This will hurt me...

The last races of the season. Boats on the Derwent Estuary, as seen from the rocks at the bottom of Bellerive Bluff. February 2013. I shall plead for your forgiveness on today's post. The dual forces of illness, work deadlines and the unwavering challenge of two loud children have made it a little too hard of late...

Blokes in boats. The Derwent Estuary, as seen from A.J. White Park, Battery Point. May 2012. I can never really decide if this Stevie Smith poem is one of the most depressing that I know, or one of the most amusing. I think that it seems to depend on my mood. Not Waving But Drowning , Stevie Smith Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

The end of the race. Victoria Esplanade, Bellerive. February 2012. Wordless Wednesday.

Personally, I insist that all duels must take place on floating pontoon docks...

Racing boats. The Derwent Estuary, as viewed from Alexandra Battery, Sandy Bay. April 2012. The Internet is a wonderful place filled with the rich and varied treasures of the world holds (as well as a lot of pop up ads.) The following are some things that I've had a look at in the last week. I call this: a Compendium of Click-throughs for Monday Morning.. Here are some very dangerous things to avoid doing, spectacularly captured in super slow motion highlights … This is cool: the World of 100 . Some nice graphic representation of the composition of the world if we were just a village of 100 people… A hundred years ago, the British Empire looked enviously at the efficient carrier pigeon networks established by its European rivals. Yet – after constant training and investment – Allied birds outperformed their rivals during the First World War. Here is the story of how the closed the pigeon gap ! We should strike some medals for these two sisters in the UK who have forced...

A close finish. The River Derwent, as seen from the Bellerive boardwalk. December 2011. This poem depresses me very much. I like it. Gunner , Randall Jarrell Did they send me away from my cat and my wife To a doctor who poked me and counted my teeth, To a line on a plain, to a stove in a tent? Did I nod in the flies of the schools? And the fighters rolled into the tracer like rabbits, The blood froze over my splints like a scab -- Did I snore, all still and grey in the turret, Till the palms rose out of the sea with my death? And the world ends here, in the sand of a grave, All my wars over? How easy it was to die! Has my wife a pension of so many mice? Did the medals go home to my cat?

Preparations are already underway for a tilt at the Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race this year. There are but two hurdles in front of us: 1: We don't have a boat. 2: We'd rather go from Hobart-to-Sydney (and back again). I'm sure that we'll win if our demands are met.

Fair dinkum, once you wander in amongst the yachts you could very well get lost for days on end. Thankfully, the last time we did we found more than enough chilled prawns, Beluga caviar and bottles of '71 Grange to keep us going!

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

There's this little thing that happens this time of year and gets far more coverage than it deserves - and consequently annoys me - the Sydney to Hobart yacht race . Referred to incessantly as the Bluewater Classic in the Australian media, the Sydney to Hobart is little more than the mega-rich (come on, the naming sponsors are Rolex ferChristsake ) in their expensive toys playing soldiers pirates for the weekend and then have the nerve to carp on about how dangerous it all is. If it's so dangerous that you need to go on and on (and on and on and on) about it, don't do it ! If not, then shut the hell up about it. For two bloody weeks, all we get is a bunch of private school-educated prats bathing in the glory of you stupidity bravery while the spend the week after they arrive getting drunk, pissing and vomiting in the streets and harassing the local ladies with their tales of valour, and I for one don't like it !