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Sunday, April 12, 2009

ROUBAIX: Paris-Roubaix cobble won by Payton L. Inkletter for being the 1st Malvern Star to finish: “Nobbled, I hobbled on: if I can’t, then vegemite!”


Be all that as it may, meanwhile:


In other news…

12th April 2009:


Sunday: I had a lot of difficulty falling asleep, and hardly had I when the alabaster dragon woke me, informing me it was half eleven. I dragged myself up, and before much else, almost in my birthday suit, I did a cowboy watering of a couple of my prize clumps of bamboo, already having dropped a thousand leaves under the onslaught of a hot dry easterly wind. This first half of April has been many degrees Celsius above average here in Perth, and dry, and a tad weird, which, I understand, is the meteorologically correct term.


Back inside, the race was on to beautify myself, teeth, shower, titivate, and then not only had the wrinklies already arrived, they being Pa pree and Umple Dais, but they were fairly quickly followed by The Babies Ink&Peggletter. What ensued was a showering of said Babies, Umples, and Pa pree with chocolate and chocolate wannabes such as carob, then a delicious cold meal put on by Missus InklesI’llbecookingformyownfuneralwake, with the desserts brought up in the rear (doesn’t that sound terrible) by Baby Inkletter: two tasty cheesecakes. Baby Peggletter showed us the portrait of Baby Inkletter he painted in two hours early last week, and it was beautiful, almost breathtaking. If I could paint like that I don’t think I’d be wasting my time here writing about it. We played a board game called ‘Cathedral’ not long before The Babies left, and it was good fun and not as easy as it might have looked.


I returned to the cot about five to try to sleep, which again took ages, and then, by arrangement, the garrulous gecko woke me just before seven, and I pleaded with her to let me skip My Beloved and sleep on, until Compass. So I missed Sixty Minutes and Dateline; meanwhile, the chalcedony chameleon had driven Pa pree back home not long after I hit the sack. Now, Compass: last week I commented that I wondered whether British theologian Robert Beckford in his The Real Jesus: The Hidden Story of Jesus’ would have the guts to tell us his opinion of the nature of Jesus, and unless I missed something, he didn’t, ending on a noble enough note to the effect that it’s more important to follow his life than believe a particular dogma concerning his nature. In the absence of the transcript and no recording of it, I might have this a bit mashed up, but assuming I’m roughly correct, this still places Beckford in a safe place, not showing his hand regarding his belief about Jesus’ nature. Anyhow, that’s his prerogative; the two part program was an informative look at a variety of theories regarding Jesus’ life, and his nature is what it is regardless of any of our beliefs about it. And if high precision of doctrine, at this stage of our universe career, is essential, we’re all stuffed! For what it’s worth, I’ll show my hand regarding my belief of Jesus’ nature (and I may be wrong): I believe he was a divine being, a Creator Son, who chose to have a bestowal on our planet; I believe he had existed for an incredible, by our standards, length of time before he incarnated as a human baby; I don’t believe in the immaculate conception-virgin birth doctrine; I believe that he put down his life at the Crucifixion and took it up again at the Resurrection shortly thereafter; I don’t accept the atonement doctrine; I believe he lives now on a more advanced sphere (literally a physical world); I believe that he has phenomenal creator powers; I don’t believe he is the Infinite Son (second person of the Trinity-Godhead), rather a son of that Son; I believe he will revisit our planet in person, but it might be far longer away than popularly believed in Christian circles; I could go on…


I got interested in the Paris-Roubaix on SBS, and watched maybe half of it, including returning to watch the Belgian Tom Boonen win the race for the third time. My word the French live in far more beautiful country than perhaps they deserve! No, that’s not fair Payton, but my how beautiful the countryside of that place is, and if you want a breathtaking view of it, watch the French cycling races. During it I timidly entered the rapacious reptile’s boudoir and massaged her with the Homedics percussion massager, which gadget I now strongly believe Missus Inkleoutforsix would rescue from a burning building ahead of me.


I did some reinstalling of the Adobe 9 Reader, then went for a late walk, minus the iRiver T10 mp3 player due to the wind, on this warm dry easterly wind riven night. My word some of my fellow humans who share this part of the Antipodes with me are messy bastards! I regularly pick up rubbish from the park behind the shops and fill several shopping bags each night, sometimes within metres of the three bins around the park. The other night some brain trusts had taken several dozen bottles OUT of one bin, and smashed them all about in the white sand of the children’s playground. Tonight in my collecting, a number of beer bottles had been smashed with a muffler from a car into the lawn of the playing field, presumably where these Einsteins will continue to visit most every day to booze and generally entrench themselves as part of the problem, rather than part of the solution. What a pity glass wasn’t able to be picked up magnetically. Undoubtedly some will stick in their mongrel arses, and who’s complaining?


I got back and made myself a cocoa so strong it would make the Campbell Barracks SAS boys faint with fear at the mere thought of imbibing it, MINUS sweetener, and tackled this diary. My head feels strange, and I hasten to add ahead of the certain guffaws, stranger than usual. Still the devil easterlies are wreaking their mischief outside. And it has just gone five, with the first hints of dawn but an hour away…

+paytontedwithlove+

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