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Friday, February 13, 2009

XENOPHONIA: Nick of time; Payton L. Inkletter doesn’t mind helping a few old Murray Cods: “Doesn’t a huge swathe of Australia’s food come from there?”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

13th February 2009:

Friday: I was mighty tired, and the temperature had dropped nicely overnight, so I slept better, and got up late, yet could have had as much again, but no luck, for today is Bob’s swimming day. I phoned Mum before noon to check on cousin Vee’s hospital whereabouts, and it is The Mount as I suspected, at the foot of Kings Park. He had been under the knife about four to five hours by this stage.

I got some badly needed watering done out the back and some kitchen cleaning up work done before leaving for Bob’s at Guildford, with poor Janny needing to return to bed for a couple of hours with nausea from the Byetta, yetta again. She is having a really bad week, and it may well be related to a continuing bout of vertigo she is having lately, and now trying Stemzine to alleviate it. The first couple of days it worked brilliantly for her, evaporating her nausea rather quickly and completely. The struggle to beat the nausea seems to be returning these last few days however, despite the tablets.

It was a very overcast warm day today, and Swan Aquatic was moderately busy. Bob took to the water with the zest he usually saves for the double hydrogen and single oxygen molecular brew, and in another new pair of togs, the second new pair in a week. He had had a bad week apparently, having smashed some crockery and thrown furniture about, so it was entirely possible that I could have been phoned to ask if I wanted to cancel the outing to help Bob learn some cause and effect. But the first I learned of it all was from social trainer Richard, and that in passing. Bob filled me in on the way to the pool, as he always does; he is incapable of keeping a secret, even negative ones about himself. Contrast this with one ex-Kenwick Peter, who held onto any and all information that might greatly assist one’s assessments like plutonium in Iran.

I put a few more chapters from Clive Hamilton’sThe Freedom Paradox’ under my belt, still in the metaphysics middle portions, and while I like his general criticisms of modern consumercentric living, I think he’s gone off with the fairies somewhat with his attempts to explain and find an absolute basis for his ethics; he’s so far assuming an absolute from what is a relative, and appears to be completely unaware of the boo boo; I don’t have any reason so far to think he’ll find the best basis for his essential absolute. Anyway, I’ve yet to finish the book, and I am enjoying it very much; it has been very worthwhile, and it may yet partially redeem itself from the fruitcake in the middle.

Bobski and I had a cup of tea at the river and a walk, but he should not have done the walk, for he needed to go to the tirly tirly, but wouldn’t let me take him home, and for my trouble I got a brown patch of dubious fragrance on the passenger seat cover, a job to clean up at home.

Some philoose from the ATM in Malaga, then I was home just a whisker after half seven, in time to watch the ABC’s hour long report on the Victorian fires. Half an hour into this the phone rang, and Janny went to answer it, expecting it to be Mum as we arranged, to give us an update on cousin Vee’s progress, but it was an old school friend of Janny’s, and they chatted for over two and a half hours. Talk about yak; women gab like their lives depend upon it. Missus Inklegabchuck can talk the back leg off an Outaouais Arcott.

After watching the SBS mid evening news and then Lateline, on which Leigh Sales tried to get some joy from the somewhat bizarre pairing of Liberal Mitch Fifield and Labor Mark Arbib for a discussion on the passing of the second economic stimulus package, thanks to Nick Xenophon saying “Onya goodonya!” The Liberal was typically totally negative about everything the other side is doing, while Arbib seemed somewhat like an ocker parrot that had just sustained a slight knock on the head. Nevertheless, I do find on average, Aunty’s current affairs programs deliver by far the best bang for the viewing buck in terms of informativeness of what’s happening here, there, and almost everywhere, although having said that, I find they have very little to tell me about Ganymede.

About midnight Missus Inklehotstuff made me sultana toast with homemade plum jam – the subtle domestic violence continues – and I made myself a +paytontedwithlove+ cocoa to wash it down with; then she presented me with a lovely homemade Valentine’s Day card, beating me, for I hadn’t made one yet, having planned to give it to her on the morrow, as well as the card (joking! for she has left me in no doubt that there will be little likelihood of any funny business this time). We watched some of a recorded show, then she retired and I sat to write. Light rain had begun, then it picked up around two o’clock, at which I curled up in her arms in bed, asking her what the strange noise was outside on the patio roof. I also warned her not to take advantage of me, being vulnerable, confused, fragile, small, white, delicate, a quivering petal in fact. She touched me up a lot, but left it at that.

The lovely rain did stop unfortunately, the first of any note for this year, and I returned to the pooter to keep writing. I was planning to try to walk until the gentle rain started, then decided not to. Now that it has stopped, I should pull my finger out and go walking, but I’ve got cosy and am very weary, here at pooter. I don’t even want to water the bamboo outside. To those who think that it would be superfluous or unnecessary to water since it has just rained, believe me, it has been so dry, and the rain, while lasting almost an hour, was extremely light for all but about ten minutes, and so barely the surface will have got wet. And bamboo being such a water guzzler, it would appreciate a soak by hand, but too bad, I’m too lazy and whacked tonight. At least evaporation has had the lid put on it for a few hours till sunrise, providing the still conditions prevail, unless rain returns, in which case, we’ll be laughing.

Well, as some of the billions of daily visitors to this web site must have worked out by now, some of these daily diaries are written in several stints during the day, and thus earlier expressed finalities end up being fluidities, such as the following: I did get outside and I muster the resources to water the bamboo under lights, then, powered by the adrenaline hit that gave me, I did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, and while it might all seem pure altruism, doing this selfless act while the alabaster dragon slumbers, you just never know, it might increase my chances on the Valentine’s Day morrow; honk honk! I’ll just have to keep you posted on how lucky I got or not.

After this effort, I had a welcome shower, and made my self a hot powdered skim milk muggasoup, minus the soup, and dunked the alabaster dragon’s Anzac cookies into it – the actual number is classified. As I write Dean Martin is singing to ‘Volare’ to me through my Christmas-present-to-myself Logitech X-230 speakers, the $60 ones; as my devoted and doting readers know, the Foolpies, I am one of the last of the big spenders. Jokes aside, these speakers have revolutionised my listening experience at the computer, for prior to last Christmas, I had over a decade of listening through the equivalent of two rusty baked bean cans that had been run over by a dump truck hauling Robert Mugabe’s lack of humanity.

After dawn the easterly winds picked up for a short while, and the buffeting was surprisingly severe; I went outside and in the beautiful subdued early morning light, helped by a leaden sky, I stood and witnessed the most amazing twisting and swirling of my giant Bambusa oldhamii hedge, and was anxious lest the new culms might kink or snap, being still at their brittle stage, and also lest the winds continue, and damage the house. I photographed some of this action, then took some more photos of Payton the K-Bear with the latest Yucca spray of flowers out the front. The wind died down as relatively suddenly as they picked up, and it was all over in the hour; calm before, calm after.

Bed was welcome, and I was dead tired.


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