This will hurt me...

Hen cranks the wheel...

All downhill from here. Hobart Rivulet, Sandy Bay. January 2012. At what point do the constant stream of birthday parties stop for the little 'uns? LAST SUPPER , Graham Burchell Botticelli grinned with egg tempera congealed at the hinge of his lips Velasquez licked shine from an aubergine blackened in the shadows Vermeer picked pearls from a jar labelled ‘silverskin onions’ Turner stirred through the steam mist risen above Venetian chicken soup Monet decorated a blue plate with sliced cucumber and radishes Gauguin sniffed a sponge cake’s desiccated coconut and sighed Van Gogh spat a gristle morsel at a swirl of Provençal sauce Cézanne reached for the fruit bowl but dithered between apple and pear Dali tweaked moustache and swallowed a sheep’s eye with relish Bacon tore at turkey leg his neck twisted in hidden fury Pollock drizzled ranch dressing about tossed Waldorf salad while Freud spooned one more pickled walnut to an off-white napkin next to the last painter unknown a child sti...

Ezra stands astride the bridge of the oil tanker Hugli Spirit . Registered in the Bahamas, she was built 2005 in the Hyundai shipyard of Mipo Bay in Ulsan, South Korea. She has a rugged charm, at 183 metres long and 33 metres wide with over 46,889 deadweight tonnes. Unfortunately, some rather silly occupational health and safety rules prevented young Ezra from taking her out for a bit of a spin. Yes, it's political correctness gone mad!

The view of Goat bluff from down low on Calverts Beach. Calverts Beach, South Arm Peninsula. January 2012. A fine start to the year with three books already done and dusted. First up The Eye , which is Vladimir Nabokov’s shortest novel. Set amongst the Russian émigré comunity in 1920s Berlin, it focuses on the enigmatic Russian Smurov. The action commences after the attempted (perhaps successful) suicide of the narrator. After this (potentially imaginary) death, his "eye" observes a group of Russian émigrés as he tries to ascertain their opinions of the mysterious character Smurov. Largely about ‘identity’ – our own perceptions of self and the social construction of our identity both for and by others – Smurov exists as a hero, fraud, nobleman, crook, "sexual adventurer" and spy in the eyes of himself and others. The central narrator gathers these observations in the attempt to construct a coherent portrait of Smurov. While the ‘twist’ alluded to in the author’s p...

Not quite what I meant by 'chin up', but whatever gets you through the night.

To the memory of Fanny... Rescued headstones, St Davids Park, Hobart. January 2012. Theme Thursday and we are talking about CHANGE. I could talk about the CHANGE from 2011 into 2012, but aside from the number ‘2’, what has CHANGEd? No, CHANGE is more subtle than that. CHANGE is inexorable, inevitable and inescapable. Like that boulder in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (only in real life you’d be scraping Indy up with a trowel and sending him home in a jar). Take the case of the loving memory of Fanny [see picture above]. You can be guaranteed that when they planted poor Fanny in the ground, there was a suitably somber atmosphere with nary a snigger, snicker or titter at the back. Fast-forward 136 years and you write TO THE MEMORY OF FANNY on a wall and you would raise more than a few eyebrows. All because the meanings of words CHANGE. Words themselves CHANGE. Fanny used to mean one thing, and now it means something quite different. When it comes to CHANGE it seems that we need ...

One thing that you can say about the bloke: he puts on a hell of a show!