farmdoc's blog post number 528

Fairytales. When I was a nipper I loved the ones with sweet and cheerful characters and happy endings; but those with frightening characters scared me. Nevertheless I believed all the tales. I knew the characters were out there somewhere, which was why people wrote books about them. As the years passed, I no longer believed in fairytales. And I was so smug and self-righteous in my non-belief. Enter, Cadel Evans. He’s a champion Australian professional cyclist. Born in Geelong in 1977, he won loads of mountain bike races until 2001 when he turned to road cycling. In the Tour de France, he came fourth in 2006, then second in 2007 and 2008 making him the highest placed Aussie in the Tour’s history. In 2009 he was tipped as a likely winner, but he came 30th. It was mainly due to a lack of team support, but the critics blasted him. They said he’d never win a major race. That he’d be a perennial bridesmaid. Then last Sunday, Cadel’s story became a fairytale when he won the 262 km road race at the World Cycling Championships. Never one to hide his emotions, he sobbed as he donned the coveted rainbow jersey (picture). As fate would have it, Cadel’s victory was the day after Geelong won the AFL Premiership. And next year’s World Cycling Championships are being held in – yes, you’ve guessed it – Geelong. Cadel, you’re a real champ. You showed ’em! Now for the 2010 Tour de France.

farmdoc's blog post number 527

My eldest darling granddaughter [EDG] is ill. She has been for a few days. With a rash (pictured), a fever, and malaise. And anxiety – because she’s usually well and active, but now she’s not. I was consulted early on – by phone and also digital image email attachment. When I was a medical student over 40 years ago, dermatology wasn’t taught at all well. So I’m not a dab hand at rashes. With an acute rash, as in this case, my strategic plan’s to first rule out a serious cause; and once that’s done, to treat it as skin manifestation of a general illness, to treat it accordingly, and to reassure the patient. Some rashes are pathognomonic, i.e. the rash’s features make diagnosis easy. But this one wasn’t. I thought EDG’s rash was most likely insect bites, or alternatively the rash of a non-specific viral illness. It’s hard enough to diagnose a rash in the same room let alone from 622 km away. So I began the above plan; and by phone twice a day I checked on progress. EDG’s mum – darling Kate – consulted a doctor at the local hospital who diagnosed a viral rash. Whew! My second horse had come home; though my first’s still wandering free in someone’s back paddock. So far treatment has settled the itch, fever and anxiety. A bit. But the rash is unchanged. I expect full recovery by week’s end – thanks to Mother Nature, Father Time and EDG’s immune system. But with two schoolgirls and a childcare toddler in the family, the next medical help call to me is likely not too far in the future. I can hardly wait. For can there be a greater joy in life than helping one’s grandchildren? Don’t answer that – it’s a rhetorical question.

farmdoc's blog post number 526

I love Tom Waits’s 2002 song Long Way Home – whether Tom sings it, or Norah Jones does. Given the choice, I’ll take the long way home. Every time. Because usually it’s more picturesque; there’s less traffic; and it gives me time to think, and to enjoy the journey. But some people take the short way home. They’re habitual shortcuts takers. And when people take shortcuts, they miss something. In these straitened times at the tail end of the GFC, or just after it, business costs must be closely watched to maximise profits (or minimise losses). Especially in industries that are feeling the cold winds of economic adversity blow in their faces. The logging industry, for example. With margins and profits squeezed, it’s no surprise log truck maintenance expenditure has fallen, and so log trucks are less well maintained. Last Saturday the ABC reported that recent random safety checks of Tasmanian log trucks found problems with every truck stopped. The problems included metal cracks, and worn chains and straps (allegedly) securing loads. Yet alarmingly, no trucks were put off the road until fixed. I’ve previously written about the dangers of log trucks. This latest report compounds my fears. Many fold. I’m just hoping against hope that, time being money, log trucks don’t take the road I’m taking. That is, the long way home.

