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Tuesday, June 16, 2009

STURT: “I’m pyneing for explorers to find an inland pea; political bean counters double crisscross,” says Payton L. Inkletter, wolfing into a dessert.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

16th June 2009:

Tuesday: I dragged myself up at noon with the buxom butterfly’s help, and by half one we’d picked up Pa pree and were heading toward the big smoke. We met Baby Inkletter at the pad in Adelaide Terrace not long after two, having scored a parking spot almost right out the front, and went up to the apartment for a short visit, and returned her car keys which she left at our place last night.

From here we eventually got to Kennedys Sewing Centre in Queen Street, somehow, negotiating the torturous one ways and congested streets, and I dashed in, leaving the delinquents in the car in the tiny rear car park, and picked up our two newly serviced machines: the overlocker and sewing machine with and over which the material girl has sweated blood for years. Glad to be out of the guts of the city, we headed for Kings Park, where we found the same table near Saw Avenue for a cup of tea and a sit down that Pa pree and I used the other week with The Babies. The afternoon was cool, dry, and half sunny. I got a few photos taken of Payton the Koala Bear among the gum trees…

I then drove the delinquents to the Galleria at Morley, where they window shopped and such for about an hour, while I rested and imagined in the car in the undercover carpark. The idea occurred to me during this break to make a web page solely to generate inspirational headlines for a ticker, and link it to my other sites. I very much like the idea; I hope to make it work as an additional scrolling ticker on each site. After this it was approaching dark, and the last port of call was our local Dewsons’, where, by the way, we’ve finally got a sign up at the new building on the corner on the old petrol station site informing us what it’s to be: medical suites. This is very good for the area, and it replaces the old surgery next door that was itself replaced by a child care centre years ago. And it puts paid to my joking insinuations that the large two storey structure was to be a shul to complement the mosque next door, in the interests of elusive interreligious respect.

Before tucker I had to reinstall AVG antivirus, for something had played up big time, and the poota had gone into semi freeze mode; damn nuisance. Kerry O’Brien’s 7.30 Report began to inform me of the day’s political intrigues in Canberra, when the door knocked with the tell tale signature of Mormons, so I deftly departed, taking the evidence of my din dins with me, leaving Pa pree alone like a stunned mullet, then I informed Missus Inkletter – who was on the throne – that I thought Mormons were knocking the door. She was unimpressed – at me – and who could blame her? (but long term readers, among my billions of daily visitors, will recall that I’ve long ago been rendered exhausted by these well meaning but boring dogmatists – or at least when in official Mormon visiting mode – and prefer to use the time they consume doing other things of greater interest to me). I snuck into the back room and did some writing on the computer, sustaining a head in the door by the vicious vixen informing me that in fact these Mormons were none other than Peter F. and the so-and-so President of somewhere-and-such, so “Did I want to come out?”, to which I replied “No way!” We have known Peter and his missus for donkey’s years, and Janny is pals with her, but still, the attraction of catching up with my backlog was greater than catching up with a fellow I nevertheless have hardly got to know over these many years; sound bad? I’ve become rather selective with which folk I give my discretionary time to (and this is no pejorative reflection upon this particular bloke), for there is so relatively little of it left, so much left to achieve, to write, to …

Thus I was able to escape the saccharin of such visits, which purportedly was to invite us to an international dinner event, but Janny knows the stock standard answer I give when I’ve not been quick enough to escape, and that is, ‘Payton won’t be there, but I (Janny)…’ I have learnt it is best to immediately create certainty in my case, even though it is in the negative, and of course, with politeness.

I got to watch Mark Corcoran’s very good report ‘The Bulldozer’ on Foreign Correspondent, about Afghan warlord Gul Agha Sherzai and the progress he’s achieved in moving Nangarhar Province from its 18000 hectares of opium poppy farming to zero, in the back room while they were yabbering away in the lounge, then when the all clear was announced, I did stage one of a kitchen clean up, before returning to my writing.

Janny took Pa pree home about ten, and I reemerged to watch Lateline, getting a very pleasant surprise to have Leigh Sales hosting a day early; The (Leigh) sales graph: she looked very professional and elegant tonight, with her hair style perfectly complementing her face (flaring wide at her neck), and her long sleeved outfit finishing the effect so nicely; still, a tad less eyeliner I reckon… I enjoyed her interview with Julia Gillard, Deputy Prime Minister, and if I was Gillard, I would be grateful for the quality of the interview. And Ms Sales wasn’t afraid to vigorously interrupt the Deputy PM when she considered she was digressing on the Indian students issue, and Ms Gillard, true to form, graciously handled it and made two winners from the moment. I think Sales and Gillard conducted themselves very well in this interview, and the viewers were gratified also; oh how I enjoy professionals doing their jobs well! My word, wouldn’t Gillard make a potentially excellent Prime Minister one day?

Lateline Business next, then Letterman, who tonight made a better fist of his apology to Sarah Palin than the shambles of last week, when he rambled and his audience got in the way repeatedly. His interview with Dr Sanjayan showed some of Letterman’s well concealed more astute side – pity he doesn’t reveal it a bit more often. Jack Black is a hard case; he didn’t help himself though with his overly extrovert entrance.

I had a long session of bestowing empathy upon Janny, who suffers tremendously with being taken for granted and sucked dry by certain folk, then returned, after tucking her into bed, to the computer for a very long night, punctuated by a big kitchen clean up stage two. I got a long, involved, complex, and very overdue email (postponed for over a month) written and sent to my sister Helena, as well as a comment posted to Leigh SalesWell read-head post at The Punch, ‘Well read-head: back off or I’ll throw the book at you’. The web page designer hasn’t thought the comments section out very well, by putting ‘Your comment:’, ‘Your name:’, and ‘Your email:’ as text inside each field, rather than as descriptors outside the fields, and so in the confusion generated, my comment, number two in the list, locked in with just the initials ‘PL’ – even though I put my full name – and the phrase ‘Your comment:’ stayed at the start of my contribution; oh bother! I also committed a grammatical faux pas with 'your' instead of 'you're', so I deserve to be given a gentle beating, perhaps by Ms Sales herself. I remember having no end of trouble with my previous two comments posted to other entries at The Punch, all because of this glitch in its design. And there is no facility for editing one's mistakes (fair enough I suspose, given the mayhem that could generate), or deleting one's comment entirely after it has posted.

I had my usual health problems to contend with also, and didn’t manage to climb into bed beside the inviting slumberqueen till almost 8 a.m.


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