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Category Archives: transport

more tasmania


A triple process of individualisaton by Ulrich Beck: 1. liberation (from old functionalist roles) 2. disenchantment (reaction to stability lost through liberation) 3. reintegration (incomplete, ongoing development of new forms of social relations) If we accept that the word individualisation is dampened and bound well within our wildest disappointments, this could also provide the language for [...]


this morning so benign out the window, but this afternoon the plane I was meant to go home in was hit by lightning. the wide expanse of land muffled the thunder, absorbing it like a dark blanket, but the water that followed leaked into my sandals and into the House of Representatives.

Day 1: the misty moors

Like I said, we spent three days filming rock in Tasmania. I was just along for the drive. The conception of island is challenged when you drive for 5 hours and a full packet of mint slice without seeing the coast, and when you have grown up on this small island  and yet, in your [...]

the styx

Spent Wednesday and Thursday looking at trees. Not normally my scene, but this is what the New Politics is about: opening up issues for a public dialogue, examining the facts… On Thursday, Bob Brown took me on a helicopter trip over the Styx Valley, a patchwork quilt of giant old trees, logged coups, plantation and regrowth. Five [...]

a beautiful grey day on a bus

just a beautiful grey day on a bus.

never get bored of the window seat

and never get bored of waiting in departure lounges, forever early. Bridle says that airports are coded space, is that why I feel so calm?

the edinburgh meta-aesthetic

2 years ago I went by train to Dumfries and this week up the other coast to Edinburgh to satisfy the great rail journey whim. as soon as we arrived we knew we wanted to move there, among the solid grey buildings, desolate north-east landscape, the Constable clouds, both Arthur’s Seat and lobster & chips [...]


I wanted to see the wild-flower meadows. But the liminal legacy is not quite ready yet. I wished I’d stayed on the Lea rather than being wound into roundabouts, dragged with burning legs on my crap bicycle down wide streets called Westfield Avenue, lured to cafes called Unity Kitchen. This legacy is visibly sad. The [...]