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Tuesday, February 10, 2009

MERREDIN: Wheatbelt farmer finds worm in paddock, isn’t sure what it is, is scared, calls for Payton L. Inkletter to remove it safely, and kinsfolk.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

10th February 2009:

Tuesday: A real hot one coming, it reached the high thirties Celsius. And Missus InkleIliveatCharlies and I had to drive out in it, leaving for Sir Charlie Gees about half twelve, after picking up blood test results at Janny’s doctor’s surgery locally on the way, as well as the shakuhachi flute adaptor parcel from the Post Office, which had arrived despite the email I received the other day suggesting it had been sent to the wrong person on the other side of the world. So it arrived in about 5 days for almost 50 bucks postage cost. It weighs nothing, and so indeed it should have taken no more than 5 days!

We got to Sir Charles Gairdner in good time, and it was our first experience of the new ticketing system in the woefully inadequate parking grounds. First off Janny had two eye procedures in E block (Alex, how many blue block?), and Dr Nosce reported pretty good eye health considering the diabetes, and then it was a late appointment in the same block with the diabetic nurse practitioner Alison, who was very pleased with Janny’s progress on all fronts. Nurse Alison is returning with her family to Britain, so this is the last time she’ll see Janny, and we wish her all the best back in the Motherland.

We finally got back to our neck of the suburban woods, and the afternoon temperature had hotted up a lot. We sought some refuge in the lounge with the Fujitsu, Hiroshi to his friends, Janny’s boyfriend, on and cranking, until a knock on the door spoiled things, for it was the boys in black, the younger elders, who, while I deserted the lounge in record time, Missus InklesIcannagetenuffuvthosebrose entertained them. I almost fell asleep in the hot bedroom, with the fans on to help prevent me roasting, when Janny came a bit over a half hour later to inform me they’d gone. As a younger man I could take any amount of churchbound callers, but these days they’ve lost their almost all of their appeal. Very occasionally I might feel net satisfaction for having spent the half, one, even two hours dancing around their desire to convert me, but as I say, it’s quite rare nowadays.

I drove to the local shops, bought two Chooks meals, and delivered one to Pa pree with his shakuhachi flute adaptor parcel, and then back home to give Janny the other meal, with myself preferring baked beans on toast, which is no reflection upon our local Chooks franchisee, for his halal tucker is very nice, clean, and tasty, but given a choice between fried chicken and baked beans with cheese on toast, I’ll go for the farters every time. Which is what I shovelled down during My Beloved and The 7.30 Report, learning of the Victorian fire death toll reaching around 180, which is so tragic, and the need for blood (and plasma) was covered, to help with the burns victim survivors.

Against expectations, Janny and I found ourselves with the evening alone. I did outside watering, came in for this year’s first Foreign Correspondent and the awful account of Dr Izzeldine Abuelaish’s three daughters’ deaths in Gaza from a tank shell in the recent military incursion, followed by the interview with the wonderful Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, whose humility is a good example and opportunity for us all. Only perhaps last week I saw another interview on some program, almost certainly on Aunty, with the grand old dame also. I watched Lateline, and Premier John Brumby was a leader of a traumatised State, then Letterman, enjoying his interview with Naomi Watts, before fighting back tiredness to do some writing and bits and pieces on the pooter.

I went for a very late walk, in partially easterly windy conditions, typical summer pattern. I was very tired on my return, and managed to clean up the kitchen but I couldn’t manage any more writing as I had hoped. I read some of the Sunday paper, before getting to bed after dawn.


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