This will hurt me...

He is Ezra looking like something out of a Calvin Klein advertisement, only this time with his shirt on. Here's a challenge, what would you call the toilet water eau de cologne that this bloke is trying to shift here? I'm only after one word...

A familiar view here in Geilston Bay the past three or four months. That, coupled with grizzling children caked in snot has ensured our share of [ahem] interesting evenings. I did consult with the most recent guide to the Geneva Convention rules and regulations, and wouldn't you know it, there, on page 367, full colour prints of Henry and Ezra! Designated deliverers of cruel and unusual torture , it reckons...

Henry, hard at work trying to crack the Da Vinci code. Quick tip Henry, it was Judas .

No, it isn't the Battleship Potemkin, it's a little navy patrol boat turning its back to the Aurora Australis in a nice golden morning sunshine. It's almost like a duel. I found myself the other evening repeating a familiar refrain I am sure is not simply one from my childhood: "how dare you sit there an not eat any of that food there it's good food nice food lovingly cooked and there are starving children in Africa who are stuck eating rocks and dirt just to have something in their tummy because they are so hungry that it hurts so much that they eat those rocks and dirt and here you are telling me that you don't want it." I want to know, what did people tell their kids in generations before? Did they riff on Africa as my parents did, referring to the poor bloated Ethiopians routinely on the nightly news at that point (occasionally chucking in the odd outdated reference to Biafrans or Bangladeshis)?

I posted a photo last week (early this week?) of Henry exploring the delights of the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery. It's not just Henry and fossils that happens there though, as Ez is showing signs of interest in a geological sense. NO you filthy buggers, G E O L O G I C A L . ROCKS , not ladies' bits . Get your minds out of the gutter. That said, the gutter is the best place to view the stars...

Water jets in Franklin Square, Winter '09 . Theme Thursday today, and what a task I have! The theme is RHYTHM, so I set myself the goal this morning of penning a lightning fast drabble on today’s them on my way to work on the bus this morning. Alas, my trusty notebook was elsewhere! Thus, I fished out a receipt from the fresh fruit market in Salamanca [APPLES GRANNY SMITH SML KG], and set about squeezing out 100 words on the back. I’m glad to say that I had the requisite number done and dusted by the time I hit the bridge and was able to dip back in to Dame Rebecca West’s interesting little tale The Return of the Soldier . Let’s take the easy way out and call this one RHYTHM . The rhythm of their relationship was a familiar one. He worshipped her, she loathed him. He adored her, she was disgusted . He would whisper the sweetest, gentlest paeans of his affection into her lovely ear as they made love, and she would shun his offerings a cat might a command. When he arrived home, h...

This is Henry's angry face. I am reasonably certain that is uncannily like the face I pulled last night after spending an hour slaving away over a hot stove cooking dinner after spending eight hours slaving away over a hot computer only to have my oldest child turn his nose up and refuse to eat one single thing on his plate, telling me that it was "yukky". I will concede that the rissoles were dry, and the roast veg a little overdone, but it all tasted okay. How could he be so certain when he didn't taste it anyway?!?