POKHRAN: Frowning Bhudda said: “Not happy, Indira!” Payton L. Inkletter said: “Let’s hope Australia never pursues a Smiling Kangaroo Crispy Barbecue…”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

18^th May 2009:

Monday: I slept reasonably well, but not for long enough. The alarm rudely announced that it was nine in the morning, and it was hard to leave the warm bed on this coldish morning, snuggled beside the soft inviting warm voluptuous vixen, who began making inappropriate snortling noises to try to persuade me to stay; given what she did to me and got from me yesterday afternoon, I couldn’t countenance that – I have standards, and still have some virtue…

I set to and had breakfast, and used this last forecast fine day for a week or more to do a job up the backyard best done in dry conditions. I made some progress on it, sorting out ‘decaying’ plastic bags and their small fracturing pieces from other material, a job best done dry. The back eastern corner neighbour’s dog, by the sound of it a beast from the bowels of Hades, made the occasional charge up to the fence on its side, trying to frighten the crap out of me.

Janny picked took Pa pree to the local shops and then brought him back to spend the rest of the day here, and next I got ready to drive to Guildford, and set off soon after half one, having managed a health issue acceptably. An idiot driver of a huge and long truck with trailer tailgated me at 80 kmh all along the Whiteman Park section of Marshall Road, even though I was doing the limit. Bob was ready for swimming, on this changing weather day, the sky filling with cotton wool balls, harbingers of a front trying to make it this far north from its Southern Ocean digs.

First off (after the obligatory stop to pick up TWO Homebuyers – every week Bob gets two, and gives the spare to no-one) we called in to Midland Gate, parking in the underground car park. We got to the lift, and who should be almost there as well were Brian and Janette H., Janette pushing Brian in his wheelchair, but he otherwise was looking well in the face since his stroke of 2007. I hadn’t seen them for over a year at least I’m sure. We chatted for some time, and they invited Missus Inkletter, whom they haven’t met, and me to visit them in the hills. I was struck by how easy it would have been to have missed them, for it was on impulse that I chose that carpark out of the many surrounding Midland Gate.

After a purchase here, we continued on to Swan Aquatic, where Bob did his laps, and I, in blasted longhand, put the finishing couple of pages or three into my essay on nationalism. Then I barely began, in the remaining time, to read another book loaned to me from Baby Inkletter, The Lucifer Effect, by Philip Zimbardo; it relates to discussions we’ve been having relating to nationalism and patriotism. We drove lastly to Fish Market Reserve for a walk along the river after sunset, followed by a cup of tea.

I got home a tad before seven, having another close encounter with a dangerously fast and speeding utility on Marshall Road, this time in Malaga, perhaps doing 110 kmh in the 70 kmh zone. My Beloved was my reward, with tuck tuck from Missus Inklefrustrated for both Pa pree and me, followed by Kerry the Great’s 7.30 Report. I was thrilled by the inundation of Lake Eyre story, and the explosion of waterbird breeding and plant growth, and forgive me, but the story about the struggling commercial free to air TV station companies here in Australia did not elicit its full complement of appropriate tears; the standards of commercial TV have long been in the pits, and the way they’ve treated their audiences for decades leaves mountains to be desired. Viewers have been voting with their attention, and going elsewhere; why am I not surprised?

I was becoming mighty weary, so I hit the sack at half eight, almost falling asleep, but those weird leg pains I get in my left thigh plagued me, so I got up again after a half hour. Janny had returned Pa pree to his place, and I watched the last half of Four Corners, then the first half which I had recorded having hit the sack for viewing later. It was about that seriously self deluded or worse Wayne Bent aka Michael Travesser, the incarnation of God in man, from New Mexico, whose only miracles thus far are to get seven women to have sex with him. His followers are an excellent example of the severely deleterious side of the phenomenon I sometimes call RAB, Reasoning Attenuating Belief. The phenomenon also has positive effects, such as hypnotically induced pain relief, and many others.

Young SilverToes interviewed Kevin Rudd on Lateline, and the PM continued to prove that he is a protoplasmic dictation machine, with his tiring idiosyncratic perfectionist idiom. The report on the upcoming play in Melbourne, ‘Seven Jewish Children’, with Miriam Margolyes and Max Gillies, certainly did appear to expose bias against Israel, although I base this upon the snippets in Lateline’s report, and there might be balance in the script I am unaware of. What I heard the actors recite from their sheets was something to the effect: ‘Jewish (mothers, people, folk?) happy at the deaths of (Palestinians, Arabs?)’ I didn’t hear the reciprocal sentiment that we know exists on the other side. Balance never hurt anyone, but it did shed light in murky corners and illuminate shades of grey.

That gorgeous creature Ali Moore fronted Lateline Business, again proving she knows how to dress professionally for her role. I was interested in the report on the unintended repercussions of the tax changes to the lower paid end of the employee share schemes; is there anything that can ever be done in economics that has only upside?

I used my good old emotional blackmail trick to get a huge plate of apples and pears sliced up for me with shavings of cheddar cheese by Missus Inkletter before she retired, and consumed them at the computer while writing, after midnight, listening to my favourite songs. I had a coughing fit when a drop of my own saliva tried to go down the wrong way – getting old sucks… no, that’s coarse and too teenage: getting old has knobs on it.

I did a dual posting late, very late, for Friday 15^th, the day dear Bud Tingwell died. No walk yet again, due to weariness, and what with investigating 3 column Blogger templates through Google searching, time disappeared and I didn’t get to slip in beside the thrill-seeking lizard before 4 a.m. However, the fun had only just started…

It took me ages to drift almost into the Land of Nod’s vestibule, when I heard Janny vomiting, and I sprang out of bed and assisted the poor old possum at the laundry basin, while over five minutes she proceeded to empty the contents of her stomach, hurting herself in the process, as well as earning a burnt throat out of it, due she thinks to an Acimax tablet she had not long taken to try to quell indigestion. It is very hard to pin down what is causing her vomiting sessions while on the Byetta regime, but this is the first for several weeks she’s suffered; the nausea is a daily occurrence however, almost always in the hour after her two needles a day, as well as at other times.

It was a bit after six when I finally got to sleep, while the alarm clock was conspiring to shatter my snippet of slumber before too long…

+paytontedwithlove+