Fear And Loathing In Launceston

The night before leaving Port Arthur, I had prayed to the God of Tasmanian, who I call Tasmanor (he has the body of a tree, and the face of a ram. When he cries it rains red wine, and his breath smells of hops) for safe travels. It was to be another day of mad-dashery,… Read more

Alternate title: “MONA!? I hardly knew her!” Something is only truly beautiful if it makes you feel lonely. Sitting outside the MONA cafe, looking out over the working class-suburbs of Hobart from across the Derwent River, I had that feeling I felt from the season finale of BBC’s Flowers, or the Transformers ride at Universal… Read more

My time in Roseberry was unsettling – since picking my keys up from a letter box fourteen hours ago, and subsequently returning them to the same letter box, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen or smelled or heard another soul in that entire time. What was especially strange, was the poster hanging outside… Read more

Since 1907 Royal Enfield, the oldest motorcycle supplier in the world, and a supplier of rifles and reconnaissance motorcycles for the allied forces, has done basically the exact same thing. Whilst the Japanese were revolutionising motorcycles so that they could filter between traffic and brave the bold new world, and the Italians were considering the… Read more

Strange memories on this nervous night in Launceston. Has it been five years? Six? It seems like a lifetime. I check my watch. It’s been 7 hours. Still, my mind wanders… My grandfather, a hard-drinking teutcher maritime sailor with an accent like spayside-scotch used to tell me: “Aye come here ya wee-laddy. Now, to my… Read more