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Be all that as it may, meanwhile:
In other news…
Thursday: Missus InkleIseemydoctormorethanhiswifedoes woke me at half eleven, and the race was on to revive enough to have her at the doctor’s surgery by one o’clock, which I managed with about one minute to spare, or some seconds less. It’s called living on the edge. Janny got the go ahead for a second facet joint injection, which later she arranged with Sterling Radiography for Wednesday of next week.
After this appointment Janny and I did some shopping in the centre next door, leisurely and relaxedly – a rare experience for Janny these days – until we had acquired the few things we had on our list. Next I drove her to a couple of nearby op shops, before a call in to our local centre for her prescriptions and some supplies from Dewsons’. I did some reconnaissance of the fish and chip shop, getting their hours for tonight’s din dins. My hopes of getting some sleep this afternoon were fast becoming a pipe dream, as there was the kitchen to clean up, and sundry things to do to absorb the time.
Mum rang with the happy news that baby Beau Ryder had been born about half two last night, not long before my email for info in fact, and he weighed in at a very respectable 8 pounds 12 ounces thank you very much, which unfortunately necessitated an emergency Caesarian for my niece Marie, who is tiny, but had dearly wanted a natural birth. This allowed me to finish our card, that is supply a name and gender, and then I took the delinquents, for Pa pree had been dropped off by Umple Dais by now, to the local shops where they shopped again until they dropped, as well as paid for fushnchups for five in advance of my picking them up at half seven, and we posted said card, which just might arrive in Busselton tomorrow, if Australia Post pulls its finger out.
I did the most cowboy of cowboy waterings and fertilizings in the back garden before My Beloved, which I saw most of until the door knocked, and The Babies had arrived, at which I was sent on my way to pick up the fushnchups. We had a very enjoyable treat, helped along with salads brought and made by Baby Inkletter, as well as a dessert she made supplemented by icecream. No complaints. We watched an episode of Yes Prime Minister on DVD, and it never fails to tickle me. Intelligent humour of a wonderful kind. Except that I fell asleep toward the end, despite the pillow thrown at me by Baby Inkletter which quite frightened the life out of me. [Back from the future update: I got an email expressing concern for Baby Inkletter about the health risks of sleep deprivation, and I agreed with her, but pleaded the non ideal circumstances of my life. It would be wonderful to be able to just sleep when my head hits the pillow, but insomnia of a kind has wreaked havoc with my slumberings and made such a pipe dream.]
The Babies left about half nine, returning Pa pree on their way, and I watched Tony Jones’ Q&A, struggling with sleep for part of it, but what I recall was that it was good to hear George Brandis, Shadow Attorney General, speak some sense a couple of times rather than the usual pure political put down of the other side. But how lame of Q&A to label tonight’s episode as ‘Another Episode’ on the website! They couldn’t even give it a topic name.
If Leigh Sales was radiant last night on Lateline, she was sparkling tonight, and whatever she’s doing with her hair now, keep doing it, for it brings out the beauty; she is letting it flair low and wide, and it suits her. And what can I say about Ali Moore on Lateline Business? Only that my tiredness disappears when she graces the screen. Now didn’t Stephen Pope of Cantor Fitzgerald Europe look wonderful in his civvies in his interview with Ali!; he looked like he’d just come in from having a leak on the turnips, or is that the Swedes? And Ali had Roger Corbett, a board member of the Reserve Bank, across the table in the studio, and he agreed, with me in fact, that Treasurer Wayne Swan was given a very good interview by Leigh Sales last night. And I agree with Mr Corbett in his distaste of some of Kevin Rudd’s pontificating against capitalism, the latest blast from a pulpit in a cathedral in
I missed Dave’s monologue on Letterman, but saw most of the rest of it, while attending to Missus Inkledamnthislegpain, who got up in great pain with the same old leg problem ‘spasming’ again. And she had high hopes that there would be a total respite for months since having the facet joint injection. She wonders if she did too much walking today, and probably she did. Let’s hope it doesn’t recur; it took almost half an hour of assistance, but she eventually got pain relief and returned to bed. Now what is it with slim curvaceous women who wear sprayed on high on the leg clothing and splash themselves across the screen, like the very attractive creature who was Dave’s guest tonight, Marg Helgenberger, who did so much tugging at the hem of her short dress it was distracting and took away from her interview, which, by the way, I thought was good and reflected well on her. If a woman wants to wear revealing clothing, and finds she can’t make herself publicly at ease sitting down in it, then there’s a simple remedy: wear something of sufficient modesty so that she can. Frankly, if you’re pushing fifty, for both men and women, why not leave the showing off of the body to the young, if at all? It’s called ageing gracefully, valuing higher things than the outer appearances. And yes, I comment a lot on the women current affairs presenters on Aunty and all, but I see a difference, if general and often subtle, even if some of my billions of readers don’t.
Poor Missus Inklelegagony asked me if I was going to go for a late walk, and I could tell that her question was really a request for me not to, so I stayed in so I could be close to help her if the leg pain happened again, which it did before I retired, which was about four as it turned out. I had done some more writing and researching for this diary of all things – my trap of late is that by commenting so much on current affairs and TV happenings, my slowish poota and internet speeds means the research to get spellings right and quotes and wotnot takes soooo long. And the novel writing and the non fiction writing doesn’t get done…
+paytontedwithlove+
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