farmdoc's blog post number 525

The Last Post. Wikipedia says it was originally a bugle call used in British Army camps. Its name comes from the inspection of each camp sentry post at day’s end. Playing a bugle call signalled a post had been inspected and its military day had ended. In the 19th century the Last Post was incorporated into military funerals in all Commonwealth of Nations countries where it’s played as a final farewell symbolising the duty of the dead soldier is over and he can rest in peace. Also it’s played in public ceremonials commemorating war dead, e.g. on Remembrance Day and Anzac Day. And it’s played each night at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra. So every single time the Last Post publicly sounds out, is a solemn, meaningful and contemplative occasion. Yet last week the Australian War Memorial announced that, due to budget cuts, its nightly Last Post closing ceremony will henceforth be sponsored (by telecommunications company TransACT). If this isn’t a travesty, I don’t know what is. I can’t accept that public money can’t be found to pay a bugler for a few minutes each day, 365 days each year. Commercialisation of the nightly ceremony, however tasteful, is sacrilege. Blasphemy. A gratuitous trumpeting (pun intended) of the capitalism paradigm. All concerned should hang their heads in shame. But they won’t. For they have no soul.

farmdoc's blog post number 524

A compendium is a publication containing a variety of works. Starting today, each Saturday’s Farmdoc’s Blog post will be a compendium – comprising multifarious snippets from here and there, with Farmdocs’s comment on each – in italics. Ready? Let’s go…

1. In the week of his 70th birthday, Ron Walker was forced to abandon his bid to remain chairman of Fairfax Limited [1]. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Not. If he’s unfit to run Fairfax, why’s he still running the Grand Prix Corporation? P.S. Happy birthday, Ronny.

2. Tasmanian police were forced to abandon their prosecution of over 40 people who were arrested for trespass during a blockade of the Upper Florentine Valley four months ago. Why? Because Forestry Tasmania gave police incorrect information about the forest exclusion zone, and most of the protesters were arrested about 300 metres outside the boundary [2]. The police are lackeys, and Forestry Tasmania’s full of morons who aren’t fit to be trusted with stewardship of our precious forests.

3. In the 2010 F1 calendar, the Australian F1 GP’s no longer the season opener. The Grand Prix Corporation tried bravely to put a positive spin on this slight [3] The GP Corp’s full of bullshit. And their spin won’t help – because the 2010 event will make a record loss.

4. Consumer body Choice has slammed the exorbitant credit card fees levied by Qantas and Tiger Airways on credit card fare bookings. [4] ACCC chairman Graeme Samuel and his ilk couldn’t care less. Neither could the government. None of them pays for their own air travel.

5. Iranian President Ahmadinejad’s UN General Assembly speech was to a half-empty chamber. Many delegates either didn’t show up, or walked out in disgust [5]. I’m proud the Aussie delegate walked out. I’d have been prouder if he hadn’t attended at all.

6. Finally, thank you WriterBee for writing so beautifully about life, and death, on our farm this week [6, 7, 8, 9]. I never have any trouble at all realising why I adore Writerbee.

Finally, I wish you, dear Farmdoc’s Blog readers, a wonderful week.

farmdoc's blog post number 523

Jude. He was one of the twelve apostles of Jesus. And in the Roman Catholic Church, as St Jude he’s patron saint of lost and desperate causes. I don’t know, and my brief research has failed to reveal, why lost and desperate causes are his bailiwick. But I reckon that’s a separate story. The fact remains that his saintly portfolio is what it is. And for today’s blog post, that’s all that counts. Folks, yesterday, 24 September, was National Punctuation Day^® in the USA. And if ever there’s a lost and desperate cause, surely punctuation is it. Big time. Because punctuation’s a skill that’s dwindling. Atrophying. Disappearing. Almost day-by-day. Yesterday was the sixth annual NPD^®. I admire the organisers’ persistence. Like the man pushing the wheelbarrow, they have the job ahead of them. I’d love to help NPD^®’s organisers along. If I was in the US, I’d enter the inaugural NPD^® Baking Contest (though how that’d improve punctuation in the world, I don’t know). But I’m not in the US. So back to St Jude. It’s said that when all other avenues are closed, he’s the one to call upon. And it’s never too late. So if someone would please send me his mail or email address, or his fax number, or even his phone number, I’d be eternally grateful. Then I’ll contact him. Hey Jude.

