The Port Arthur massacre: a day I will never forget

Twenty years ago today, I sat in front of the television as details emerged about a terrible massacre in Tasmania. Jamie, my oldest, was due in six weeks. It was my 30th birthday. Martin Byrant, the shooter, was only a year younger than me. He had just killed 35 people and injured 23 others, although we didn’t know details at that time. I saw footage of Bryant’s interview about a month ago, like you probably did, in the lead up to the 20th anniversary. It had only just been released to the public by his defence lawyer. I don’t know if you felt this way, but one of the many things that disturbed me was his appearance. He was shockingly beautiful. The pale curls that fell past his shoulders ma

What do you think about church crocks?

Baz's 'church crocks': I’ve photographed these on a beautiful autumnal background, with the purple orchid-y thing peaking out of the hole-y part so I can show them off to their best advantage. I do this because I don’t want to bias you against them. They were named church crocks by me: partly because of the eternal hope Barry holds that he will one day get to wear them out in public without me walking 10 paces ahead of him, and partly because they’re his ‘good’ crocks as opposed to his ‘evil’ crocks that you will see a little further down the page … Get what I mean? He was super excited to find them in a surf shop way down the coast of southern NSW last year while we were on holidays. I mean

Hurry up and get old, will ya?

Ever had that feeling of perfect wellbeing? I'm feeling it in this instant, just as I’m writing to you. Admittedly, I’m staying in beautiful Coffs Harbour. Our first family holiday for about 18 months and I’m enjoying the peace of the early morning. (Barry and the boys just left to go white water rafting.) The sun’s just come up and the air is freshhhh. I think the birds have broken out of jail or something because they sure are happy right now! But there’s one standout birdcall among the million others. The haunting melody of the common magpie. Who'd have thought that old bird had something to contribute? I wish I could prolong these moments. They fill me with creativity and something that

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