
But what kind of flower is it?
Ultra slow ultra runner; Election loser; Eating contest winner; Doting father; Sometime: Podcaster; Filmmaker; Biz starter.

But what kind of flower is it?

I usually expect museums to be full of dead things and dry things and dead dry things, so to stumble on a pair of happy little lizards basking in their carefully groomed bush, was a happy little discovery.

He might look like a stencil, but he’s actually a pasteup – which he makes up for by being really huge, maybe 150cm high. Lives at the corner of Park & Carlton Gore Rds, on a boarded over window of an old closed down service station.

I met a lovely girl in a bar last night.
She was a fun old day on the mountain — it’s not really a mountain, but then it’s not called “forestry land trail biking”, now is it? — so of course I had to add to my tally of (minor) bike related injuries. It’s all making me feel like a 12 year old. I mean, who has gravel rash on their knees at this age?
AWESOME PEOPLE!
That’s who.

I know this looks silly, but we have such a good goddamn time when we go mountain biking (out at Woodhill), that I tolerate the ridiculousness of strapping bikes to my tiny car. (Shot taken when we took a quick stop for frozen yoghurt. SO GOOD.)

I’ve been working on a painting lately – one that I’m pretending to find quite scary – anyway, (let’s say) I needed to escape it for a while. Conveniently I’ve been thinking about producing a few quick works of some of the various profile icons I’ve used around the place. This really wasn’t how it was meant to come out.
Not every piece can be a good one, I guess.
Acrylic & enamel on canvas.


Faked tilt-shifting of a photo I took of Tanah Lot in Indonesia, in 2004. It almost works, I reckon.

I wear it because it makes me feel pretty.