farmdoc's blog post number 522

Baron Guillaume Dupuytren (1777-1835). Wikipedia says he’s a French anatomist and military surgeon who, though he treated Napoleon Bonaparte’s haemorrhoids, is best known today for the eponymic Dupuytren’s contracture [DC] that he described in 1831. DC’s a condition affecting the hand and one or more fingers. The fascia in the palm first thickens and contracts progressively, eventually causing the finger(s) to flex towards the palm. It mainly affects the ring finger and/or little finger. It progresses slowly, and is painless. The cause is unknown. There are several risk factors. I have early DC – i.e. thickening in my left palm in line with my ring finger. So far my finger hasn’t started to curl. I have three risk factors, i.e. I’m a male over 40 with a positive family history. Some 60-70% of those with DC have a genetic predisposition. Three of my great uncles (i.e. my paternal grandmother’s brothers) had it. Treatment’s only needed when the curled fingers reduce hand function. Surgery’s the standard treatment. I’ve been mentally preparing for surgery in a few years time. But this article in the New England Journal of Medicine three weeks ago describes how collagenase injection – i.e. an office-based, nonsurgical treatment that dissolves fibrous tissue –reduced contractures and improved the range of motion of affected fingers. That’s great news for me. And many, many others.

farmdoc's blog post number 521

Sport. It’s defined as ‘physical activity engaged in for pleasure’. Or similar. Most sport is just this. But elite sport most definitely isn’t. Somewhere way back when – I don’t know exactly but during my lifetime, elite sport morphed into an amalgam of business and entertainment. And at the exact moment it arrived at that destination, my interest in it dwindled to almost zero. Just a flicker. Arguably at the pinnacle of so-called elite sport (aka elite business and entertainment) is the Olympic Games. If you thought its governing body – the International Olympic Committee – is a sensible, rational and reputable body, you’d be wrong. That’s what I think, anyway. Witness its recent decision to include women’s boxing in the 2012 London Olympics. Boxing’s the only ‘sport’ I know whose primary aim is to injure one’s opponent [1]. And if possible to render him/her unconscious. That’s barbaric. Inhumane. Objectionable. I’m pleased the AMA, which I’m a member of, has condemned the IOC’s decision. As has the BMA. It’s true men’s boxing has long been an Olympic ‘sport’. Probably because of this longevity, it’s difficult to remove it. But adding women’s boxing varies the status quo. The IOC’s decision has no direct impact on me. But it’s subjecting the competing women boxers to potentially disastrous consequences. Including death. Shame on you, IOC.

farmdoc's blog post number 520

It’s about 31 years since I completed my PhD thesis. Titled Fractured Neck of Femur - An Operational Study, it’s a presentation of my research which used fractured neck of femur as an indicator of how the health service was performing. That is, as a tracer condition. According to this concept, I view supermarkets as a tracer for our society at large. And ‘buy and large’ (pun intended) it’s not a pretty picture. I’ve written here of some of tricks and ploys supermarkets use to entice people to buy what they don’t need. Buying what isn’t needed, is the ethos and rationale of the materialism/capitalism paradigm. Which is why the supermarket is such a superb tracer for society. Then in yesterday’s Age I read, and was appalled by, this article. Screens and GPS devices on shopping trolleys! Yikes! It’ll be expensive to implement. But if, as US trials suggest, the sales in participating stores rose by 10% and sales of featured products rose by 30-40%, the initial outlay will be recouped soon enough. I swear that if this gear’s in a supermarket where I shop, if I don’t use my indelible marker pen to good effect, I won’t look at the screen on my trolley. And if that’s the way society in general is headed, then I despair. Screw MediaCart. Whatever will they think of next? Don’t answer that – it’s a rhetorical question.

