The one thing I regret is that I will never have time to read all the books I want to read.

Ladybird, ladybird fly away home... Coningham Beach, Southern Tasmania. February 2013.

Icons of Design: The 20th Century, Albus Volker: A selection of furniture, accessories, household appliances, vehicles and toys that achieved iconic status over the course of the twentieth century. A great use of text and image, well worth a gander. B.

The Wars, Timothy Findley: Fantastic Canadian novel that explores male sensitivity in a World War One setting. I was surprised how much I enjoyed this one. Equal parts beautiful and harrowing. A-.

God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything, Christopher Hitchens: Hitchens calmly and succinctly dismantles the notion of 'God' across multiple religons a mixture of personal stories, documented historical anecdotes and critical analysis of religious texts. Fantastic. A-.

The Year of the Hare, Arto Paasilinna: A Finnish journalist rescues a wild hare that has been hit by a car, and then walks away from his old life. A paean to just doing what you feel like, I really loved this book. That said, I wish that someone had lopped off those final two pages. A.

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If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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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