This will hurt me...

We managed to ‘discover’ a new beach the other day. As it is somewhat off the beaten track (well, down a dirt road really), there is very little sign that anyone else uses it much. This makes Calverts Beach the perfect place to continue our Patented Pirate Preparation Programme (PPPP)! Here we can perfect the fine art of charging at the enemy shouting curses and promises to eat their eyeballs and use their skull for a breakfast bowl [See above]… Practice our scaling of potentially deadly cliff faces to sack entire towns, raping making inappropriate remarks and pillaging along the way… Try-out prospective hasty retreats in case we’re overestimated our capacities and face routing/walking the plank/being hung drawn and quartered… Yo ho ho and a bellyful of rum pink milk etc etc

A lovely girl reclines to ruminate upon matters nautical. Clifton Beach, December 2010. Sometimes (only sometimes) e.e. says the things that I wanted to say. Only with less punctuation and more oddly spaced sentences. somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond , by e.e.cummings somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me,i and my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death an

We’ve been continuing our preparations for the pirate life. This has generally involved a lot of shouting and a fair bit of ‘net work’. We’re holding back on the grog drinking and spitting for the time being. Next up though, we need to get our hands on a parrot and start looking for gold doubloons…

Calverts Beach, oh Calverts Beach, I still hear your sea winds blowin'… Calverts Beach, South Arm. December 2010. We discoverd a new beach (for us) a couple of weeks back: Calverts Beach , which is down off the beaten track on the South Arm Peninsula. If it ever spots raining, we might get down there again soon! Panorama of Calverts Beach. Calverts Beach, South Arm. December 2010. But today isn't Friday BEACH Club , and I am meant to be talking books. The past week saw me finish We can remember it for you wholesale , which is volume five of Philip K. Dick’s collected short stories, Do you like science fiction? If so, this collection has science fiction leaking out of every pore. As a (very) casual reader of science fiction, I found this collection somewhat uneven. Some of the stories are great, many so-so. One thing that you can be guaranteed, Mr Dick had an almighty imagination… The other book I read this week was The Takeover by Muriel Spark. As ever, Spark manages to constr

Keep your eyes’ peeled people, there be sharks out there… I can smell ‘em!

Reflexive phallogocentrism at play, Salamanca, December 2010. I have speculated before about the tendency of petty acts of graffiti to centre of the wonders of the male sexual organ . Indeed, barely a day goes by when one cannot spot a crudely-scrawled todger on a wall, lamp post or any number of random concrete erections. Today culprit obviously can’t draw all that well, but their spelling is immaculate (although a little smiley face as the dot on the eye would have been a nice touch). What drives these phallic fanatics? These dickey doodle desperados? Envy? Guilt? Shame? Pride? A profound lack of imagination? Perhaps this is what they mean by 'doodling'... Meanwhile, still at Opossum Bay...

As requested, young Ezra received this Christmas his very own scooter . The skill and dexterity he demonstrated on Henry’s convinced us that he was up to the challenge, although – as you can see below – his knees quickly bore a tale of their very own…

The clouds look a little menacing behind those dunes. Howrah Beach, Howrah. December 2010. There once was a man I knew – tall fellow, polite, nice teeth, nice shoes – he quite fancied himself as a ‘romantic tactician’. In terms of his amorous endeavours, he was ruthless. For the dispassionate observer, it was remarkable the level of success with the ladies, given his merciless approach. Some speculated that this heartlessness was actually due to a lack of imagination: he would get the ladies, but then not know what to do with them. Thus, he would cast them aside and begin the pursuit of another. I was not so sure myself, it appeared that the point was more the getting than the keeping . Meanwhile, back at Opossum Bay...

Even in summer, there remains a bit of chill to that water this far south. This does not deter the intrepid though, and we only turned back when we started bumping into icebergs…

Hobart Private Hospital building, as seen from Collins Street. Hobart, January 2011. This is now the Hobart Private Hospital, which used to be the Queen Alexandria maternity wing, attached to the [ public ] Royal Hobart Hospital. One government sold it off in ’98, and a different government tried to buy it back in ’05 when they suddenly realised that they needed the space. Not the best example of sound public policy… Here is a little questionnaire that I like to call Getting to know you, getting to know all about you… Do you have any pets? I have two children. What was the last book you read? See the sidebar to the left. Do you like to cook? Yes I do. What kind of food do you like? I like savoury, spicy and sour things. Do you have brothers and sisters? One brother. Which sport do you like? Wii Sports Resort. Do you live alone? No, I do not. Do you live in a house or an apartment? A house. Have you ever lived in another country? No, I have not. Have you ever met a famous person? It dep

This is my final offer: one largish flat rock and one smaller rock shaped kind of like a love heart.

I’m still standing. Campbell Street, Hobart. December 2010. It seems that no matter how good some people have it, there is a drive within many (most) to complain that they don’t have it better. Give them five jellybeans, and they want eight jellybeans (or a chocolate frog). Give them a twelve percent pay rise, and they want a fifteen percent pay rise. Give them a parking spot one hundred metres from the front door, and they want the parking spot twenty metres from the door. You give them access to any scrap of information they want at the tip of their fingers, and they’re too lazy to type in the search terms. They get shown the world, and they complain that it’s not hi-res enough. They live longer, and they complain about being old. They get given entertainment, and they get bored with it. They get given more entertainment, and they get bored with it. You give them knowledge, and they’re bored with it. It’s not immediate enough, it’s not easy enough it’s not simple enough it’s all too

Henry lurks in the shadows down at Bellerive Wharf...

Are they going to take down these decorations? The corner of Liverpool and Elizabeth Street, Hobart. January 2011. Christmas has come and gone. Months of build up, expectations raised, jingles sung, children primed and ready. Then… Nothing. All sizzle with little sausage, that is what Christmas is. Christmas is a good looking, smooth talking ski instructor that struts about the place with tales of improbable bedroom exploits and promises of bliss to end all bliss; but departs with a whimper as it turns out his package is actually stuffed with crepe paper and he’s more Nova Scotia than Casanova . Christmas is Richard Lounder. Christmas is taking a big bite out of that juicy-looking peach and finding that it tastes like cardboard. Christmas is all about the wait and little about the arrival. Christmas is a bust. Bring on International Midwives' Day . There is a cause we can get behind. Today's Top Five? My Top Five Holidays (Besides International Midwives Day)! International Wo