The week in photos

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The Victoria bridge, Brisbane’s first river crossing and me being arty. This bridge walk (I believe) has the greatest propensity for vomit stains. I imagine this is because people at the Treasury Casino get a bit too toasty late in the evening and end up here. Someone should write a vomit-opera about it.

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I am normally quite hostile to the forced art-project facades that Council dictates on new buildings in the city. They are usually horribly tragic and so very obviously “Public Art”. But I like this one on the new Wintergarden project. Give credit where credit is due is what I say.

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The confluence of Queen and Albert Streets. “THE” meeting point for generations of Brisbane people. Just outside Hungry Jacks. How many hours I have spent here waiting for friends – I do not know. Countless.

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My 2009 collage is in the frame above – partially the face of this blog, and something I needed to do. It’s basically a picture (or motif) of everything and anything I love and have loved over my entire life. It is a history. My history. Just like a book can be a history or a timeline or a whole volume of words. It is a snapshot of history but ART at the same time. I have decided I will do one every 5 years and see how things change. Just like a FIVE YEAR PLAN.

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My tar-stained legs. I was so freakishly stained and dirty I just needed to document it with photos. EPIC. I still have that tar on my legs. Not sure how I will get it off.

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Today I noticed the tar had seared itself on my bike’s tyres too. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?

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On Anzac Day, Zoe (6 years old) and her friends had a street stall next door. I bought this bad boy. The cat hated it – but in a good way – she just instantly attacked it. It kept her amused for a bit.

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Cleaning and greasing the bike after the 9 hour bullshit it suffered yesterday. The chain was already rusty. As you could see from the photo before – I had to scratch off TAR as well as dirt and other detritus.

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Today I walked up the road and took a photo from almost the top of the street – there was another 20 metres of climbing behind me but I couldn’t be bothered! The view is even more dramatic at night. The kids do street parties here when there is firework displays in the city.

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AND THE OTHER BIG NEWS TODAY- the cat got freed. Dee and I had negotiated and decided today was appropriate. The cat woke me up at 6 am and I knew that was too early and I fed her and went back to bed. Then at 7:30 she started walking over my head. Literally. I am used to this. And she was purring all the while like she was on drugs and somehow doing me a favour. I then groggily got out of bed and opened her cat window for the first time in 6 weeks. She almost reluctantly walked outside and spent some time on the deck just wondering if this freedom was real. I watched her from the windows inside for about 5 minutes. When she decided to disappear from view in leaving the front yard to go next door) I almost immediately heard a kid’s voice exclaiming “SASHA!!” I was so proud she was amongst friends and free once more.

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Although the cat spent all day in freedom – she came home at various points. The above picture was at about 6pm. And I know many of you won’t believe this…and I still don’t believe it. But at about 12pm I heard her jingle outside and I opened the front door to say hello and I found her INSIDE her special cat gulag:

The picture above is just descriptive. The gulag was on the deck, but there she was. It was like she had Stockholm Syndrome. For all these weeks we had shoved her in there to give her some safe outside time and she seemed to tolerate it – and very rarely she seemed to be OK with the experience. Cat’s rarely show their true feelings. So it turns out she might have actually liked it. BIZARRE.

“LET ME OUT!”

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We have a moth in the laundry that seems to live there now. She has a crazy-awesome disguise. I am totally fooled.

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