My Occasional Thought For The Day

ARCHIVE 2

22nd June 2002 to 22nd September 2002

The repetitive purple lines below, in my formatting of this page, are in Persian Cuneiform.

Spiders! Although I can not admit to an unbiding love for them, I feel much of gentle fondness for them, such that I never intentially kill them; not even the highly poisonous Funnel-web & Redback Spiders.

When I lived in Wollstonecraft several years ago, within a period of a few months I found a large female Funnel-web on the inside of my bedroom's sliding balcony door [at night, after just swiching off the light & getting into bed!]; a male Funnel-web high up on the wall of my library [day] & a male Funnel-web missing two legs, which was clinging to a shirt I was ironing [day]. Finally, a male Funnel-web lived in my bathroom for three days before I could persuade him to leave!

With the first, I opened the balcony door, cautiously, and chased her with a broom until she ran outside. The second, I caught with a vacuum cleaner, with him clinging to the end of the tube until I switched the vacuum cleaner off. Then I persuaded him to climb on to a dustpan, with which I tossed him out of the balcony door in to the undergrowth. The third, I flicked on to the floor [not with my hands], then the dustpan & out the balcony door once more. The fourth was the most intransigent. Each time I tried to direct him out the window with the broom, he would run for cover and flatten himself in to a crack. So I simply shut the door. When I showered or bathed, he would sit quietly, high up on the wall. Eventually, on the third day, I persuaded him to run out of the bathroom window.

The first Funnel-web did freak me out somewhat. But after that I was quite relaxed, even with the Funnel-web on the shirt, although I knew that a solid bite could possibly kill me. It was quickly obvious to me that they are not aggressive, will always run and hide if they can. Only as the last resource do they actually rear and attempt to bite. Also, they cannot jump as they are too big; albeit they can and do fall, as they are unusually clumsy spiders!

[Inspired to think of spiders I was, when perusing the Australian Spider
floppy-disk, which I bought at the Australian Museum last sunday.]

Today I saw with Helen, "Austalian Rules" at the Academy Twin Cinema in Paddington. We went to see it because Luke Carroll, number two on the list of actors, up till last year worked with us as a P.D.O. in North Sydney.

The Noisy Miner chicks are already flying. As soon as they could fly, which was a few days ago, the parents moved them to some tall dense bushes, about ten metres away in a house yard, which is downslope from the nesting tree. I saw and heard them today. They were in good health, quite strong in the air, but still calling rather persistently to be fed.

There is a mystery to me, as to why they nest in an open branched tree on the footpath, and only when the young can fly, do they move them to the relative safety of the denser foilage. Also, the highly visible twig-constructed nest is always low, even though there are secure forks higher up the tree! Something in their heredity makes them build the nest low & highly visible, and then defend it with the grim determination of a highly developed code of bluff!

[Previous history of these nestlings can be found in My "Thoughts" of Wednesday
4th September, Monday 9th September & Tuesday 10th September 2002.]

George Bush Junior should read his Bible more;
especially the part about the first being made last.

Unsolicited advertising in letterboxes is a classic case of the power of inexpensive inefficiency. It matters not that only 1 in 10, perhaps, are looked at at all; or that maybe only 1 in 20 of those are read with any persuaded interest; or even if far less than that result in an actual purchase of goods or service! Other kinds of advertising, which are far more effective & efficient, are also so much more expensive, that the high inefficiency of letter-boxing is economically overcome.

The words-constructed "Thought" has such a range of intensity,
from the most tivial aside, to the greatest profundity.

It is not well known, but the late Karen Carpenter once delivered mail for a living. - "Rainy days and mondays always get me down."

Today was the Chinese Dinosaur Exhibition, at the Australian Museum in Sydney. Amongst the usual large skeletons, there were small Dinosaurs flattened in rock, with impressions of hair and/or feathers preserved. But best of all were the skeletons of three Birds, each of age 125 million years. One had teeth, two had the modern Bird beak; and all three had an unmistakable Bird skeleton.

