I am better than my reputation.

Wires. Quayle Street, Sandy Bay. December 2012.

Sunday Stealing: The 11/11 Questions meme

What is your favourite possession?

Probably my camera.

Do you like to read? If so, which books do you love best?

I love to read. I'll read most things, so am not sure I can pin down any particular type that I "love best". My list of favourites contain a lot of dark novels, however.

Do you have any pets?

No. Unless you count two rug rats.

What was your favourite food as a child? Is it the same now?

I probably liked sausages best. I still do, but I don't think that they are my 'favourite' any more.

What is your favourite thing about blogging?

Interacting with people from all over the world.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

Somewhere close to the beach.

What is your favourite number?

Seven!

Which of these things would you find hardest to give up for a year? Chocolate, reading, coffee or smoking?

Reading. Without a doubt. I've never smoked, chocolate isn't my thing and I could always replace coffee with tea. I'd be lost without something to read.

If you could make your life into a movie, what would you name it.. In addition, whom would you want to play you?

"Panjandrum". I think that George Clooney might just be able to play me.

If you had $40,000 for a shopping spree, what would you buy?

Can I put some of it in the bank? No? I'd take us all on the Trans-Siberian Railway and equip us all out with the latest in computers, tablets, cameras, handheld video games and the like.

If you could eat lunch with one famous person, who would it be?

Famous people don't interest me all that much. Bill Clinton would be interesting. Keith Richards would have some great stories.

Comments

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

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...

This will hurt me...

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