This will hurt me...

Big Ez digs for lost pirate treasure on Howrah beach. Note Mount Wellington in the background. It follows you everywhere in this town!

It's a hard slog getting up that dune, but once you're there: the ocean!

No, he isn't tied to a stake and he is not about to be shot. ---Transmission ends---

Alas, he didn't find any buried treasure in Melbourne, and I still have to got to work...

Millions of snakes, or more sinister? Eaglehawk Neck, Tasman Penninsula. January 2011. I have had a song stuck in my head for five straight days now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good song, but five days on constant rotation is a bit much. Anyway, I have this theory that if I look into the story behind the song, and potentially infect others with the virus, it will leave me alone. Here goes… If I Fell is a song by The Beatles that first appeared in the 1964. It was featured in the film A Hard Day's Night , and appeared on the accompanying soundtrack. Although it seems that John Lennon alone wrote it, it was credited to the Lennon/McCartney partnership. The song itself has an atypical structure for an early (-ish) Beatles track, with an unrepeated introduction sang by Lennon, followed by sequential verse sections, each having a slightly expanded form, but with no obvious chorus or bridge section. As ever, the song features a two-part harmony – Lennon and McCartney into a single micro...

The sand is warm. Calverts Beach, South Arm Peninsula. January 2011. I am at work and not at the beach. This causes me no end of sorrow. In times of sorrow, I tend to console myself with questions. Today, those questions include: Where does the law stand when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant? How do sign writers manage when they go on strike? What do they do at their protests? What did Tim Hardin have against carpenters? If one is 'expecting the unexpected’, isn’t the unexpected being expected expected? Shouldn’t it be 'expecting the expected’? Has there ever actually been a ‘civil’ war? If one synchronised swimmer is drowning, what is the correct protocol for her colleagues? Correct answers will be rewarded with three hearty cheers and a slap on the back.

These boots were made for walking. Seven Mile Beach, September 2010. Game Two of the Southern Touch Mixed Teams Division Seven was run and done last night, and the illustrious Statewide and Mental Health Services team Mind Games emerged slightly scathed last night with a gallant two tries to ten trouncing. On the personal front, no shoulder damage this week, just a nice big bruise on the right upper thigh (at the front) that I cannot explain. The quads are tight, and the left calf taut, but a vigorous series of stretches pre- and post- match appear to have served me well. As for the cheerleader report, they disappeared not long after the opening kickoff to search for playground equipment. Said equipment was found, but not before they spotted a small marsupial bounding through the sandy dunes of Howrah Beach. Alas, there was no camera to record the moment.

Ez gives it the thumbs up at Seven Mile Beach. There was a quote in the Engels biography that Ezra and I enjoyed very much. It concerned Engels' only vist to the Unioted States (he liked it), and more particularly, New York. For him, the big apple was a town worthy to be inhabited by the most vile-looking crowd in the world, they all look like discharged croupiers from Monte Carlo. "[ D ] ischarged croupiers from Monte Carlo "? Thumbs up!

Sand, sun and even a snippet of Mount Wellington. Ez weighs up his options at Bellerive Beach. I believe that he opted to collapse and cry…

The World's smallest sand dune. Clifton Beach, September 2010. Sunday Top Five ? Meh. My Top Five Excuses For Not Doing A Sunday Top Five ! I have a headache. I can't be bothered. A Great White Shark ate my notes. Sunday is the Lord's day, I shall not blaspheme his name. The pretzels are making me thirsty.

This morning, you saw Ezra fiddling about in the snow, now you can see Ezra fiddling about in the sand. These photographs were taken within a week of each other, such is the varied lifestyle down here in Hobart, Tasmania!

Continuing our preparation for the conquering the pole , I've set Ezra on an extracting regimen of САМозащита Без Оружия . If the lads are expected to survive the tests that crossing Antarctica barefoot (we need more sponsorship money for proper shoes) will throw at them, a sound knowledge encyclopaedic knowledge of the fighting arts is vital . I expect that the Emperor Penguins will not take too kindly to interlopers, and thus my intrepid explorers must be ready to take all comers. Sambo will give them this. I have it on good authority that penguins are well versed in ju-jitsu...

Erosion. It's the curse of toddlers and beaches everywhere.

Who left these shells here? Clifton Beach, January 2010 . Yesterday I had occasion to neaten the hair, have a shave and dust off the suit (no, it wasn't a court date). Anyway, I noticed the difference in people's responses to you when you're all professional-like. Not least of which was the verbal abuse you get from people being arrested. I never get verbal abuse from people getting arrested when I'm in normal clothes.

Here is Henry. He is not very well behaved at the moment.

Seven Mile Beach, February 2010. Winter is near, the message is clear: I miss the beach . The Beach , Robert Graves Louder than gulls the little children scream Whom fathers haul into the jovial foam; But others fearlessly rush in, breast high, Laughing the salty water from their mouthes-- Heroes of the nursery. The horny boatman, who has seen whales And flying fishes, who has sailed as far As Demerara and the Ivory Coast, Will warn them, when they crowd to hear his tales, That every ocean smells of tar.

In the sandpit. Again . March 2010. We've been spending an awful lot of time in the sandpit. I'm breaking convention today and pasting Henry and Ezra in the morning, as my two little men fit the poem. Do yourself a favour and read it. Men , by Maya Angelou When I was young, I used to Watch behind the curtains As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men. Young men sharp as mustard. See them. Men are always Going somewhere. They knew I was there. Fifteen Years old and starving for them. Under my window, they would pause, Their shoulders high like the Breasts of a young girl, Jacket tails slapping over Those behinds, Men. One day they hold you in the Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you Were the last raw egg in the world. Then They tighten up. Just a little. The First squeeze is nice. A quick hug. Soft into your defenselessness. A little More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a Smile that slides around the fear. When the Air disappears, Your mind pops, exploding fiercely...

Castles in the air sandpit, Geilston Bay. April 2010. We're now getting to the point where Ezra will leave the castles up long enough for me to photograph them before demolishing them in a Godzilla-like frenzy of rightious anger. I like to call this bottom one " The firebombing of Dresden ". Fortunately, neither Ezra nor Henry have discovered fire yet...

I'm experimenting a little with the post production here. I'm giving Hank here a bit of a silver/bronze tint that I think for some reason sharpens up the image somewhat. What do you reckon? These were taken at Seven Mile Beach, one of our regulars.

In ye olden dayes Henry, you used to be able to buy two beautiful Polynesian girls for a handful of seashells. We don't like in ye olden dayes any more.