Strange that some still doubt the endothermy [warm bloodedness] of Dinosaurs! And for the clues on Dinosaur behaviour, the Emu is surely a better key than the Goanna!

P.S. And I will add that the "usual large skeletons" are still very interesting.

The Pied Currawong, who built the nest in a tree to the near south of where I live, has finally settled down in to it; presumably for some serious incubating.

She is a fairly young bird, as shown by the small distance, top to bottom, of her beak. Her mate is not around, but I do not expect him to be, until the eggs hatch.

It is odd that one of the best places to survive the end of Cretaceous extinction was in freshwater, in streams or lakes. Yet one of the worst places to attempt this survival was in the shallow continental seas.

How one could survive the world wide fire in the former environment, but not in the latter, seems to me quite a mystery.

This afternoon, I was at a bus stop in North Sydney. I could see the bus coming in the distance & stood up. Behind me I heard a loud bang. Turning around, I saw a Noisy Miner on the ground, flapping its wings ineffectively. This was not one of yesterday's Noisy Miners - different place, different bird.

It was clear that this bird had flown into the window in the bus shelter wall, as it had not seen the glass. After the initial flapping, it stopped, stretched & arched its neck a long way backwards. Thinking it was seriously hurt, I was about to move towards it. But then it succeeded in taking off, groggily rose to about 2 metres in the air, flew close by my head, and then, as it picked up speed & sureness of flight, flew up to the branch of a tree about ten metres distant. There, it no doubt rested a rather sore head. Fortunately, it seemed to be only concussed.

The whole incident took much less time to happen, then to write about. From collision to perch in tree was so brief a span, that when I turned back to the bus, it had only moved about one hundred metres & was still some fifty metres from the stop.

Same Noisy Miner nest as monday. The two chicks were perched now on a still higher branch; although there must be a limit to this pattern! And they were side by side, bodies touching. One parent arrived, alighting on a branch at the far side of the canopy; gradually made its way to the chicks; then fed the one who was calling for food the most loudly. - There is a clear lesson here!

Once more the parents knew I was there, but had clearly decided I was "harmless".

Last wednesday's Noisy Miner nest - update. Today, as I arrived, the parents were chasing two other Noisy Miner intruders off their territory. The two chicks were already out of the nest, perched on a higher branch, & calling to be fed. They had adult-like plumage on their heads, but still had fluff on their breasts. One parent came to feed them; yet it still ignored me!

I finished this afternoon, "Trilobite!" by Richard Fortey. For me to complete 255 pages in 9 days, when it was not the only book I was reading, is very rapid reading indeed; especially as I always read to enjoy & remember. The exclamation mark is well deserved, for an excellent book on an astonishing Arthropod, with Calcite Crystal Eyes! Even more astonishing is that many species of Trilobite actually lost these Crystal Eyes, evolving to Blindness!

I played all Nine Beethoven Symphonies this morning, albeit the Ninth finished at ~12.30pm. This is the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra's recording, which I bought last night before their concert. I was so eager, that I even cut the tape on the box containing the CD sets, with one of my keys, when a pair of scissors was not to hand.

Tonight I was at the Conservatorium. The Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra played Beethoven, Saint-Saëns, Lilburn & Beethoven. Excellent!!

Right from the opening bars of the Leonore 3 Overture, when the violins just snapped with precision, it was clearly going to be something special.

The Leaden Flycatchers are more vocal than ever, especially before dawn, but also right through the day. It must be their nesting time.

I stood under a Noisy Miner nest, looking up at two chicks from close range. Yet their parents bothered me not at all. If they had thought me a threat, these aggressive little birds would have hounded me mercilessly.

There is a new chess tournament starting tonight, at North Sydney Chess Club - the Ford Open. I kept away, so that my passion for chess would not overcome my common sense & push me into a tournament, in which I could in no way do justice to the way I would wish to play.

Five Minutes of the "Historian" Simon Schama, last night, was enough for me. Firstly, he pointedly stated that Tacitus never visited Britain. True, but Agricola, Tacitus' father-in-law & confidant, ruled Roman Britain for nine years. Schama further makes light of the observations of Tacitus on British pearls, despite the accuracy of the Roman Senator's comments.

