This will hurt me...

Friars Rock. Bruny Island, Tasmania. September 2013. Okay, an announcement. I've got 4,420 posts on this here blog. Posts have been pretty consistent since the end of 2007. But I'm bored. It's become a bit of a chore and the Internet has changed. So this is changing. I'll keep up the book reviews. Probably the Q and As. Maybe the weblinks (if I can be bothered). Otherwise it will be a bit more sporadic. All is not lost though, you can still Track my books on Goodreads . See my photos on Flickr . Watch my videos on YouTube . Link in on LinkedIn . Check out my pinboards on Pinterest . Tweet me on Twitter . Check the blog too, you never know when I might desire to share a poem or a Drabble...

Coming back in. Constitution Dock, Hobart. July 2013. I like Elizabeth Bishop as a poet. She has a nice touch. One Art , Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. - Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look l...

Two little boats. Long Beach, Sandy Bay. February 2013. Today's Sunday Top Five is a very special one. Yes, it is Events That You Can Only Celebrate In May! May 7: C'mon . Don't make me say it ... May 9: National Lost Sock Memorial Day May 10: Clean Up Your Room Day May 29: End Of Middle Ages Day May 30: My Bucket’s Got a Hole in It Day

Thar be an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Cremorne Beach, Cremorne. June 2011. Strength through unity . Strength through duty . Strength through love . Strength through hope . Strength through logic . Strength through weakness . Strength through faith . Strength through fear . Strength through joy . Strength through muscle . Pick one...

A jetty and some boats. Dover (I think...). Southern Tasmania. June 2011. One of the challenges of taking photographs from a moving vehicle is remembering which town exactly the photo was taken. I'm pretty sure that this is Dover, Australia second most southern-most town. Any Dover-ites are more than welcome to correct me... That's the trouble with fleeting trips. The memory lags behind the event, and in order to fill in gaps, we develop a tendency to reconstruct events. Clearly the fleeting few seconds that we spent in Dover (or some other town), was not enough!

Do you need a parasol to qualify? Bellerive Wharf, June 2011. All GAMBLERS and FANCY WOMEN must sign up with captain? Who decides? What if you change you mind mid-voyage? Will there be a test? I must say, this seems a little heavy-handed in that rollicking hotbed of libertarianism New Orleans! Does it have something to do with their hurricane? How did they end up in Bellerive? So many questions, so little time...

Waiting for something to happen. Geilston Bay, November 2010. I took this photo just over the road from our place. It's a mite depressing that you can see - on the extreme upper left - the Carruthers Building. I suspect that with the right equipment, you'd even be able to zoom and and see my desk! Today's Sunday Top Five? Five Games In Which Henry Has Bested Me! SNAP! Connect Four Guess Who? Hide and Seek Memory If you've ever played games with Henry, you'll understand that sometimes taking one for the team is the better result for everybody...

Some weeks ago, Henry, Ezra, Jen and I all set out on a jaunt down the river estuary in the World Famous Hobart Yellow Water Taxi (you've no doubt heard of it). They picked us up just by our door, took us for a bit of a spin - including under the Tasman Bridge - and dropped us off right in town. Here are some shot Henry took as we made our way under the Bridge. We had a good day for it weather wise, and the lads took their first foray into earning their sea legs! Antarctica next. Crossing the bridge this morning - on a bus, overcast and grey - I was struck with three thoughts: Poetic prose as a genre is not really my cup of tea. The current Tasmanian election campaign is the least interesting and inspiring since 1996. I think that I'm burnt out . I'm wondering whether the three are related?