This will hurt me...

Carruthers looms in the mist. St Johns Park, New Town. August 2010. Mornings like the one depicted above do nothing for one’s enthusiasm from work. That said, dazzling sunshine with birds merrily singing, children gaily bounding, and Hungarian washer-women happily whistling snippets of Bartók doesn’t exactly fill me with zeal to get inside under [far too many] fluorescent lights and sit down in front of a computer either. I need that glass box. By the beach. With an urn. And a fridge. And fruit. Pineapple. And grapefruit. And an early minute.

Despite the morning fog, you can't keep the bright orange paint of the Aurora Australias under wraps for too long! It is a wonderful sight in the mist, and a pity that it is wasted on a journey into work. Go on, have a poem. again The dissolution of an agreement, and disassociated from his very being, Desmond was disgusted. Disallowed an explanation and discouraged from discussion, this distorted his disadvantage. The discomfort upon discovering the distasteful details of dishonesty, Desmond discontinued to care.

Theme Thursday already? And the theme is what? Man, I'm almost of a mind to cheat and run with (wh)OOPS I haven't done a Theme Thursday post! Indeed, I could run with that notion and post this picture with the caption and here is Hobart's sunny eastern shore , knowing full well that a thick blanket of fog means that you can see nothing of the sort. [To get an idea of what I'm talking about, this photograph was taken from the same location on a clearer day.] But back to the topic. Alas, the past few weeks I have myself been exhibiting a – child-enhanced – dementia-like propensity to misplace or forget things. The list is formidable: One bag of fruit and vegetables (a capsicum, two oranges, three mandarins, two carrots and an enormous swede); One wallet left on the bust (retrieved, sans cash); One carton of rice milk put in the microwave, and one cup of rice milk correspondingly put in the refrigerator; [and most seriously] One wedding ring that I increasingly suspect ...

The rigging of a sailing ship presents ample opportunities for photographs. I like this one because I've not used any filters, it's just the colour of that morning. The heavy mist enabled me to take the image looking directly at the sun (bottom centre), and also cast an interesting hue. Also, it's ANZAC Day again. I can't say that I feel all to differently than I did a couple of years back. If you are so iclined, you can revisit my vent by clicking this link .

Yesterday saw a rather misty start to the day. Here is a view from Salamanca of the Telecom [Telstra?] tower with some hills in the background. There is a couple that I know that seem as desperately in love as they were when they first met over twenty years ago. They are deeply committed to each other, treat each other with the utmost respect, and remain as passionate about each other as teenagers. They share all decisions equally , power is evenly balanced between the two, and they truly seem to respect and admire each other as human beings as well as lovers. They tell me that their love life is rich and exciting and that they continue to stimulate each other intellectually and emotionally . It really is enough to make you sick.

Referencing one on my all-time favourite movies in the title bar here, I have here to present to you today one halfway decent photograph (in my estimation) but little more to add. The picture itself was taken this fine winter’s day at 7:41 am down here in little ole’ Hobart by the water. You can just about see the Eastern Shore over there underneath all that mist. It was brisk, but not too cold. I know how keen people are on hearing some words of wisdom, but I will be honest with you, I have little of them today. So I will resort to a couple of pearls from the aforementioned motion picture. The first situation sees the titular hero of the piece being dragged battered and bruised back to ‘the box’, the most unpleasant place in the Florida prison camp. The unnamed guard doing the dragging (reflecting on the recent death of Luke’s Momma) tells him, “I wanna say a prayer for your Ma, Luke...Sorry, Luke. Just doin' my job. You gotta appreciate that.” And poor old Luke, spirit nearly ...