Then Schama went on to say, that if the Romans had have gone to the Orkneys ... Here I switched off the television. It very well known that the Romans did go to the Orkneys.

It has this inherent freedom to do, undermined by the knowledge of a need to be at work the next day. So any small achievement fails quite to satisfy; is somehow rather futile.

I cleared all five current correspondence chess games last night, which left the rest of the weekend free. Today was "free" for no great purpose, unless one considers housework a great purpose. Perhaps it is!

[That tongue twister in the first line certainly gums up the rhythm, but for some
unknown reason, I have fallen quite in love with its clumsiness. Thus, it stays!]

The Pied Currawong nest seems complete. I saw the pair mating this afternoon.

She stood still with her beak pointing straight up, while he stood beside her flapping his outstreched wings. Then he mounted her for barely a second. I can fully understand this, as they were doing these acrobatics some two stories up. He flew off. She went and sat in the nest.

I wish them luck. September last year a Pied Currawong nest in the same tree was demolished in a wind storm. It looks like the same pair. But the nest this year is certainly more secure, in a triple fork as last year, but lower down, amongst thicker branches. This Eucalypt forks infrequently & has a sparse foliage, so it is not the most protective of trees towards avian nests.

SBS TV has a programme about an Iron Age English Chariot Burial on tonight, at the same time that ABC TV has a programme about a major Dinosaur find at Winton, in Western Queensland.

There is comparitively little television which interests me. So, I find it both curious & frustrating that the two things, that I would most wish to watch this week, are on at the same time. Surely, with programmes such as these, which are rather similar cult interests, the two stations would maximise their ratings if they broadcast them at different times!

I am still recovering from the effect of the Australian Prime Minister, John Howard's recent "Man Of Peace" speech, in the House of Reps. It seems that he fears absolutely nothing! ... Except an adverse Opinion Poll.

This afternoon I saw a Pied Currawong adding to its nest, in a gum tree to the south of my home. It was the first new work I had seen on the nest since last saturday, when presumably the same bird had attached the basis of the frame in a tree fork; carefully testing those first few woven small branches by half sitting in the nest, with one foot still grasping the nearest branch.

On sunday two Rainbow Lorrikeets were inspecting the date palm to the north of my home. They dig holes for their nests; and as the trunk is covered with ivy, it is impossible to sight the excavations. It is a regular nesting tree.

I do often wonder why I bother with chess. It seems part compulsion, part madness and part God knows what.

The Leaden Flycatchers seem very vocal at all times of the day. They must be courting.

Some people are never so happy, as when they are part of a pack, pursuing some transgressor, who has had all our sins thrust upon them.

Curious thing these Nanobacteria. Even more curious is the fact, that there supposed scientists who refuse to accept their existence. If one applies Ockham's Razor, then one must accept that they are a form of life.

After all, it is only in recent years, that how Bumble Bees are actually able to fly has been understood. To refuse to accept their observed flight, since we did not know how they could fly, is absurd. Yet, no more absurd then refusing to accept the observed existence of Nanobacteria, because we do not yet understand, how something so small can live!

A good yarn yesterday, but wrong. This afternoon, even with the new RUNDLL32.EXE, internet access failed. On the first dial, "bytes in" flowed, but not "bytes out", so nothing could cross the ethereal connection! Then I redialled & it was back to the 400 odd bytes each way, but naught else!

Early last evening, I finally solved the problem of my new PC's modem not working as it should. It was dialing, exchanging a few hundred bytes with the ISP, but no actual exchange of further data could be made on the connection. This problem continued some three months. No-one I explained it to knew what to do; but I kept sporadically trying things. Then, when I was checking the drivers controlling the opening of GIFs [Folder Options, File Types], I noticed that "SpeedDial" [CNF file] was opened by RUNDLL32.EXE.

So I replaced my new PC's version of RUNDLL32.EXE with a copy of my old PC's version of RUNDLL32.EXE. And that was it! Always, I expected it was something quite simple, & this was why it was so frustrating.

