This will hurt me...

Clock. G.P.O. Building, Elizabeth Street, Hobart. July 2012. Theme Thursday already and I am yet again filled with empty PROMISES. I PROMISE to make sure that I remember Theme Thursday. I PROMISE to try harder. I PROMISE to be nice. I PROMISE to do my best. I PROMISE to stop I PROMISing.

The bus won't be far away now. Hobart GPO, Elizabeth Street. October 2011. Just the one book finished this week, although that was enough to push me past my nominated 85 book challenge at the beginning of the year (more on that later). This week it was Doris Lessing's The Fifth Child . Billed as a "contemporary gothic horror", it centres on the unravelling of a serene family-life upon the arrival of their fifth child. I'm not sure about this book. I think that I can grasp the key themes: modern society's drift from its more brutal past, the notion of a maternal bond, the authoritarian character and the thin veneer of civility. I'm just not convinced of the characters. I'm not sure how I'm to feel about the characters, and hope that the sympathy I felt for the 'monster' at the centre of the piece is a fair result. Nonetheless, it is a decent read and can be recommended. I'd avoid it if you're expecting a baby any time soon though...

No bells. Atop Hobart G.P.O, Elizabeth Street, Hobart. October 2011. We have pancakes every Saturday morning, even though I am a fry up kind of guy. Amoeba , John Hegley hello amoeba I wish you were my pet but you're not really big enough to be seen by the vet are you? you're a little blob of jelly you've got no skin and bone you're not a boy you're not a girl and you're not on the telephone I cannot get in touch with you I cannot pull your leg you look a bit like a fried egg you're a long way down the ladder that evolution trod but you can eat with your feet or to be more discreet obtain food with your pseudopod and you don't have to have a partner to start a family you can multiply by dividing tra-la-la-la-lee you don't get up in the morning because you never go to bed you've not got any genitalia but you've got other bits instead I saw you down the microscope when I was just a lad I told my mum about you and then I told my dog you're n...

A grey old morning. (Just off) the corner of Macquarie and Elizabeth Streets, Hobart. December 2010. Christmas comes but once a year…? Thank Christ for that. There are a few things about Christmas that I don’t mind: giving presents, a few days off, some quality time in the kitchen, a cauldron of chocolate mousse. Regrettably, these are vastly outweighed by the things I loathe: tinsel , phony goodwill, the remorseless desire for material goods, the prevalence of fat guys in red suits with Rangifer tarandus sprinkled with snow despite the unmistakable fact that we here at the arse end of the world are in the middle of summer and you have as much likelihood of spotting a Thylacinus cynocephalus making love with a Raphus cucullatus to the tune of Mental as Anything’s Berserk Warriors than that hackneyed old scene. It’s about time that us here in the Antipodes start seizing the initiative and make up our own bunch of nonsense set of traditions to ram down the throats of everyone until...

The clock tower at Hobart's General Post Office bathed in nice winter afternoon sunlight. We've had too little of this lately, as it's mainly been raining. Time for the Sunday Top Five! Today I am revisiting my Top Five Ever Karaoke Performances Total Eclipse of the Heart : for the amateur vocalist, the sheer overwrought emotion of Bonnie Tyler's raspy voiced paean to wandering lovers the world over is a good song for the confident (or inebriated) to belt out. Come on Eileen : a rousing, jaunty little number that harks back to the music hall. The chanting bit in the middle can rescue strugglers. The fact that there are not many words also helps. Sexual Healing : easily the most challenging of the bunch, as not many are blessed with the pipes of Marvyn Gaye. That said, the degree of difficulty makes it a triumph if pulled off, especially if the intent is to send a [ahem] message to any ladies in the audience. Suspicious Minds : you can't have Karaoke with an Elvis t...

Theme Thursday yet again, and today the theme is LIMO . One assumes that we are to talk about a limousine , that is, a luxury sedan with a lengthened wheelbase and usually driven by a chauffeur. The cocaine being snorted off a high price call girl's breasts is an optional extra. I think that I am safe to assume that these three are most definitely not waiting for a LIMO. The stop would indicate that the Metro X-press (how hip) to Glenorchy is more likely. As my sloth in getting this post up might indicate, I've been busy, so I've little time to waste! The first thing I think about when I hear the word "LIMO" is wanker a story shared by a world weary colleague who mused on the differences between an American and an Australian , and yes, there is a LIMO involved. In many ways, Australians and Americans are alike. Former English colonies. "New World" rather than "Old Europe". Outposts in a rich an bountiful, yet dangerous and foreboding, land....

Here is a bloody great big clock that can be found at the top of the General Post Office building in Hobart's CBD. I've shown it twice before, although both were night shots , the second showcasing Hobart's crepuscular beauty (did you see what I did there?). It's a good looking building, only slightly marred by the constant presence of smokers all down the footpath directly out front, and steps leading in. I am not a fan of smokers. A particularly nasty sub group are the smoker-spitters. The smoker-spitter is the fellow that you imagine doesn't like the taste much, so alternatively sucks long and deep on his gasper, exhales, and then summons up all the crap that has built up in his lungs and beyond and spits it out, usually right in front of him. Nice, I know. Ezra just farted.

I had grand plans for today's photo. As I have previously mentioned, I was scheduled to present at a conference today. My thinking had been that I could take a photo from the lectern, and share with you a presenters-eye-view. Alas, by the time I took the stage, the light in the room was all on me, thus rendering any photograph very poor. Despite a throbbing headache and intense tiredness, I'd like to think that I offered a solid performance, with a rising crescendo to end. In cricketing terms, think of a number five coming in after a few quick wickets, constructing a solid half century, followed by some lusty hitting off a tired attack to take me to 85 not out by the close of play! But all of this self-aggrandisement had left me no closer to having a photo ready for you today. Thus, I was left with one last task as I dragged myself from the conference venue back to the bus mall. Despite the darkness, I felt that I owed the world a photograph from today. Thus you get this. The ...