Saturday, 26 September 2015


Seething Sea; Writhing wind; Rigid rocks
These be my heart and mind.

Restless soul; Aching heart; Empty void
These all the same kind.

Faithful Father, Brothering Son, Gentle Spirit
Creation process again.

Peaceful heart; Renewed mind; Quieted soul
Health and wholeness when I was lame.



Where value is more than the price

I have said a number of times that this blog is more about me than what I do for a living. Having said that, it's not often that I get the chance to sell a home that offers more than the obvious for a very reasonable price. So I am hoping you will forgive me for talking shop, but this little beauty is an exception.

87 Gilberts Road, Glencoe is a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom home that is as normal as most other homes of the same size and facilities. There are two things that make this property different.

Firstly, the views. An extensive view towards the North-West, all the way down a valley to the Bunya Mountains, and then a similar view down a valley facing South-West. You can see for miles. You can see the storm clouds roll up from the south and west. You can see sunsets that last for an hour. You can see forever.

Secondly, the price. Under any normal circumstance, this property would be worth over $400,000. Well-over. But due to the particular circumstances of the owners and their family, a quick sale is more important that obtaining the most value for their asset.

I am not going to wax lyrical about this home. This is not the place to do that. I'm not going to waffle on about all the facilities of the home, and the 6 acres it sits on. There are other forums for that. 

I'm just letting you know that there is an opportunity to make a purchase where the value is obviously more than the price.

Saturday, 12 September 2015

A swift end to a short venture

I wrote back in February that I was commencing a venture into aquaponics.

I have a greenhouse of approximately 4 square metres with an area about the same size situated between the greenhouse and the shed. There is a small 5,000 litre water tank behind the shed.

I purchased 3 x IBCs. An IBC (Intermediate Bulk Container) is used to store and transport 1,000 litres of liquid. I intended to cut two of them in half to make 4 grow beds, and the third was to be used for the fish tank. I cleared the area, and made it ready for the grow beds. The fish tank was go inside the greenhouse, to provide it with much-needed protection from sun and heat. I planned to power for the pump from the shed to the greenhouse. 

I purchased water and Ph quality meters, grabbed some pipe from the local hardware store and drew up plans for placement and operation of the system.

Now, some 6 months later, I have come to the regrettable decision that I am unable to continue.

Why, you may ask?

Well, apart from the aforementioned lack of skills and knowledge (things I know I can overcome with persistence and investigation), I have become insanely busy in my businesses. Having made the decision to become a real estate agent, I expected my days as a software developer would fade into oblivion. 

This has not been the case.

The real estate work has gradually increased, and the software development has continued to go from strength to strength. This has left me with the decision to either struggle on with another project (with a steep learning curve), or to let it go. As a young lad, my father taught me to finish what I started, so this decision has taken me a couple of months to make.

So, for the thousands of people (hundreds? dozens? anyone?) who were waiting with bated breath to read of my adventures in aquaponics, my apologies.

Saturday, 25 July 2015

Under a Mackerel Sky

Under a mackerel sky the charge nurse says,
“It is best if you do not visit”.
So I sit;
quiet in my despair;
helpless to help you.

Under a mackerel sky the letter comes
“Your application for the position has been unsuccessful.”
So I sigh;
the autumn day shortening;
the winter night unending.

Under a mackerel sky the nurse says,
“Your wife’s condition has deteriorated”
So I wait;
my soul dropping from grief;
wondering where you have gone
and when you will return.

Under a mackerel sky, the family unit empties;
the anniversary of our joining passes;
I yearn for the thread of regret to unwind.
My disassembling is complete.

I hate this weather.



Saturday, 4 July 2015

I Like

Summer week-ends that unexpectedly become available when I don't have to work.

Lazy afternoons filled with cicada symphonies, far-off dog barks, a further-off car horn.

The galvanized action that appears suddenly when a conundrum of indecision crystallizes into a plan.

The sizzle and snap of sausages on the BBQ, their fragrance over-powering the mock orange.

The scent of vanilla lurking behind the fragrance of coffee.

The uncomfortable caress of bottle brush against the side of the house.

The wind turning ten thousand pages in the camphor laurels.

Saturday, 20 June 2015

Dolce Vita

Sift the flour, heat the milk
Do take care that it’s not spilt
Chop the nuts, grate the cheese
Just a pinch of nutmeg please
Warm the oil, melt the butter
Please be careful of the splutter
Grill the pancakes, fry the bacon
This is a feast we are creatin’!

Self-raising flour, a pinch of salt
Some arrowroot, a little malt
Beat the eggs, grease the tin
Put a teaspoon of vanilla in
Dice the onion, shell the peas
The cake should come out of the pan with ease
Skin the kiwi, pit the cherries
Garnish with a few strawberries

Sunflower, olive or rape seed oil
Wrap the tongue in vented foil
Smoke the sausage, let them hang
Fold chopped hazels into meringue
Melt the chocolate, stew the pear
Prepare the Brie and Camembert
A cup of honey, whip the cream
This desert will be a dream!

Warm the plates, decant the wine
Pluck the grapes fresh from the vine
Choose your condiments, a dollop of mustard
Don’t forget to chill the custard
Fold the napkins, set the china
Indirect light will be much kinder
Draw the curtains, cut the glare
Ah, life is wonderful.  Savoir-faire !



Saturday, 6 June 2015

Things I hate

The mocking of youths, like an harassment of seagulls, creating a cacophony of activity and sound that produces no useful outcome.

The denial of delinquents protesting their innocence, forever enshrining their perception of the veracity of their behaviour.

Political commentary, igniting a holocaust of public indifference, being promoted by self-appointed talking heads whose rationale for promoting the commentary is completely divorced from the topic at hand.

People feeling sheepish, when they should be feeling ashamed.

People confusing the act of capitulation with the notion that to do so allows an attack on their self-worth.

Things rendered invisible by habit.
The new and exciting becoming normal and mundane.
The tearing of a comfortable shirt, thus rendering it usable only as a rag.
The articulation of night keeping me awake.
Running out of Pedro Ximenez.