[1] Much more appreciative.
[2] Far less trouble.
[3] Vastly less expensive.
[4] Conveniently compact.
[5] Available in an attractive range of colours.

Curious place, Australia! The native Conifers have leaves, not needles; whereas the native flowering plants often have needles, rather than leaves [like Casuarina & Hakea].

Walking through Saint Leonards Park, mid-afternoon: - Wherever there was grass I saw dozens of Leaden Flycatchers, feeding on the wing in low altitude loops, beneath a warming sun. Under a Port Jackson Fig at the western end, about ten Homing Pigeons had homed in on the fallen fruit. At the eastern end, two Sulphur Crested Cockatoos were searching with interest, any hollows in old Gum Trees; but each on its own, rather than in tandem.

[The Port Jackson Fig may well have been a smallish struggling Moreton Bay Fig. They look very similar; but the latter demand good soil & so often grow not very healthily in Sydney; whereas the former will cheerfully grow on the sides of cliffs, or even houses.]

I raised the Melaleuca to be the highest perch at one end of the cage. The up till then ignored new perch, soon had Wolfgang Razorbeak proudly perching on it. He even is sleeping there, now the main light is out.

Reading on Dinosaur footprints, I came upon the fact, which I surely must have read before but forgot, that the Jurassic was an arid time for Pangea, the single continent of that lost world. The rocks tell us this, quite clearly, in sediments tracked across by many creatures, including the ponderous yet smart enough Sauropods.

Despite this, for so long, what can only be called "Bad Geologists" kept putting the big beasts in water, in swamps or even swimming out to sea on occasion, on the misconclusion that such large animals could not stand on their ownsome, despite having legs clearly designed so to do!

[The lesser numbers of Sauropods in the Cretaceous, which succeeds the Jurassic, was simply due to the greater wetness of the Cretaceous.]

I saw Jasmine flowers for the first time this season, at dusk on Shellcove Road in Kurraba Point. Above were two Leaden Flycatchers, circling high for the last gnat of the day. The Jasmine, all over the Lower North Shore, has been in full red bud for many days, and the unfolding of the white fragrant blossoms is only a matter of waiting for each plant's internal timing to be satisfied.

The Cherry Trees are also quite the individual about their flowering. Three Trees are covered in pink at 28 Crows Nest Road in Waverton, as is one in Bannerman Street in Neutral Bay. But the large Cherry Tree at 9 McKye Street has only a few small pink flowers. The white flowering Cherry Trees seem far more reluctant, and I cannot recall having seen any open yet.

Running Postman flowers scarlet on my balcony,
while Native Wysteria flourishes with small deep-violet blooms.

As I cleaned my western windows this morning,
my two young Budgies flew in to a minor panic,
although my older Budgie was unbothered.

I cannot relax on a friday afternoon, as each & every weekend
is a recurring challenge to achieve some small permanent gain.

I find it hard to feel sympathy for most Argentinians. Their county's economic woes are due to their insistence on electing populist leaders, each of whom has a personal corruption matching the overblown ego.

Save Argentina with loans & they will simply do this again. Each nation has its own pestilent flaw. Argentina's is a brutal minus effect. This saddens me.

The violet end of the spectrum seems an especial strength of the Sydney winter flowering. As if to emphasise this, at the park which crowns the cliff at Kurraba Point, a Rosemary bush & a Lavender bush flower side by side, with branches intermingled in a flourish of health.

Some of the Cherry blossoms opened today.
Yesterday, they were all merely buds.

The trouble with lack of sleep, is that it is cumulative, and there is no somnambulance-bank, from which one may withdraw the needed respite.

[Anyway, be that as it may, I managed to cope by taking roughly two hours sleep, this afternoon, and now am up & at it, more or less. As Happiness Stan would say: "Oh where at man?"]

Northward bound, as I crossed the Harbour Bridge by bus, past sunset with the light fast fading, I overheard a passenger on the other side of the aisle, say to her friend: "That's a very bright star. In the clouds. ... It must be Venus."

