Saturday, March 12, 2011
The Bhagavad Gita always helped my forehand draw. Buckingham Bowls Club, New Town. March 2011.
Oh how I would love to have had W.B. Yeats for dinner!
Pan fried in a bit of garlic butter, I think.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by W.B. Yeats
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Blue. Kangaroo Bay, Bellerive. February 2011.
Another week, another few books. This week I have a bigger one and a littler one.
Let’s start with the little one, shall we?
Although Alan Bennett is better associated with the world of theatre, he has ventured into TV, radio and literature. In The Clothes They Stood Up In, he brings his attention to detail and illustration of contemporary life through the eyes of Mrs. Ransome's, a seemingly dreary figure left behind by modern society.
The central premise of the book – suddenly all the worldly possessions of a suburban couple are removed from their flat – allows the author the leeway to create an atmosphere of stilted repression in which one character, gradually, is able to discover the world’s ability to delight her, even arouse her.
It’s a surprisingly dark piece, and tackles one of my favourite topics: stuff and its capacity to blunt our senses. All up it is a fantastic book, and – even better – will only take you a few hours to knock off. Highly recommended.
Book two this week is actually book FOUR of Spike Milligan's war autobiography, Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall, spanning his landing in September 1943 to his eventual withdraw due to ‘battle fatigue’ in January 1944. This book differs quite a bit from the earlier works, with the memories starker and more densely packed, with less in the way of humerous asides and and almost no sketches or doodles. In this respect, the book itself mirrors the tense frame of mind of Spike through the period.
Ultimately, it’s an unflinching account of the build up of pressure that became too much for many men. It strikes an incredibly genuine chord in its portrait of life in the ranks, with plenty of ‘blue’ language and banter as you would expect in such situations.
In fact, it does such a good job that you really finish wondering how anyone came home ‘sane’ after experiencing the prolonged, tense day to day life that involved being away from home and your loved ones, in the pouring rain, hauling big guns around in the knee deep mud, living in the same clothes day after day, no showers, no beds, with no hope of an end any time soon. Then you consider the fact that a few kilometres away are a bunch of people whose job it is to kill you.
That said, the humour still shines through, and now I’m going to face the challenge of finding volumes FIVE through EIGHT.
Very highly recommended.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Do not be in a hurry to succeed. What would you have to live for afterwards? Better make the horizon your goal; it will always be ahead of you.
I see sea green. Bellerive Wharf, February 2011.
If someone wrote a book about your life, what would they title it?
Good question. Hmmm. How about Mental Disintegration: the challenge and art of cohabiting with two tyros?
Do you like to sing in the shower?
Yes I do. I sing tunes from the hit parade re-worked with dirty lyrics.
What do you do when (you think) no one is looking?
Did you ever have a teacher who picked on you?
At least one for certain. She was a sour old cow. The others, well, maybe they had a point…
Describe yourself in a single sentence.
I fall down a lot.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.
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.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
The worst thing that happens to you may be the best thing for you if you don't let it get the best of you.
Yes, I believe I can fly!
Thanks to Jen, who took the pic.
[By the by, who are those two dills in the background?]
Monday, March 07, 2011
Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested.
Sign #1. St Johns Park, New Town. March 2011.
Sign #2. St Johns Park, New Town. March 2011.
Sign #3. St Johns Park, New Town. March 2011.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
This seagull is checking out the potential Sheffield Shield final location. Bellerive Oval, Bellerive. March 2011.
Top Five Cricket Teams.