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Showing posts with the label the plane

Golf is more fun than walking naked in a strange place, but not much.

Leaving on a jet sea plane. In front of Mount Wellington, Hobart. December 2012. Theme Thursday today and it's all about the IMAGINATION. You know, IMAGINATION. Flying pigs. Alien abductions. Reward for merit. That kind of thing. Like this plane. Chartered by an "Ashok Kumar" out of the city of Kanpur in Uttar Pradesh, the plane was loaded with a collection cheap plaster statutes of the oft-overlook Saint Chrysogonus. Naturally, people viewed Kumar's actions with suspicion. After all, what would the son of an impoverished street poori-sabji seller be doing shipping religious knick knacks at the arse end of the world? Despite what you might think, Ashok's motives were pure. Well, pure in the sense that love, lust and the desire to disrobe in front of the extraordinarily beautiful and nubile young seamstress from next door is an entirely reasonable motivating force in the life of any young man. Obviously, you need to shift an awful lot of curried treat...

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane / In proving foresight may be vain:

Coming in to land. Seven Mile Beach. October 2011. All I can muster is, "What would Robbie Burns say?" To which all I can reply is, "Mah god! that is indeed a body enormoos metal spyug up thaur in th' lift!" To a Mouse, On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough , Robert Burns Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee Wi' murd'ring pattle! I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa's the win's ar...

A difference of opinion is what makes horse racing and missionaries.

Heading in a north easterly direction. Looking up from the vantage point of Bathurst Street, Hobart. March 2011. I stick the thumb out, but they never stop. Why not?