Venus moves rather more slowly, clouds or no clouds. And it lacks a tail light, no matter how closely it gets to Earth.

[I was returning from the Schubertiad at the Goethe Institute in Woollahra. Jane Edwards (Soprano), accompanied by Jeanell Carrigan (piano), performed a Joseph Haydn cantata, four Wolfgang Mozart songs & after interval, ten Franz Schubert songs. Despite being late by some ten minutes, a computer glitch induced faux pas, & also despite some fuzziness of the head, from my having been on my feet without rest for too long, I thoroughly enjoyed it! One really must be in a smallish concert room with a good soprano, to appreciate how powerful is her voice, yet all projected without strain! The return journey was unfortunately lengthened, as my daziness caused me some confusion & I actually, when travelling by train from Edgecliffe, alighted at the first stop, Kings Cross, instead of the second, Martin Place. I was glad to eventually make it home, lie down & put my feet up, literally. Chronic low blood pressure is such a fun thing!]

Swimming [noun] - A sport which almost all Australians are involved in, as both participants & spectators, when they are at school. After leaving school, almost all Australians take no interest in this sport, except once every two years - to wit, the Olympic & Commonwealth Games. A small minority of dedicants, however, work tirelessly to make the delectation of the masses on these infrequent occasions worth the trouble.

[Personally, I have never found swimming interesting as a spectator sport, even in my wayward sport-enthused childhood. I admit a possible negative bias, as I have never learnt to swim. However, I have rarely made the attempt to learn, and then, only in childhood, under school rules. Australians are often supposed to be a genetic thowback to fish, but I was born in one of the semi-arid zones which so dominate the continent, and dust rather than water is the norm; while a creek is something which has the possibility of containing running water, but rarely takes this option up.]

Poetry [noun] - The most popular of all art forms. This is due to two reasons:

[1] The fact that poems may be very short indeed, which allows the possibility of rapid creation.
[2] The impossibility of any objective method of determining the worth of a single poem, compared against the whole corpus of poetry.

Despite these inherent disadvantages, very many poems have stood the test of time, being well regarded centuries after their creation. Vastly more poems have faded into oblivion. As with many creativities, poetry has the disadvantage that one has to be long dead, before the true judgement of the worth of ones poems can be made. And exactly how this is done is mysterious, a kind of intersection between popularity and intellectuality.

[I once had a two word poem published; albeit the title was somewhat longer. To this poem.]

People are apt to mistake Momentum for a God, which is the Height of Foolishness. It is not even a Purpose.

After having a warm shower this afternoon, I retired to bed for one & a half hours & read about one third of Vyvyan Holland's "Son Of Oscar Wilde". This was not what I had planned, and furthered not the cause of getting matters of filing in order. Yet, it was indeed, far more enjoyable. [Later, in the evening, I once more opened the book & read it to its finish.]

July is not regretted of its passing this year; likewise with June; for the both have been a mite cold for my liking. Once I adored the chill air; but not this year in this place. Is it the revenge of impending old-age?

[Not that I am that old; yet old age always impends, even in the first flourish of one's youth - just ask Achilles. And there is nothing like an extra chill instilled into joints already sore, to make one feel, on that account at least, rather much an antiquity. Ah! Time is for sure, a most brutal father.]

In "Ecclesiastes" there is mention of "a time to every purpose under the heaven". It is my personal experience, that this is not the case.

Last week, the Australian Government chose to vote in the United Nations, against the supression of torture. Lined up, indeed, with a handful of nations who boast a long & involved interest in the practical use of this "art".

Have we reached the base of the quagmire yet? Or have these "statesmen" more humiliations planned for our reputation?

In the Sydney Botanic Gardens, a Wollemia sapling
is kept within a cage of impressively thick bars.
Yet, it in no way looks dangerous.

[The amble through these Gardens was after a midday concert, at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, performed by their Chamber Orchestra. It was mostly Schubert and very good.]

I bought an inexpensive night-light, which switches itself on as the light fades. Ludwig Van Budgie-Bird was a tad suspicious at first, but now is in full approval of this innovation. He seems to sit watching it, until he falls asleep.

