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Thursday, January 29, 2009

YACKA: “For the love of God that woman can talk a back leg each off of a pair of Border Leicesters!” Payton L. Inkletter says of Missus Inkletter.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

29th January 2009:

Thursday: After the uploading to my Fool’s ParadiseIn other news…’ site, a terrible thought occurred to me: is Internet Explorer displaying these new ‘In other news…’ postings properly? After all, I have only had it going for a week or so, and I hadn’t yet checked it in IE, as Firefox is the much better browser, or at least it’s my browser of choice. So I loaded the site in IE, and sure enough, many earlier posts had the HTML code leakage – – between every paragraph. SHIT! More time to waste redoing all those postings when I can get to it. Thanks Blogger editor, may you rot in hell, although hell is too good for you.

I tidied up the Swift a tad, had a shower, then scooted down to Ultratune and left the wheels there with Simon L. the manager, a very pleasant fellow who has serviced these wheels excellently for well over a decade. We go halves with Pa pree for all car repairs, and this time the automatic transmission needs servicing (bad news, see tomorrow’s entry). I later discovered that there are but two of his surname in the whole Perth White Pages, and when I questioned him the following day he said the other is his brother. Fancy that I thought, given that the surname is certainly not odd or queer, and ends in ‘ford’ as do many names, and is but 8 letters long. Wow. Names interest me a lot.

In humid conditions I walked back for the exercise, hat on, iRiver T10 and my favourite talking book massaging, nay, working out, my brain, and the walk takes me just a smidgeon over half an hour when I’m well, but I’ve got to really hoof it.

While Janny, poor old pheasant, slept on, I did my back yard summer maintenance jobs until midday news time, when she plied me with cheese, crackers, gherkins, and tomato, and met with little resistance. I was getting in the mindset to sleep, which was badly needed, when my Aunt Elsie phoned, which news from Janny that she wanted to speak to me had me concerned, for I thought perhaps all was not well with my mother.

Well, it was bad news: her eldest son, my cousin, Vee, but 45, has just had a cancer diagnosis, throat-neck, with a tumour around a tonsil, and tests yet to establish whether it has spread. I played with him in the mid sixties when I used to spend a week at a time during school holidays at Melville, up from Pinjarra. I am six years his senior, but the pairing worked very well. I suppose I must have been like a big brother in retrospect. He is married with a son, 9, and a younger daughter. My poor aunt remained composed but I could easily tell she is very stressed for her son. She knew I had some cancer dietary additive advice of Dr Johanna Budwig, that I had Mum use back from 2001 when she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of lung cancer, so I said I’d send it asap.

I had the information emailed within about 15 minutes, and went to bed burdened for Vee, his wife and children, his parents, and his three brothers, who are, fortunately, all strongly supportive of helping Vee beat it. I also had begun my praying for his healing.

Without enough sleep under my belt, I surfaced after seven o’clock, to prepare for the greatest highlight of every week, the visit for din dins and games by Babies Ink&Peggletter. Before I hit the sack and before Aunt Elsie had rung, we had Simon L. phone us from Ultratune to deliver the bad news about the extent of problems with the Swift’s transmission problems: a circuit board controller which changes the gears playing up, and it would be more like 400 bucks and not be ready till late tomorrow, which explains why I slept through the late afternoon, rather than hoofing it back to pick up the serviced Swift. (It gets worse – see tomorrow’s entry.)

So the Babies picked up Pa pree for us given that we were wheel-less, and we enjoyed a delish meal of cold roast beef and all sorts of salads and praters (you would not believe how long it just took me to google how the Irish say ‘potatoes’, for I wasn’t sure just how to spell it), and later a dessert of wine boiled pears in chocolate. Missus Inklechef should be busted. We played a short card game of Big Fish Little Fish, with the Babies cleaning up the floor, before Carcassonne, a favourite for us, with more new tiles coming into the plot. Of course Baby Inkletter cleaned us up again.

As fate would have it, after watching Letterman and doing some more pooter stuff, I decided to forgo a walk, and go to be ‘early’ at half two, but then as I got into bed, Janny felt her leg cramping beginning, and what ensued was the worst she’d had in a very long time. It took me almost three hours to get her in a state to go back to bed, and while she did her points in the lounge after the severe pain had subsided enough for her to move, I decided to do the kitchen clean up which I had decided to leave till tomorrow in aid of an ‘early’ night. So about five a.m. saw sleep for me.


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