So much resentment! I know of an investment that would allow you to afford your very own ‘new widescreen home theatre screen’. Just send me you bank details (including PIN) by email and I will post you the details.

POD (who does not even own a 14” old-fashion TV).

This is the written equivalent of the liver cleansing diet, another great lifestyle attraction of the modern world.

The author should now feel much better and have more strength and vitality to do the next home renovation, work out at the gym, have the make-over, get the eye-brows plucked and settle down to Neighbours re-runs on that wonderful advertisement for re-cycling, Pay TV.

And why not a holiday on the West Coast, Zeehan.  Getaway with you!

Do these two EVER have anything positive to say on any subject or make an actual contribution to a debate. Arnie was right!
I suggest these two keep their fingers up and prevent the dribble.

Poor Gerry,

So you don’t like disagreement? I will turn your question around. Do you ever have something positive to say about Tasmania and Australia in general? It must be really depressing to be in your shoes.

Yeah, here’s something positive. I wrote it a couple of months ago.

In the air this morning I think I detected that first touch of coolness that portends the change of seasons. The first finger, the precursor of Autumn is creeping towards us. How strange it is, that during the height of summer, we have cool days, but suddenly, the coolness feels a little different - more of a bite perhaps? By no means is summer over, and the gardens are full of late blossoms, but there is that portent. A warning to the trees, perhaps, to prepare to change their clothing.

High summer is not my favourite time here. It is the dry season where the normal lush green parches and turns to crisp browns and dull golds and after the crops have been harvested, there is a deadness to the landscape. And there is that faint look of dust and desiccation in the trees, as though they have given up the struggle and are awaiting the period of rest and revival. For the most part, the ‘season of mellow fruitfulness’ is in decline, although hedgerows are still aglow with the redness of wild apples and berries of the English hawthorns and wild roses. But these will persist long after the shedding of leaves, until stripped by birds and melancholy-eyed possums.

Tasmania is at its best through late Autumn to Spring. The days are more varied and changes are more noticeable and pronounced. The wind-directional rains that bring to life the sleeping mosses and lichens that festoon the trunks and branches of the mountain trees. The mists that envelope and refresh the forests and dwell among the rocky prominences. The low level morning clouds that appear below us in the valleys and turn the distant view to that of a surreal seascape of islands and vapour seas. The light is less stark and intense and imbues everything with a softness.

When winter is at its height, the snow adorns the high peaks and creeps slowly over the hills, occasionally reaching down and embracing us with a quietness and a short period of excitement. It is then that the smell of wood smoke drifts nostalgically through the air and where, shrugging off the occasional shiver, we are welcomed home to the blaze of a cheerful open fire and the pervading warmth of a stoked stove.

Then suddenly, after the long period of bursts of rain and where rivers run high and mountain streams become roaring cataracts of airborne water, crashing mightily in slow motion and thundering onto rocks and into pools below, there appears a carpet of yellow in the fields and gardens. Daffodils, the harbingers that have been lying dormant, suddenly thrust themselves upwards to announce the arrival of Spring. Pan, dancing among the willows and hedges, dusts them with that first faint haze of green that quickly turns to a jostling and pushing as new leaves and blossoms fight for their place in the sun. There is a bustle and a busyness to Nature, and returning birds are engaged in the song of courtship and gathering straws for nests. We are serenaded by the nightly chorus of frogs and once more, in everything, there is that rush of blood and sap that announces the new season. Nature is about to renew the Earth.
I feel privileged, but I think I am one of the few.