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PAYTON L. INKLETTER


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Thursday, May 28, 2009

GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE: San Franciscans were, and still are, riveted by their very own world wonder. Payton L. Inkletter believes it came down to the wire


Be all that as it may, meanwhile:


In other news…

28th May 2009:


Thursday: Up too early, half nine, maybe four hours of sleeping time. I rushed around to get ready to take Pa pree for his annual check up with his doctor, some kind of study he joined last year or the one before. Of course I had the poor old fart (he who is never late, punctuality being the greatest virtue, apparently) giving birth to kittens, for my “twenty to” became “ten to” in actuality, but I dropped him at the surgery door dead on eleven, to have the nurse give him the once over before the doctor was let loose.


I descended into the elegant and controlled chaos of the local major shopping centre while he was in the surgery, and bought a reduced in price Uniden cordless phone to replace – long long overdue – the Telstra model we’ve had for some years; $34, and I don’t want to spend more on the rubbish, if the Telstra model was any guide. I managed both a Big W visit as well as Coles, culling a few more notes and shrapnel. As well as a trip to the Post Office to mail droogs, blood pressure droogs, to the unique uxor at Balingup. Then the dreaded mobble went off, informing me that the ineffable artefact was done at the quack’s. I drove back to pick him up, and dropped him into the centre for his own shopping spree. After a quick sortie into little dubbelyu myself, I returned to the car and drank thermos tea, ate pears, and read.


It was after two when I dropped the cantankerous keepsake home, and by three, after another phone call regarding the solar power panels offer this time to Clear Solar – who are emailing me information, and, by the way, were vastly more informative over the phone than Austech Solar were, and neither did the lady slur her words – I attempted to sleep, but gave up after 45 minutes. Thus this state of spaced out wakefulness meant I was able to clean the house up in preparation for The Babies and Pa pree’s visit tonight, as well as do a bit of outside recyclables sorting before dark. Showering and vacuuming took up some time, before I picked up the arsemellow memento, then went to the local Dewsons’ centre and bought fushnchups for tonight’s din dins. I had promised to cook tonight, and so I did, by contracting out the fish and chips preparation. I couldn’t cook to save my life. I thought Baby Inkletter knew that. And it’s all her mother’s fault. The short order chook has ruined me: I can’t cook, wash, iron, mend, clean, essentially she’s rendered me as utterly useless in these regards as Prince Charles. It’s a terrible affliction, having a wife who pops nice food in your mouth whenever you open it, sews back on a button before it’s bounced twice, even irons my undies – well, no, that one did stop about the time we got married. Don’t read into this that we cohabited beforehand, only that she offered to do my laundry when we both lived on the Brotherhood community a thousand years ago. She knew too well that the second best way to a man’s heart is through his crisp wrinkle free Y-fronts.


The Babies Ink&Peggletter arrived well before eight, and prepared the salad ingredients they brought with them, and we proceeded to decimate the dinner, before playing ‘Time’s Up’, in which I came second for a change (from last). Pa pree usually doesn’t join the games, but watches telly instead; tonight the Sony Trinitron, our pride and joy of about 7 years ago or so, was stricken with a rainbow halo on every channel, meaning it was the TV’s problem; I was not as nervous as I would have been, given that a year or two ago a related problem, on the right side of the screen developed one day, all day, and was gone the next. [Back from the future update: the problem was history the next day! Having said this, it is twice now, so something must be amiss in the gizzards of the electronic behemoth which happens to weigh several tons.] Dessert was a treat by Baby Inkletter, a treacle pudding with cream, but that was the poor little possum’s undoing, at least we think so after some research later. Just before leaving time she felt unwell suddenly, and vomited the entire meal up into the laundry tub, the same one her mother fills regularly, and it took her quite a while after laying down to be able to go home, which was after midnight.


Later she googled about it all at home, and suspects the cream, given she might now be having lactose tolerance problems. None of we other three had any ill effects, and we all had the same things to eat and drink. It was painful as a parent to see her get so unwell.


They delivered the dilapidated delinquent home on their own way back to Adelaide Terrace, and I attended to a few bits and pieces in the kitchen and at the computer, including, at long last, connecting up an old HP scanner Baby Inkletter gave us almost two years ago to the USB port, and finding to by absolute delight that it did a colour scan in great detail after WinXP detected it and provided default software, drivers and all to run it (a begrudging point for you Bill Gates), before hitting the sack about three; no walkies of course, damn, grrr…

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