Not any more he aint.

Wotchoo tawkin' 'bout?

And in Cannes, the red carpet is permanently rolled out for this special little fella.

What's 'is racquet, now?

In Avignon, they don't mind this bloke either.

Flaznavour Flav'

They love 'im in Lyon.

The Hunchforward of Notre Dame

Belated apologies to anyone offended by this snap.

And who wouldn't be?

Keep your eyes Peeled

Hazel and I read in the local rag this morning that some archaelogist reckoned he'd found Western Australia's oldest building up at Mt Brown* down in the corrupt-councilled City of Cockburn.

The current title-holder for oldest building is Fremantle's Roundhouse. However, the groundbreaking archy reckons the 1830-built foundations of Thomas Peel's original cottage, located at Mt Brown (rather than destroyed beneath rubble at Woodman Point as everybody had thought up until now), beats it by a few months.

Anyway, this morning Haze and I decided to get all Leonard Nimoy and go in search of. Over hill, over dale, over chip 'n over dale, we haled at pace with nary a glimpse of said foundations.

Leaving me baulking at the explosive consequences of disobeying the pictured warning, Hazel's last resort was to disappear up the sandy path in search of Peel's cottage.

"I'll text you the deets once I've found the house, slacker," and, "What the hell's UXO anyway?" were her final words as she scrambled up the path and into the bush.

She may be gone for some time.

Ging Gang

Not too many barbed wire fences 'round here.

I don't know what's sadder: the appendage on this sign, or the fact we turned back to photograph it.

Imperious Leather

Haze just emailed me this.

As a Dockers fan, I'd love to gloat. But I know it'd only be good until Jeff Farmer's next misdemeanor.

Exposed

Hello, Mr Hendriks, what’s hap’nin’ up there?
The sign on your shop front is most debonair.
Perhaps as I stand here enjoying the view,
you’re flashing at me while I photograph you.

Value proposition

Open seven 'til eleven.
That's Pharmacy Triple Seven.

Whistling Dixie

Freo was buzzing at lunch time.

Even so, I managed to nab a free car park, and my favourite seat at The Roundhouse.

The Roundhouse staff are none too friendly or efficient, and I think there was sand in my risotto.

But I do like to sit at my table hoping Tim Winton will some day join me for a latte.

Unfortunately, like a young Lester Bowie blowing his horn out the window so Louis Armstrong might hear, the great man never drops by.

It must be the risotto.

Vic PaRk

Even though I have now turned eighteen,
I will not exchange books site unseen.
The giving’s okay.
But receiving, no way!
You just never know where that book’s been.

Tusk

Yep - for comedy, romance and sports we'll be fine -
'cause their video range is as wide as their sign.
They've got sci-fi and thrillers and docos and adult.
The lewd titles are up high so not to cause insult.
I can't see what that bit behind cellophane quite is,
but the male lead looks like he's got elephantitis.

Sea 'im? You can view 'im.

The Sea View petrol station.
Old fashioned service,
with new fangled inflation.

Were you in Da Nang?

At the Attadale vet
they throw wild puppy parties.
And I'm willing to bet
they run puppy Pilates.

Canis Familiaris

The dignified dingo patrols the blue seas
and stays high and dry on his red dingo skis.

Hey, Bothhh!

The plane! The plane! I wonder who,
if anyone, ever asks for a tattoo of Tattoo?