This will hurt me...

Here is a bloody great big clock that can be found at the top of the General Post Office building in Hobart's CBD. I've shown it twice before, although both were night shots , the second showcasing Hobart's crepuscular beauty (did you see what I did there?). It's a good looking building, only slightly marred by the constant presence of smokers all down the footpath directly out front, and steps leading in. I am not a fan of smokers. A particularly nasty sub group are the smoker-spitters. The smoker-spitter is the fellow that you imagine doesn't like the taste much, so alternatively sucks long and deep on his gasper, exhales, and then summons up all the crap that has built up in his lungs and beyond and spits it out, usually right in front of him. Nice, I know. Ezra just farted.

The more that I sit here, the more that I believe in the adage that there are some people in the world that remain living only for the reason that it is both illegal and morally suspect to kill them. These people should count themselves lucky.

I need to post this photo of the lovely Ezra to keep me going today. Back to work!

There is a word that I like very much, but have thus far found impossible to fit into a spoken sentence with a straight face. I have long wanted to slip it in casually, but my nerve hasn’t held. It is almost like I am scared of it. I’m not worried about misusing it, you understand, as its meaning is clear. It’s a word regularly see in literature. Over the years I’ve seen it in print, and even in the odd quasi-religious text, which may have contributed to keeping me away. The only person that I’ve personally seen slip it in to casual conversation is the formidable VINCE, whose personality really does demand Caps Lock, and is the sort of person happy to use such a word. Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps I need to work up a more imposing presence, and then whack it on the table. It is a difficult decision. I don’t seem to struggle with others, but I’ve built up a reverence for this one. All right then, the word: crepuscular It’s a doozy, isn’t it? So here are my questions for the world: Do you ...

Obviously back to my trend of photographs that suggest the alienation of modern human beings, and the disenchantment that for many accompanies modernity. It has always struck me as vaguely amusing that although life - for Westerners at least - is immeasurably better today than ever before in human history (less people go hungry, gender inequality is relatively narrow, people live longer, possess more, are safer amongst many other indicators), so very many people do nothing but complain all the time.

Ahhh, but yesterday wasn’t just about ducks. Once off the bus here on the Lindisfarne/Geilston Bay border, I couldn’t miss this crowd of cockatoos having a cheeky feed by the side of the road. So I took their photo. Anyone who might be interested in the kind of birds that we have here in Tasmania, I can’t recommend a blog more highly than noted Tasmanian twitcher (and keen photograpoher)Alan Fletcher's blog Birds in Tasmania . The little boy in me would love to say “click on the link and see the lovely pair of tits”, but I would be lying. They’re Pink Robins. Time for bed now.

After another unfulfilling day at work yesterday, I was feeling somewhat flat on the walk back to the bus. However, a lovely pair of ducks managed to brighten the mood somewhat by settling in for a bath on Parliament lawns. They were a good looking pair (Pacific Black’s I would wager), who didn’t seem to mind people passing by and photographing them in the makeshift tub. The dirty devils!