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Friday, July 10, 2009

HADRIAN’S WALL: “Little soul, roamer and charmer… who now will depart to places darkish chilly and misty…” he had to be joking! suggests P.L.Inkletter

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

10th July 2009:

Friday: I had the most terrible ‘night’, getting very little sleep. I had struggled to slip into the sensuous sensory-deprivation of sleep while in the arms of the sultry saltshaker, when I lay my tired body upon the low thread count polycottons ‘last night’, and eventually I separated from her salacious embrace to make my own space, and lo and behold I slipped into the arms of my other mistress, Madame Nodette, but in what seemed but moments later I heard an explosion, and came to with a big physical start. It was all in my imagination, but it was enough to put paid to falling asleep for hours, and when I did it was in fits and starts.

And so I was not happy when I got up about eleven upon the suggestion of the crusty curmudgeon, who recalled my request to wake me then, but I forced myself to face the day, and in a couple of hours began to feel like it was a possibility. But I was happy with the showers of rain we were treated to here. Speaking of the ruddy rubicon, she braved the rain and made a visit to Homecraft at the local major shopping centre before I needed the car, and got more bargains from their closing down sale; we’ll be sorry to see them go, for the nearest material shop will likely then be Morley. And she picked up the blood test results from her doctor, and they are brilliant regarding her diabetes numbers, thanks to the past nine months or so on Byetta; however, I have seen the very high price she has paid using the goanna goozy.

I headed off to Bob’s at Guildford and arrived there about half two, having first dropped of tonight’s dinner to The Supreme Leader, and we headed for Altone Park for his swim. While he splashed around like a duck in water I got some reading done of ‘Baylya-Balinga’, a history of Balingup by A.C. Frost, and enjoyed it as well as received good information to help me with my novel, ‘Venty Still’. As I noticed last year when we visited this pool for the couple of weeks it takes to do maintenance at Swan Aquatic, a large family of domestic variety geese are still gracing the golf course bordering the Altone centre; they seemed as interested in me looking at them as I was in them. We finished with a walk at Fish Market Reserve as dark gathered, and then a cup of thermos tea.

I got home just in time for My Beloved, with a meal brought to me like the big Turk that I am, and Janny and I stayed on to watch Stateline and The Collectors, but were both so sleepy, falling asleep in fact, we hit the sack. Why oh why? do I often at such times nevertheless take ages to fall asleep? But I got almost an hour before my alarm got me up to watch Lateline: The (Leigh) sales graph: Almost looking as beautiful as last night, Ms Sales had everything right: hair style (full, flairing low), eye make-up (very light), long sleeves, dark jacket, and she was successfully minus a necklace, given the cut of her jacket and blouse. And of course she looked so clean that a surgeon could rest his instruments upon her while doing brain surgery. A word of advice which I’m sure Ms Sales doesn’t need: stay out of the sun, with such lovely fair skin.

I always enjoy Ms Sales’ in-studio rendezvous with Stephen Long, and tonight was no exception. Stephen’s curly hair had not long since been rebrushed after his mother’s several times daily tousling she surely gives it. His thoughts on the Chinese arrest of the Rio Tinto boss, Stern Hu – the wider perspective regarding doing business in and with China – was astute, but then Mr Long always is.

Tonight’s polly tousle was pretty lame between Mark Arbib and Andrew Southcott, on the subject of job creation policies, with neither using it to demonstrate that anything very spectacular resides in the void inside a politician’s head. I still am forming an opinion about Arbib, and sadly for Southcott, tonight’s efforts did not impress me at all, he being someone I previously knew essentially nothing about. He just pushed a typical political line, and there was nothing of merit in his method of pushing. I got the impression of yet another stock standard politician, as if we need anymore of them, when both sides as well as the cross benches are oozing with such mediocrity already. Ms Sales caught Southcott in a spotlight like a hapless bunny with all the skill of a Special Air Services ranker when he complained of the Rudd Government's apparent inaction over Stern Hu: 'This is the job of our leader, the Prime Minister, to be in touch with his counterpart on a very important issue involving an Australian citizen who's been detained and not yet charged' Southcott pontificated; Ms Sales cut in with a deft verbal sabre: 'Well Dr Southcott, isn't it a bit rich for the Coalition to be so exercised about this matter when the Coalition left David Hicks at Guantanamo Bay for two years without charge and for five years without a completed trial?'; this left Southcott like a rabbit wishing it was very near a briar patch; but he can thank his lucky stars that the red-head-with-street-cred left him completely unmolested from this point on, apart from a couple more tiny and brief interjections while he filibustered along, namely an 'As was that' and an 'OK'. Now had it been Kezza the Great wielding the cutlass and spotlight, Southcott'd have been skinned and gutted, kidneys left in, within half a minute; it goes to show what a high inner mongrel quotient can do: Ali Moore's IMQ = 1; Leigh Sales' IMQ = 5; Kerry O'Brien's IMQ = 10.

The distant derringer had awoken after her couple of hours of shuteye, and watched half of Letterman with me, the highlight of which for me was the final musical act by Levon Helm. She returned to the cot, and I spent the entire night at the keyboard, writing, listening to music as I did so, and attending to sundry jobs on the computer. The light of a new day began nudging the sullen sky as I decided to leave the silicon monster be for a few hours. Or so I thought… I returned as the sky lightened, allowing diffuse light throught he grey firmament, and dual posted this very entry, taking the usual forever to get it done, jumping through the usual html hoops to achieve even the very basic result that I find only passable – love you Blogger editor, you putrid excuse for a pleasurable and efficient piece of software.

And so it wasn’t till maybe half eight when I took my virtue into my hands and entered the boudoir and bed of the voracious vegemitiniferous vixen, held by her warm arms, but shaking like a wreath at my funeral…


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