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Be all that as it may, meanwhile:
In other news…
Thursday: A low thirties Celsius day, typically March, with a very late almost non-existent sea breeze. I was woken by Janny, who didn’t realise that my alarm had done the job but minutes before. The alarm should make up its mind: the other day it went off almost an hour after the set time, today spot on.
I brushed my teeth, threw some clothes on – thank God for that – and did the typically westerner wasteful-of-fuel thing, and drove to the local shops and its mailbox just in time to post my brother’s 54th birthday card, which includes a conversation I wrote in it between a dabchick and a butcher bird about his birthday. I hope it brings a smile to his face.
Back home I shaved, showered, and then picked up Pa pree then drove to the beautiful park nearby where Janny and I have had many lovely late night walks. The Babies Ink&Peggletter were there by arrangement, having just set up a croquet game. We played two games with them in the land drain section, where it was nice and flat, and green. I’ve never played before, and it was a great deal of fun. And it’s getting into my league of strenuousness – virtually none! Payton the Koala Bear joined in a bit, with photos to prove it, and before we knew where were, it was
Poor old Missus InkleI’vecookedtheMorrocanyouorderedBabyInkletter was flat out in the kitchen preparing to feed us. She later confided in me that she would have liked to have been invited. I wish the Babies had. I tend to keep out of these no win situations if I can. We had a most delicious feast of the Morrocan Lamb dish, while the conversation was rather pessimistic, or rather, the pessimism of Baby Inkletter hung over the table, as the discussion waxed on about the world they and their generation are inheriting. I was essentially the sole voice of optimism despite any and all appearances and developments, but of course it is like trying to push water uphill when the climate is going haywire, greed and violence is rampant, immaturity reigns supreme, and the world economy is lying knocked out on the floor of the ring, nearing the count of ten.
After the main course we watched the recording we made of the recent Compass program featuring The Universal Brotherhood of Balingup, and we then, over some magnificent wog dessert of pastry, honey, and almond filling, had quite a discussion of my and Janny’s experience there and of what we thought and knew of various folk featured. I was there for a bit over a year in all, approaching 28 years ago, and while I must be honest and say the old bird running the place was a megalomaniac in a dove’s clothing, if I’d not gone there I wouldn’t have Baby Inkletter to enrich my life today, for I met and was entrapped by her mother, the alabaster dragon, there.
The Babies took Pa pree home when they left, and I watched the last part of the gorgeous, capable, and intelligent Ali Moore’s Lateline. I think she could talk even to Kevin Rudd and I’d be captivated, even Simon Crean, or Kim Beazley, for that matter. Actually, I think she’d make an interview with a dead person captivating. Ali, if Janny leaves me, you find yourself single, and you are turned on by an ageing bull koala, past his prime, give me a call…
In the half hour before the later start to Letterman we watched my recording of Compass from Sunday night, which I missed due to poor Missus InkleI’llspeweverlastspeckofsustenanceoutofme’s chundering attack, from the nausea inducing Byetta she’s trying to master the use of. And it was worth saving to see. I learnt more about Blanche D’Alpuget than I ever knew: she seems very sweet and fragile, sincere and decent. Has she always been so timid? Is it due to being, in the eyes of many, the bitch who stole Bob Hawke from Hazel? I don’t know, just surmisin…
Letterman had Dr Phil as his guest, which was not as rivetting as I was expecting; good, but not stratospheric. U2 finished the night again, and forgive me, but Bono owes a hell of a lot to his three band members.
I should have come straight to bed, as did Missus Inklealreadyfallingasleep, but my health problems weren’t conducive to that yet, and so I tackled writing my diary and googling for research on sundry things. I emailed a thank you to Gladys Hobson for her unfailing support and encouragement with my writing endeavours, this time for Venty Still. I edited it some more, adding dialogue and a little action, as well as tweaking some of the science content, which I’ve been doing for a couple of days, sneaking the editing in under the abomination that is the Blogger editor’s radar, by using it’s long winded and arcane ‘Edit Html’ mode, for ‘Compose’ mode smashes all my formatting to hell and I have to redo it all laboriously if I so much as place the cursor anywhere in the page field; Blogger editor, I hate your guts, just in case you’d been lulled into a false sense of security seeing that I have’nt complained about you for some week’s now (or is it days?).
The computer is playing up, running grindingly slow and freezing during simple procedures, which makes the work I want to do much slower. One day… (a computer with big balls, and an operating system worth the name: may you live in interesting times Bill Gates).
This all took ages, also considering that I did a double post of this very day’s diary on the Main Site and here, which is a very time consuming exercise in itself, and so it wasn’t till daylight was playing with the eastern horizon that I crawled in beside the alabaster dragon.
+paytontedwithlove+
2 comments:
An interesting diary of a puzzleyoumayoverwhatonearthisthisinkletter.
Oh that I had something of like interest to write in my diary. To date the total contents put together would barely fill one page. At least I have distant friends who put zest into my life... dear Payton and Janny!
Gladys: And did you forget to add 'sizzle', or was that a deliberate omission?
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