farmdoc's blog post number 519

Last night Sweetheart Vivienne and I watched the third episode of the third series of The Wire. We’re enthralled and riveted. As Farmdoc’s Blog readers know, Sweetheart Vivienne’s forthcoming book – Alzheimers: A Love Story, is being published by Scribe Publications. Scribe’s founder and publisher, Henry Rosenbloom (pictured), is a blogger too. Henry’s Blog makes fascinating reading. Not least his latest post – the 13 September ‘Seeing Life Through The Wire’ which perceptively, accurately and eloquently echoes my opinion of ‘The Wire’. I’ve never met the man. But I think if I had (and I expect to quite soon), I’d like him. For he’s courageous enough, i.e. sufficiently at ease with himself and his reputation, to have written this post – about AFL football – on his (corporate) blog. It too is perceptive, accurate and eloquent. Also a bit tongue-in-cheek. Talking football, last Saturday my team, Collingwood, was knocked out of this year’s finals – by Geelong, very convincingly indeed. No ifs or buts. Beaten by a vastly superior team. Am I surprised? No. Am I disappointed? A bit, because it’s been 19 years since we won our 14th – and latest – premiership. Now the Magpies are out, I’m supporting St Kilda in the Big One. For it’s 43 years since they won their first and only flag. By a point. Against us. Next Saturday it may go down to The Wire too. Go, Saints!

farmdoc's blog post number 518

Yesterday was a pretty special day:

First, it was the first full day of the year 5770 according to the Hebrew calendar [1]. As I’m a secular Jew, it doesn’t mean overly much to me. Indeed little more than the start of another cycle of Jewish festivals. I’m grateful Sweetheart Vivienne saw fit to spend it with me here in Mole Creek, thus forsaking a family dinner in Melbourne. We spent it quietly here: doing farm chores, eating well (of course), working at our computers, and watching a DVD. Also discussing where we’re up to in our lives – and our life – leading on to talk of future plans. And naturally, to symbolise a fruitful and sweet year ahead, we partook of the traditional apple and honey (as they did too, over in the Land of Meg).

Yesterday was also Talk Like A Pirate Day 2009. Though I’ve never met a real live pirate (and I hope to never meet one), as I’ve written [2, 3], pirates are really important in my life. So I don’t doubt the significance of this wonderful day – 19 September – which is the birthday of the ex-wife of a founder of this auspicious international celebration. In a world that mostly takes itself too seriously, an occasional bit of harmless fun can do no harm.

So ahoy there, me mateys! Have a swashbuckling 5770. Or else I'll make you walk the plank. Aarrgghhh!

farmdoc's blog post number 517

Nowadays usage of the label ‘environmentalist’ has a distinctly negative connotation. As if environmentalists have an agenda other than a better world for everyone – including non-environmentalists. And the label ‘greenie’ is even more derogatory. Indeed I can’t say I’ve ever heard it used in a positive context. I think that regarding the environment and related topics, the use of some words takes on a significance that words used in other areas of human knowledge doesn’t, and never will. I don’t know why this is so. Perhaps because the topic of the environment is so contentious; compounded by the chasmic divide between the level of education and socio-cultural awareness of environmentalists, and that of their opponents. Previously I’ve quoted Lewis Carroll: ‘When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less’. Vis-à-vis the environment, one word fitting this quote oh so snugly is ‘greenwash’ – which I’ve mentioned four times previously. Another one, which I saw for the first time here a few days ago, is 'localwash'. Localwashing’s a form of greenwashing wherein businesses claim to be local when actually…they aren’t. It’s an invention of unscrupulous, greedy and deceptive people. In 2008, 98% of eco-labelled products were at least partly greenwashed [1] So stay alert for localwashing. It’s here. Now.

