The Taste of Isis: it's not what you think.

Place names can be unfortunate. France’s Anus, Boring Tennessee and Fucking in Austria are cases in point. The same can be said for some geological features: the Disappointment Islands of Polynesia, Dick Peaks Antarctica; and Faggot Hill Massachusetts come to mind. Some whole regions are cursed by odd names: the Arse district of Sumatra, Bong County Liberia and Hop Bottom Borough in Pennsylvania to name a few.

         Far from being immune to it, Australia is home to a generous collection of oddly named places. Some - Scone, Orange and Banana - are tasty enough. Others - Yorkeys Knob, Doo Town and Rooty Hill - are a little naughty. While Foul Bay, Dismal Swamp and Mount Warning speak for themselves.

         But we have one regional name that in recent times jars dangerously. I came upon it while working in country Queensland. After a week long trial I picked up a local tourist guide.  Inside an article implored me to ‘Discover the Taste of Isis’.

The Devil's Buttocks: the worst hotel art in the world. WARNING: photographs follow.

Don’t ever let anyone tell you ‘it could be worse’, because sometimes it can’t be. Or, if it could, it is already so bad that degrees of badness are meaningless: think of the cold war when a global nuclear arsenal capable of vaporising the world 100 times was really no worse then once capable of vaporising it once.

         So, sometimes it couldn’t be worse. I know, because currently I’m staring at a case in point. Hotel art so bad it rendered me sleepless and shuddering.

        

The Devil's Buttocks.

Why is it that hoteliers so often take a comfortable and functional apartment and render it almost uninhabitable by adding vomitus objects to the wall. It happens everywhere. Bedrooms discomforted by some black brooding vision, kitchenettes and lounge rooms scourged by crude geometric swipes or exuberant feacal festivals of muck.

The World's First Selfie: how I invented the toss-shot and what came next.

A typical early 'toss shot'.

It is 32 years since I invented the selfie. Little did I know how the technique would sweep the globe. How today, everyone has held out an arm to snap a shot of themselves, sometimes even wearing clothes. How with a click of the finger it’s possible to record yourself with friends, politicians, sportsman, actors, animals and food. How the crude selfie-stick I made decades ago has developed into the slickest, most high tech lengths of composite in the world. How the world’s first go-pro that I fashioned with VHS and string has become small, robust and waterproof.

Thirty-two years. If it were a marriage it would be the diamond anniversary plus two. So it seems fitting to record how it all began. In this piece I'll reveal the story of the selfie's creation. Next week I'll write about how far the selfie has come and how a remote village in South America is challenging the world to return to the selfie's simple beginnings.

The Truth About Travel: time spent in a tube of farts.

Criminal barristers travel to where their trials take place. Sometimes that's a city, sometimes a town, sometimes it's a whistle stop with nothing but bad coffee and dust to recommend it. Nothing to be jealous about there, right? Wrong. Travel, even travel for work fires jealously in the inexperienced. Tell them you’re flying and staying at a 4-star and they’ll call it a junket quicker than you can gag them and twist their ear.

A tired travelling waiting to board a tube of farts.

         In truth travel for work is nothing like travel for pleasure. Obviously one reason for that is the work itself. Unless you are one of those lucky individuals who are passionate about what they do, then working away from home is just work with a higher degree of difficulty.

One Night In Dublin. An Aussie lawyer walked into a bar.

People have long been interested in legal language. That doesn't mean they like it. Legal formalities, conceits and obfuscations are ridiculed and demonised in popular culture. Lawyers who use the language to confront and confuse are mocked, except for those who, sadly, are appointed to the bench.

Australian lawyers, especially those working in the regions are less frequent offenders. Those who speak to juries in criminal trials are the least offensive of all.

They, the good ones, speak a more accessible language. Plain English, with a twist. But that doesn't mean that there is never any confusion. Sometimes there is.

Australia Barristers Go Walkabout.

Barristers in Australia frequently go walkabout. The vast size of the country means travel for work is essential. Those based in cities travel to regional towns. Those based in regional towns travel to remote communities and those based in remote communities sometimes disappear up their own clackers.

I've never been based anywhere but cities and towns so have not yet disappeared up anything. However I have enjoyed occasional forays into remote places.

Coastal North Queensland

A certain sense of freedom comes with driving or flying into the bush. It is a privilege to experience this expansive place. Driving especially allows you to appreciate the land: the passing landscape melting into night, the smell of freshly turned earth and in summer, the warmth and weight of the air itself.

You can't capture the feelings but you can keep a visual record. It's not perfect but a few photos at least remind you of each journey into the land. Here are a few snaps from a recent trip to the tropics.

A Great Australian Road Trip.

Flowering sugar cane

Australians are spoiled for choice for great road trips. The sheer size of the place, the diversity of landscapes and and small population make for endless opportunities. Many of them are known internationally: the Nullarbor, the Great Ocean Road, Tassie's east coast, the Adelaide Hills and WA's Margaret River. There's another one that's little known. It's way up north in Queensland. A diversion that sneaks off the highway at Silkwood and ends further north at Innisfail.