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Tuesday, February 17, 2009

NUMBAA: Counting on doubling it, one half-hearted and fractious Payton L. Inkletter fingered divisively in two minds at quarter time, before splitting


Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

17th February 2009:


Tuesday: Another day of bearable temperature, and we were able to open the house up late afternoon to catch the welcome seabreeze. When I surfaced Missus Inklegooddaughter was gone, and she had picked up Pa pree Inkletter and took him to the local major shopping centre (being able to drive a little distance again), where she attended her appointment with Samantha the wonderful shrinking doctor, and later Pa pree Inkletter attended his appointment with his doctor, and then the pair of them shopped till they dropped, or so I assumed, because as I write this I realise I didn’t specifically ask the alabaster dragon. The boot load of shopping goodies and paraphernalia that I unloaded for them would back up my inference, however.


This expedition of theirs must have consumed at least four hours methinks. I made and uploaded a new header for the main web site, and cleaned up the kitchen from last night’s birthday celebration with the Babies and Pa pree Inkletter. I got a bit of back yard gardening titivation done before My Beloved, and The 7.30 Report, on which Kezza interviewed by satellite the highly talented Ricky Gervais, who I have admired since being captivated by his ability in The Office, and Missus Inkles hasn’t been able to stand since the same show. If I needed reminding of his acting brilliance, Extras did it. Ghost Town looks funny, judging from the short Kezza teased us with.


Missus Inklenicetoeveryone(exceptattimestome) took Pa pree home and at the same time delivered a hot meal to her brother, Umple Dais, all before eight. I returned to the back garden, and did my big once weekly blood and bone fertilizing, and this and that, until Foreign Correspondent on Aunty, which featured two stories, both interesting: David Frost, who is featured in the new film ‘Frost/Nixon’; and the Malaysian astronaut, Dr Sheik Muszaphar Shukor, which story included the absurd effort by Islamic scholars to ascertain the appropriate manner to conduct prayers in space. Gee, talk about majoring in minors, like all the formalized religions are wont to do; in case no-one’s noticed, we’re already in space, and the vehicle is planet Earth.


The good old hunk of shit crap manure – hang on, those are all good things as far as my plants are concerned – the Panasonic DMR ES15 DVD Recorder, a total waste of money in my humble opinion, and a machine which makes me think twice about another Panasonic product, played up again tonight, while recording to a new disc an SBS documentary for me, and getting itself into one of its destructive loops where it tells me to do one thing to reset the stupid thing, and then proceeds to make it impossible. I eventually fooled the fool of a thing by loading a DVD movie disc and repeatedly powering it on and off until it began to offer to play it, seemingly forgetting its previous meltdown. This machine is not even a year and a half old, and has done very little recording, and a fair amount of playback. If money was no object (and there were no environmental consequences) I’d toss it into the sea, if I couldn’t find a Panasonic suit’s arse to jam it up.


I stayed on to watch Artscape, which featured the quirky and highly talented Tom Moore, who makes the most wonderful glass objects. Missus Inklenotbadherselfwithvariouscrafts enjoyed this show as well, and we both agreed this Tom has something seriously wrong with him, which is a way of us giving him our approval. Well, what d’ya know, it was then Lateline, so on I stayed, and I had to battle the vomit reflex as Tony Jones interviewed the odious Christopher Pyne, Sturt pee and Manager of Opposition Business, , and while it wouldn’t matter what the interview was about, this one was about the reshuffle in the shadow cabinet, and Peter Smugello’s intentions, or lack of them. Also on this program was Stephen Smith, Foreign Affairs Minister, visiting Pakistan, and how tired and aged the poor bastard’s looking these days!


Now Letterman was imminent, so Missus Inkles and I did a tad of marriage building, which, due our humanness, degenerated, but then there’s always tomorrow, with the springboard of apologies today. Letterman’s highlight by far was Willie Nelson’s performance, with Asleep at the Wheel. Missus Inkletter, Baby Inkletter, my brother, and my nieces met him years ago at Perth Airport, and he was a humble gracious man, as he still obviously is. I have an envelope with his signature on it to me, courtesy of Missus Inkletter, who asked him to sign it for her husband, a great fan from way way back.


I went back outside after midnight, (and after my apology to Missus Inkles, who responded ditto, from the boudoir, the site of many an intense and wild, wanton apology…) and finished the marathon watering, back and front. By half two I was ready to go for my walk, the first in three days… this will not do, I need to walk daily. The easterly winds were strong enough to not bother to even take my mp3 player, for I wouldn’t have heard a thing. This meant more thinking time, and I came up with some good ideas for my Health Matters site which I’m putting together, focusing on cancer. Telstra’s phone box at the local Dewsons’ had both glass panels smashed to blazes by some brains trust, single or corporate, quite the most powerful impact I’ve noticed ever at that box. I shudder to think what all the vandalism on this one booth has cost Telstra over the years.


Speaking of cancer, I noticed a red mark on my nose when I hopped into the shower on my return from the walk, in my field of close vision, and after, in front of the mirror, squeezed it, then gouged it, thinking it was a pimple, but no, and whatever it is, it stubbornly refused to budge, but bled like, I won’t say ‘buggery’, for that’s crude, but it bled a lot, and is some kind of solid little lump. Aloe was applied, and I’ll have to slather it on for days to clear it up, assuming it will heal. I get so many skin blemishes and slow-to-heal spots these days, echoes of my days in the sizzling sun of my youth, I’m sure.


My Bambusa balcoa clump has put up a new largish culm the other day, and I’m tickled pink, for I was not expecting another one to follow the biggish one that came up in early spring, sat dormant for two months, and then skyrocketed to almost the same height as the tallest one from three years ago, only now almost stopping its vertical growth. I began spoiling it yesterday by digging a tiny trench around the new shoot, and pouring worm liquid into it.


I tackled my diary, this very one, after my shower, and some emails to Baby Inkletter, answering various questions and topics, some from the Daughters and their Dads’ book by Bruce Robinson. Where does the time go? It was after dawn by the time I left the pooter, to tackle my pre-bed ablutions, including the practice of electric toothbrushing of my fangs, something I’m sold on since Baby Inkletter gave it to me about a year and half ago. Prior to this I assumed electric toothbrushes were simply a lazy yuppie option for avoiding work in the bathroom. It does such a magnificent job I had to experience it to believe it. And it’s taken me ages to control the flow of saliva it generates… Dame Edna should look into this means of collecting her healing lotion, ‘Mother’s Spit’.

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