farmdoc's blog post number 516

Five weeks ago I wrote of the nationwide medical registration scheme that’ll start next 1 July. And how it’ll give bureaucrats and governments licence to put their grasping fingers where those fingers don’t belong, e.g. medical undergraduate and specialist training, and continuing education. Since then I’ve learned of another area, i.e. Good Medical Practice. Oh how politicians adore standardisation. Turning doctors into clones. Sausages. One size fits all. So the Australian Medical Council [AMC] set its sights on A Code of Conduct for Doctors in Australia. It set up a committee (as they would) which took submissions from interested (i.e. not disinterested or uninterested) parties in the name of democratic consultation. Then the committee digested everything and produced a wonderfully and admirably concise Code. You can see it here. It’s a mere 41 pages. That’s right. Only 41 pages. Yeeeha! How remarkable. And how misguided. And stupid. Only 39 pages too long. Last Tuesday I wrote of societal over-regulation. The Code’s a classic example. The AMC’s endorsed it (as it would). Me? I expect the AMC will force me to pledge my undying allegiance to the Code. Or it won’t register me. And doing so, I’ll feel like a sausage? A silly sausage. I’d rather sign up to the RSPCA’s five freedoms. Which are simple and understandable. Unlike a sausage.

farmdoc's blog post number 515

Bert Appleroth. I’ll bet you’ve never heard of him. But for sure you know the brand he created. This timeline tells us Appleroth was a tram conductor who in 1927 first made jelly crystals in his bathtub using gelatine and sugar. He and Albert Lenertz formed a company in 1926. At that time planes were new and exciting, so aviation fan Appleroth named the brand Aeroplane Jelly. In the 1930s he delivered his jelly to rural areas in a plane. Around that time the Aeroplane Jelly jingle, composed by Lenertz, debuted. Appleroth’s publicity stunts and Aeroplane Jelly’s advertising campaigns made the jelly a national icon. In 1942 Bertie the Aeroplane – named after Appleroth – became the Jelly’s mascot. In 1966, the jingle was recorded in several languages, placing it among the nation’s first advertising campaigns targeting ethnic groups. One of the longest running, and best known and loved, Australian jingles. In 2008 it was added to the National Film and Sound Archive’s Sounds of Australia registry. Hear it here. I was moved to write the post after reading this. Me? ‘I like Aeroplane Jelly, Aeroplane Jelly for me.’ In 1953 Aeroplane introduced Australia’s first low calorie jelly. That’s the one I like. But strawberry – the best-selling flavour throughout Aeroplane Jelly’s history – isn’t in Aeroplane’s low calorie range. Ho hum.

farmdoc's blog post number 514

Of all diseases, arguably the one whose name is most appropriate is stroke. Because stroke strikes people down. Some types of stroke have a gradual onset. And in others, notably bleeding into the brain, the onset is instantaneous. Bang. One second healthy and well, the next second paralysed and often unable to speak. It’s a devastating disease alright. No question. The best approach to it is to prevent it – especially by ensuring blood pressure’s not high, and controlling heart irregularities. But despite this, stroke will continue to occur. These days, early detection and thus early treatment can restrict progression, resulting in a less severe stroke. National Stroke Week runs from 14-20 September. In conjunction with it, the National Stroke Foundation’s relaunched its campaign to help people recognise the early signs of stroke. It’s called F.A.S.T. – derived from Face (Check their face. Has their mouth drooped?), Arms (Can they lift both arms?), Speech (Is their speech slurred? Do they understand you?) and Time (Time is critical. If you see any of these signs, call 000 now!). I think it’s a good campaign: simple and catchy. I hope it results in less severe strokes, and that it saves lives.

farmdoc's blog post number 513

I’m no rabid right-winger, but I reckon our society’s over-regulated. We’re accreditation crazy. Standards. Guidelines. Benchmarks. Key Performance Indicators. Audits. Inspections. Performance evaluations. It’s all too much. Much too much. And we’re regulating not only each other, but our animals too. Here are the RSPCA’s five freedoms. Fair enough. They sound fine to me. All our farm animals enjoy all five freedoms. As does Pete the Maremma. But no – that’s not enough for the dear RSPCA. They’ve gone a step further with their egg Choose Wisely campaign (‘Put the chicken before the egg’) which is part of their Approved Farming Scheme which gives producers the opportunity to display an RSPCA paw print (pictured) on their products which indicates to consumers that the producers’ procedures meet the RSPCA’s animal health standards. Obviously the producers have to pay to be audited against the standards, and again for permission to use the paw print. The RSPCA geniuses who came up with all this, need to generate income for their business unit. But in the end, who pays? Why consumers of course. Me? I think it’s far better to visit your local farmers’ market, talk direct with the producers, and if needs be visit their farms and see for yourself.

