thank Brusilov. Battle of Suomussalmi : In the dead of Winter, eleven thousand Finns embarrass fifty thousand Soviet troops. The Battle of Stalingrad : You might have heard of this. Hitler comes a cropper on the Volga. Third Battle of Ypres : Latterly this has become known as Passchendaele, but at the time it was the final instalment of the Ypres series, and a good example of why mud is not a friend of soldiers. The before and after shots of the town tell some of the tale. Battle of Hydaspes : C'mon, elephants ! An army of Greeks Macedonians stick it to 'em up their the Khyber Pass! A big win for the Greek lad, but it was to be his last...