Wolfgang Razorbeak & Amadeus Bat-Budgie are further from the light & so in greater darkness. They seem happy to be calm, as long as Ludwig is.

[To The Budgie-Bird Page. Avo-phobes beware! As should all of those who regard poorly the intellect of small Parrots. I would truly hate to see anyone feel obliged to abandon a heart-felt bigotry!]

I have decided to leave the sitting room light on all night, to calm an elderly Budgie, who has for some reason & quite alien to his normal character, taken to flying madly in the darkness & crashing. He is thankfully unhurt; & some happy chirps from him indicate his approval of my decision.

The two youngsters were only stirred in to flying frantically by his behaviour; & after my third attempt to cut the light failed, due to the melodramatics of all three, my decision was clearly the only reasonable one.

It would be so wonderful to truly say after a day,
I could in no way have possibly achieved any more.

Shortly after arriving home from work, I lay down with my feet raised on a stool. This I often do, as I have chronic low blood pressure. Raising my legs is a simple & effective way to drain the pooled blood back to my torso.

But today, to my surprise, I actually fell asleep for some 15 to 20 minutes, in this none too comfortable position. And I had not even felt tired.

It was an unexpectedly short day at work. Yet this has its problems. Having to adjust to possessing all this time, took far too much of the precious leisure for my piece of mind. Hours, it seems, were fritted away before I was composed sufficently to use this resource. Thus, much of its measure was spent!

Having missed the late running bus by a mere ten seconds, I decided to walk home, via Saint Leonards Park. There were no Leaden Flycatchers today, despite the warmth of the late afternoon sun. However, close by Falcon Street and at some distance from the walkpath, I saw 20 Sulphur Crested Cockatoos. They were silently feeding on the ground, in the shade of the gums. They are very fond of roots, both grass & herb. But they are rarely so quiet when eating.

When I woke up this morning in winter darkness, without warning & in a still otherwise drowsy state, I was precisely analysing in my head a chess by correspondence position, which I held off posting last night. At the time, what I thought was a dubious move, but possibly playable, was clear now as causing the loss a piece in a tactical meleé.

My spatial analysis knob [on the right hemisphere, opposing the left's language knob] must have been impatient to wake me up, since discovering this gross error.

The offending move is now crossed out. Fortunately, there does seem to be a safe alternative, but with complications that I am still to decipher. Perhaps I should sleep on it.

A French newspaper had a headline, refering to a Texan, which translates as "Business As Usual". The Texan was certainly not George Bush Junior.

More importantly, the Tasmanian State poll has apparently seen the election of 4 Green MLAs in the 25 member lower house. Their staunch opposition to clear-felling old growth forests has won them well. The Liberal Party has crumbled to an all time low of 6 members, as they were punished for prefering their loyalty to the Australian Prime Minister, over their fealty to Tasmania.

Whilst reading the self-biography of Oscar Wilde's son, Vyvyan, I looked up one of the footnotes provided by his son, Merlin. Near by it another footnote caught by eye. I was astonished to read that Oscar had set up house with the vile Alfred Douglas in Naples, in September 1897, so soon after his release from gaol on 19th May 1897. Constance heard news of this development and stopped her husband's allowance. Oscar & Alfred parted company at the end of that year. His allowance was then restored. "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" was published on 13th February 1898. Was it an apology, I wonder? Then more footnotes: Constance was impressed and moved by this excellent poem, but still she soon died, on 7th April 1898. It is a harsh person indeed, who does not feel grief on her behalf.

This Neapolitan affair just stunned me! Being absolutely beyond doubt as to Alfred's shallowness, selfishess & all round worthlessness, Oscar went back to him. Surely he knew that the knowledge of this could kill his ailing wife.

You are wrong, Oscar, in your refrain in "De Profundis". Shallowness is not the supreme vice. Callousness is.

It is the first weekly anniversary of my new personal computer regaining its full graphics.