farmdoc's blog post number 512

More about surveys. Whilst Moore’s Law only applies to electronics, there must be an equivalent law for surveys. Because in recent years the number of surveys I’ve been asked to respond to has risen exponentially. As I’m an old guy whose time is precious to him, I’ve decided I won’t complete any more surveys. Whoever it is can get their information from someone else. But there’s one exception. My Mole Creek household has been selected as one of 36,000 nationwide to participate in the Australian Bureau of Statistics’ Monthly Population Survey. It’s an official survey authorised by the Census and Statistics Act 1905; and since 1960 it’s provided regular information about Australia’s population and workforce – including the employment and unemployment figures. So since last July, each month an interviewer phones and asks me questions. Each interview comprises a few of the same questions and a few unique ones. I’ve done three so far, with five to go before I get to hang up my boots. It’s all very pleasant. And though participation may be compulsory – I haven’t checked – I feel it’s my national duty. But just because I’m taking part in this one shouldn’t raise anyone’s hopes regarding other surveys. For I’m not getting any younger.

farmdoc's blog post number 511

My training and experience in epidemiology tell me surveys are fascinating. Notably their results can be influenced by many factors. One important factor’s the wording of questions. So even though a survey may be conducted by an ‘independent’ surveyor commissioned by the organisation seeking information, the survey’s wording may ensure the result sought. I thought of this recently reading this item reporting the results of the 2009 edition of the annual survey commissioned by Lifeline Australia, carried out by Newspoll, and analysed by Orima Research. It found that 87% of people in Australia report being stressed, 41% unhealthily so. The number one stressor was work – 75% of working people reported it, including 17% who were very stressed. The health sector has the highest stress prevalence [1]. The next most frequent stressors were finances, thoughts about the future, health, and personal relationships. Women were more stressed than men, city more than country dwellers, high more than low earners, and singles more than couples. The good news is that the 87% figure is down from 91% in 2008. All of this may be valid. But I can't but wonder if it’s a lever to ensure Lifeline’s funding. I’d sure like to see the survey’s questions. Ho hum.

farmdoc's blog post number 510

In my limited understanding of football, I’ve come to believe that you only play the man if you can’t win by playing the ball. In my work, other doctors who respond to my medical reports often say absurd things. This week I learnt that one of my so-called colleagues tried to discredit me by writing that I’m ‘not part of the medical community in Tasmania’. You bet I’m not. Far from that comment being a gratuitous slight, I consider it a badge of honour. However I’m not immune to the goings-on among doctors in Tasmania. So I think it a real tragedy that northern Tasmania’s only neurologist, Dr Stan Siejka (pronounced ‘Shaker’), was killed early last week in a skiing accident in New Zealand [1, 2]. I never met him, but I often commented on his work, and he on mine. Though we didn’t always agree, I respected him and his work. Also, to his credit, he was a bicycle racing aficionado. His medical shoes will be hard to fill; his waiting list spans months. But saddest of all is that he leaves three children aged 12-17 years. At the time of his death he was only 51 years old. Vale, Dr Siejka.

farmdoc's blog post number 509

In 1939, due to the foresight, humanity and sheer bloody-mindedness of Nicholas Winton, then a 29-year-old British stockbroking clerk, 669 Jewish children were saved from the clutches of the Nazis. Between March and August 1939 eight trains carried to Britain the Czech children who otherwise would almost certainly have died in concentration camps [1, 2]. Last Friday, 22 of the 669 were reunited with their 100-year-old saviour – now Sir Nicholas – who’s come to be called the ‘British Schindler’ [3, 4]. To tears and applause, a steam engine that’d brought them on the re-enacted journey from Prague, pulled into the very same platform at London’s Liverpool Street Station where as virtual orphans they’d disembarked 70 years ago. Speaking to the crowd, Sir Nicholas joked: ‘It's wonderful to see you all after so many years – don’t leave it quite so long until we meet here again’. A humble man, he concealed his achievements for decades – even from his wife. And he rejected the comparison with Oskar Schindler, who saved about 1,200 Jews in the war, saying that unlike the German his actions never put him in danger. The 669 Winton Children and their descendants now total over 5,000. What a man. What a story.

