like a shag on a rock

is how the saying goes. An explanation here - if you scroll down a bit.
Or in this case like a shag on a pontoon.
The Cormorant, or shag, spreads its wings and cools its pits.
I wish this were socially acceptable behaviour for humans in this humidity.

And I did indeed feel a bit shag-like as I put my knitting down and crouched down to photograph it against the view.Another day at the office.
No, I'm not a fisherperson, I was taking a break from the darkness of the theatre opposite. I particularly like the texture of the weathered timbers along the wharves and thought it made a nice foil to the black garter stitch.

It's an area which was known as the Hungry Mile back in the '30s, an area rich with history, but which is now basically the tjushed-up playground of the rich, with all the fabulous old wharf buildings mostly refurbished into Primo Real Estate with only the merest nod to its narrative. It's inevitable I suppose, but part of me thinks it's a shame that there's not a more democratic access to the harbour side. But then those vaguely socialist sentiments are probably genetic, which brings me to:

Installment #1 in the Seven Rivetingly Random Factoids about me.

My grandfather was a card-carrying member of the communist party in the 1950s, so it's a good thing the long arm of McCarthyism didn't reach as far as Newcastle (a tiny little town in Australia), and as far as I know Arthur Miller did not write a play about witchcrafting Plumbers set amidst the blue-collar burghers of Newcastle either, which come to think of it, could be hilarious.

Hooray for readers who've made it this far! You deserve a vessel wednesday. Thinking back to my delicious pho bo on Monday night, I hit upon the jar of dried Vietnamese rice stick noodles which are so diaphanous and delicate, and here they are:

As always, hardcore enthusiasts can see more glimpses here.