But more cogently, it is a week since I walked home from work at eleven past noon, to find a dozen or more Leaden Flycatchers looping their way at low heights across the verdant spread of Saint Leonards Park, swallowing all gnats and midges in their paths. The winter afternoons of Sydney are often warm, as this one was. It brings to air the tiny sun-loving snips of life, which are this little Bird's epicurian delight.

I walked as I was tired of waiting for erratic buses. Yet my irritation soon turned to pleasure.

About a fortnight ago, I wondered if the Leaden Flycatchers were wintering in Sydney, for the third succesive year. I could not recall noticing them since the coldness set in. But, as soon as I began keeping a keen ear & eye for these restless little birds, I see & hear them often.

A Grovelling of Royalists.
A Crassness of Line-Dancers.
A Vulgarity of Drunks.
A Titillation of Voyeurs.

I woke shortly before sunrise, with the clear bell-like tones of Leaden Flycatchers cutting sweetly through the air.

The sun had just set behind the ridge as I walked up Spofforth Street. A Leaden Flycatcher was looping above the street's bitumen, catching a few last gnats for the day; while two Rainbow Lorrikeets sat quietly on a dead limb of an otherwise living tree.

I am not sure if the silence of those boldly coloured parrots was profound, but it certainly was unusual!

Strange how Sydney remains so moistly lush, even though it has rained not in weeks.

My new PC has recovered its 32 bit graphics. It seems that I did something right, albeit I know not quite what.

Unfortunately, my approach to computer problems is particular, rather than wholistic.

Reading Oscar Wilde's "De Profundis" leaves me angry about how he was treated, even though he manages to be philosophical about it. Real wrongs are eternal.

There is something depressing about mondays. Perhaps it is the connection of this day with that bleak airless world; a globe of chillness, with feeble yellow light reflected off its powdered grey terrain.

It should not have been at all difficult to witness the Australian Brandenburg Orchestra playing Haydn & Boccherini. There were five performances, each of them but a quick bus-ride across the harbour. Yet, although I was keen to immerse myself within this concert, I could not manage even that insubstantial effort!

There is nothing like not going to work in the morning, to make one realise what a waste of our precious & limited life span, that work is.

Lake Vostok! This is a half-kilometre deep lake in Antactica, suffocated under four kilometre's thickness of icecap. It is surely one of the most alien environments on our arcadian globe, having all the dubious pleasures of extreme darkness, cold & pressure.

It is ironic that George Bush Junior, whose election as USA President was controversial (to say the least), should wish to remove Yassar Arafat, whose election as Palestinian President was obviously fair.

We clear fell great forests
so to have more paper
to pile in vast mouldy mounds
and wonder what to do with.

Ludwig Van Budgie-Bird was all fluffed up, late this afternoon. He is getting old & feels it more under his feathers than the youth, it seems. So I put on the fan-heater on a low heat, and he perked up no end.

The sun has moved so far to the north along my ridgetop horizon, that its weak winter rays no longer catch fully my windows, merely slanting across my front balcony. I look forward in this unusually chill winter [for these warm years] to the sun's return southwards to blast once more my western windows with warmth!

Music may "soothe the Savage Beast"
but it only encourages the Savage Budgie.

Each day, this winter week in Sydney, the weather has seemed to be even a touch more chill, than the previous day. Is Arthur Anderson auditing our weather?

It seems that every day, the suburban footpaths of North Sydney Municipality are strewn with stoves and fridges, sofas and chairs; with the furniture at least, to the casual eye, quite usable. A sure indication, I think, that many of the residents have too much ready cash & give too little careful thought.

It has not changed my views. But then, I have always become angry, if I think of what England did to him.

It is odd that Tiw should still get a day of the week, when no-one seems to be quite sure what he was God of.

The days are already becoming longer, quite noticeably. Yet, it is getting colder. I am quite aware as to why this seeming contradiction occurs; but this knowledge cheers me up not an iota.

There are those who believe that humans coming down from the trees was a big mistake. I am, however, a complete reactionary, in that I regard our abandoning of the sea for dry land to be the ultimate error. There is something so comforting about a complete immersion in water, which the thin air simply can not provide!