This will hurt me...

Oh Henry, what big EYES you have!

Ezra cleans his mother's car. Consider the reflection of me a bonus!

Henry admires the view.

Another self portrait. An unnamed lane-way just off Murray Street, Hobart CBD. May 2012. Wordless Wednesday.

Boats, you say... No. I can't say we have any of those around here. Sandy Bay Yacht Club, Sandy Bay. November 2011. Cripes! Not only is it Sunday already, 2011 is nearly finished! Sunday Top Five? Hmmmm... Let me think about it. ... ... ... Okay... Okay, how about ' My Top Five (In No Particular Order) Shades Of Green! '? Sea green Office green Hunter green Fern green Bottle green

Puddle on Quayle Street. Sandy Bay. September 2011. I reckon that I have read George Orwell’s Animal Farm at least a half-dozen times. Indeed, I have studied and taught the bugger at University! Thus, writing this review should be relatively straightforward. An allegorical short novel first published in 1945 (although written in 1943–44), the book alludes to the Russian Revolution, the Western invasion of Soviet Russia in 1918, the Russian Civil War and the strengthening of Stalin before World War II. The novel explores the corruption of revolutionary ideals by its leaders but also how indifference, ignorance and myopia of the people undermine any possibility of a Utopia. Orwell's achievement is immense with this book, the best introduction to the political history of the Soviet Union 1917-1943 [all achieved with pigs, horses, sheep and other assorted animals]. A top read, and always one that leaves me regretting that he never had the chance to do a sequel that explored the post-...

Green means...? Constitution Dock, Elizabeth Street Pier, July 2011. When my children are awake there is always noise. Such noise. Such very much noise. And the noise is never limited to one direction or angle. It moves. It rebounds. It echoes. It peaks and it troughs (and it peaks again). It's bickering and arguing like drunks at 3 am outside your window. It's broooom -ing and wiiirrrr -ing like a pair of fourth-rate Michael Winslow impersonators gurning through Police Academy 16. It's the screech of a banshee and the moan of a million zombies seeking out brains. Then they sleep.

She says: One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman. Henry and Jennifer discuss the relative merits of de Beauvoir's The Second Sex and Friedan's The Feminine Mystique . He says: Man is not the enemy here, but the fellow victim. She says: Man is defined as a human being and a woman as a female - whenever she behaves as a human being she is said to imitate the male. He says: It is ridiculous to tell girls to be quiet when they enter a new field, or an old one, so the men will not notice they are there. A girl should not expect special privileges, because of her sex, but neither should she "adjust" to prejudice and discrimination.

The sunshine on the water. Eaglehawk Neck, Tasman Peninsula. January 2011. What’s that you say? Five questions about motion pictures you sure? Why sure… What is your favourite movie of all time and why? A hard one, as it depends on my mood. If I had to pick a short list, it probably include Unforgiven , The Godfather , Cool Hand Luke , Das Boot , The Life of Brian , Halloween , The Thin Red Line and Three Colours: Red . One of those, for lots of reasons… What was the best movie you saw this last year and why? Toy Story 3 . I didn’t get around to seeing a lot of movies last year, but I’m not sure that it matters. Who would have thought that an animation would be filled with such pathos and the tale of a bunch of toys so utterly ’human’ ? Who’s your favourite director and why? Like the favourite anything, it depends ! Krzysztof Kieślowski seemed to be a great combination of storyteller with an utterly fantastic eye for a shot. I think that Dekalog is about the best thing ever made with...

I see sea green. Bellerive Wharf, February 2011. Any questions? If someone wrote a book about your life, what would they title it? Good question. Hmmm. How about Mental Disintegration: the challenge and art of cohabiting with two tyros ? Do you like to sing in the shower? Yes I do. I sing tunes from the hit parade re-worked with dirty lyrics. What do you do when (you think) no one is looking? I look. Did you ever have a teacher who picked on you? At least one for certain. She was a sour old cow. The others, well, maybe they had a point… Describe yourself in a single sentence. I fall down a lot.

A Kelp Gull assesses its options. Tessellated Pavement, Eaglehawk Neck. January 2010. As a public servant, might I permit myself to say something? [Ahem] “ Cripes the attitude of most public servants astounds me. ” [Ahem] Thanks for that. I needed the release.

Clouds seen in the hospital windows. Argyle Street, Hobart. February 2011. Sometimes the best way of looking at something is by looking at something through something else. We often fool ourselves that when we observe something for ourselves, we can achieve some kind of objectivity. Of course, all observation is mediated through the observer. If we consciously choose to observe something through something, we immediately abandon that pretence, and factor in the potential refractive points. We won’t get objectivity, but at least we might get something more contemplative. What that has to do with clouds is anybody’s guess.

Rocky outcrop times two. Storm Bay as seen from Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011. It’s a lovely part of the world, Tasmania. If you’ve not been here, I might ask “why not?” My Mouth Hovers Across Your Breasts , by Adrienne Rich My mouth hovers across your breasts in the short grey winter afternoon in this bed we are delicate and touch so hot with joy we amaze ourselves tough and delicate we play rings around each other our daytime candle burns with its peculiar light and if the snow begins to fall outside filling the branches and if the night falls without announcement there are the pleasures of winter sudden, wild and delicate your fingers exact my tongue exact at the same moment stopping to laugh at a joke my love hot on your scent on the cusp of winter

Down by the river in Battery Point, you can see the oddest colours just underneath the surface of the water. This of course presents an entirely natural introduction to today's entry in the Saturday Festival of *someone else's* Poetry! Well Water , by Randall Jarrell What a girl called "the dailiness of life" (Adding an errand to your errand. Saying, "Since you're up . . ." Making you a means to A means to a means to) is well water Pumped from an old well at the bottom of the world. The pump you pump the water from is rusty And hard to move and absurd, a squirrel-wheel A sick squirrel turns slowly, through the sunny Inexorable hours. And yet sometimes The wheel turns of its own weight, the rusty Pump pumps over your sweating face the clear Water, cold, so cold! you cup your hands And gulp from them the dailiness of life.

The notion of visiting a train yard and riding the rails as a holiday treat might seem odd to those readers blessed with active passenger railways. Alas, here in Tasmania, we've not had any passenger rail lines active since the early 1960s! Thus, Henry and Ezra felt blessed to experinece the brief ride on the Don River Railway just outside of Devonport last week. Indeed, Henry paid a visit to the driver mid ride, and got to experience driving the thing first hand. As a bonus, we all survived! I will admit that I am a fan of rail. Travelling the tracks, the clickety clack, whistles and all that jazz fires me up . Anyone who has ever had the privilege of making love on the night sleeper from Venice to Vienna will know what I'm talking about here. However, we are here to talk Theme Thursday , and the theme is most definitely not “how to prevent severe leg cramping on the overnight sleeper from Venice to Vienna”. No, the theme is SURFACE. Which brings me to today’s photograph. T...

A family portrait! (I'm the one on the right...)