farmdoc's blog post number 508

Last 31 July Sweetheart Vivienne and I enjoyed the film Unmade Beds at the Melbourne International Film Festival. Early on, its lead character muses about how many beds he’s slept in during his life. I don’t know how many I’ve slept in. I’d reckon between 100 and 1,000. But what I do know is that when Sweetheart Vivienne and I sleep in the same bed, I sleep on the bed’s right side and she on the left. How this came about is a mystery to me. But it’s always how it’s been with us. Including recently in Port Douglas and on Dunk Island. Even when I’m alone in a bed larger than a single, I still sleep on the right side. I think I’d feel dissonant if I slept on the left. A bit like the drivers in Samoa who at 6 a.m. last Monday changed from driving on the right side of the road to the left (apparently uneventfully). However I have no intention at all of changing bed sides with Sweetheart Vivienne. At least not unless she provides me with a compelling reason to.

farmdoc's blog post number 507

Just because they're royal doesn't mean they don't fart. Or that their farts don't smell. I think the highlight of this triptych is the Queen's facial expression in the lowest panel. God save her.

farmdoc's blog post number 506

We've all seen lots of photographs of Lance in his cycling kit – in precisely this pose. So the specialness of this photograph is due to one factor – his nakedness.

farmdoc's blog post number 505

This one speaks for itself. Can't wait to see what the next knickers look like.

farmdoc's blog post number 504

Just looking at this photograph makes my pulse race and my palms sweaty. Because I find nothing more stressful than traffic. And I reckon our planet feels the same way. Today's photograph's a prelude to tomorrow's.

farmdoc's blog post number 503

I

I love this photograph. The ominous and foreboding clouds. The quaint fence disappearing behind the hillock. The two men – one walking in the direction the signpost's pointing, the other seemingly reluctant to join him.

farmdoc's blog post number 502

Continuing yesterday's gustatory theme, don't these drinks look literally mouth watering. Oh to be some place warm, sitting overlooking the sea at sunset, watching Sweetheart Vivienne sipping these – whilst I drink my lemon cordial.

farmdoc's blog post number 501

Spaghetti Bolognese is one of my favourite foods. I love its taste. Also I love the simple elegance of this photograph. And how it's taken from about table height so the knife and fork are seen almost end-on. Bon appetit!

farmdoc's blog post number 500

These three helicopters from the Spanish Air Force's aerobatic team look like they're dancing. Or the two on the left look like they're kissing and the one on the right's been rejected.

farmdoc's blog post number 499

Today’s the first day of spring. How do I know? It’s 1 September. And if I didn’t know the date, I’d have a fair idea because the yellow flowers are out. Not only daffodils, but also wattle. And the prickly, insidious gorse. It’s been a tough winter here in Mole Creek. Not compared with Canadian winters, say. But much wetter than previous winters here. And intuitively it seems like this winter it’s rained on more than the usual number of days. In the past three years the sun has filled our batteries on nine, eight and ten August days. But this year not even one. Nevertheless I’ve stayed warm and dry – apart from during some walks, that is – and also healthy, with nary a sniffle or cough. But it’s lovely to see the landscape splashed with yellow – a bright and cheery end to the dark and colourless winter months. Happy spring to you. Here’s to light, warmth and renewal. And colour.

For the next eight days I’m taking a bit of a rest from Farmdoc’s Blog. So each day between tomorrow and Wednesday 9 September, I’m posting a photograph I’ve gleaned from somewhere on the internet, together with a line or two about why I’ve chosen it. As they say, I hope you enjoy looking at them as much as I’ve enjoyed selecting them. Normal Farmdoc’s Blog programming should resume on Thursday 10 September.