Earlier in the week, there was a documentary on SBS about a fin whale that had become beached on an Irish coast, and not made it back to sea. It's premature death on land presented a rare opportunity; the world's foremost whale anatomy expert was flown to the site to dissect the creature, which she did zealously - working very quickly - feeling her way inside the giant body with great acuity to locate specific organs and bones.
Don't click here unless you want to see a picture of the whale's intestines, which Joy Reidenberg lugged out of the whale and onto the beach.
Do click here if you care for a factual reminder about the wonderful fin whale. Their reality is shocking to me. Prehistoric beast, yes. Television spectacle, yes. But sixty thousand or so real fin whales - calling, clicking and whistling to one another through the ocean deep on this same planet? Shudder.
I can't remember where exactly I photographed these funny mosaics. On the walls of a charming toilet block, in a Victorian coastal town. Mosaics have been stigmatised, I think, (quite possibly because of this kind of application) but I quite like them - big, clumsy ones and also fine, dainty ones made from broken teacups and that kind of thing.
Stingrays and sea horses are among my favourite ocean dwellers. I think this sea horse, though, was the weak link on the walls. They don't swim like that, do they? Perhaps it's a pipe fish.
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