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Wednesday, July 22, 2009

HYNČICE: Like two peas in a pod Payton L. Inkletter (recessive-brains) and Missus Inkletter (dominant-beauty) passed on traits to their Baby Inkletter


Be all that as it may, meanwhile:


In other news…

22nd July 2009:


Wednesday: Where was I...? That’s right, dutifully in the middle of a huge double whammy kitchen clean up, having deliberately adopted the approach that it is better to leave sleeping dragons lie. The sun had been up a couple of hours in this cool to cold day, and most of the rain of the last couple of stormy days had gone away.


I fed oodles of stored kitchen scraps to the worm farms, and put some storage items into the shed, only to find the alabaster dragon up when I came to re-enter the indoor world. We circled each other warily for a while, which is our normal procedure when our days overlap, until we each established that it was safe.


I phoned RAC Insurance to report the storm damage to the fence of two nights ago, and then my sister Mary, who was cheeks deep in a facial for her birthday from her oldest daughter, to wish her many happy returns.


The dietary diatribe tempted me with the offer of four slices of toasted grain bread smothered in Chocson honey, and I succumbed – what else – and washed it down with a Moccers coffee while we ‘chatted’ as I half watched Aunty’s midday news report, giving the wholesome wench my complete and undivided attention. When the news was over, and I did in fact give my complete and undivided attention, I was reminded vividly of just how well that gal can talk the back leg off a Border Leicester, or even an Outaouais Arcott.


By now I was fading fast, and eventually escaped the gum flapping by begging to be put to bed, and thus I escaped into the inviting embrace of Mistress Nodette, without even so much as a bedtime story. It was about half one in the afternoon.


As arranged, the harassed hobnobber woke me at a quarter past eight, but I had been awake for at least an hour, trying to muster the energy to arise. She had spent the entire afternoon after my bedtime kiss taking The Dear Leader shopping at the local major shopping centre, with the usual flippantly dismissed return trips to get forgotten scripts and knickknackery.


I watched the Sixties themed Spicks and Specks with the Zeitgeistish zebra and The Supreme Leader, and after this Missus Inkletter returned The Dear Leader home, leaving me to tackle The Chasers War On Everything, who, not before time, will end next week: they have been a combination of too many extremes between woeful and brilliant; better that they had been almost exclusively at the brilliant end. I always find Moving Wallpaper funny, as I did again tonight.


I ducked off to to a job or three till Lateline: The (Leigh) sales graph: Leigh looked fabulous from the neck up: lovely hair style, light make up, sparkle in her eyes; great from the neck down, assuming she was hosting a Triple J special, Rage, or Play School. Several things wrong Leigh: rule number one: almost never go bare armed while hosting news, current affairs, serious documentaries, especially never for The 7.30 Report, Lateline, Lateline Business, where the anchor can be interviewing some serious intellectual and/or political and business clout; rule number two: your clothing needs to make definite statements with colour contrasts if you are going to have them, skin colour as well, and darker colours should almost always be included in the palette; rule number three: modesty is essential, and the appearance at a glance of modesty is important also.


Let me explain this latter point: Ms Sales wore a dark top with a very deep scoop to the navel, with a beigey coloured modesty panel, but it was too close to her skin colour on her chest, and the distraction becomes that here is a woman who until closer inspection is bare to the navel behind her wide scooped top. In certain venues maybe, ABC current affairs no. Had the panel been a dark shade, and the top had long or elbow length sleeves, voila! Women of Aunty, carefully observe Ali Moore for elegance and professionalism in dress standards, and all on her own budget I’d bet my left testicle. And before the teenagers bemoan the age issue, there are young styles which satisfy the professional template Ms Moore adheres to.


Now, on to the content: Leigh, book a bloody room with Joe Hockey please! Half way into the interview I got a tad embarrassed for Ms Sales, for Hockey had her giggling and squealing like a school girl. True, Ms Sales regained a measure of control of herself, but really, it compromises one’s ability to grill the bastards, to keep ’em honest, when the vurtamurn lurv in the water kicks in too intense. The rule applies for all flavours of politician; they mustn’t be allowed to get too comfortable, and never in control, if they are on for matters political. To be fair to Ms Sales, tonight’s love fest was a rare slip up. And to drive home further my professional dress point, look at how good Shadow Minister Hockey looked, oozing class from every pore, and this from the fellow – me – who has several times in this forum noted his behavioural similarities to an oxygen-starved-at-birth gorilla.


Ticky Fullerton showed she has noted Ms Moore’s template when she anchored for her next on Lateline Business. Before I knew where I was, both the drowsy dilettanteishic dabbler had slunk off to bed, being mighty tired, and Letterman was on. Well, I did tuck the Birmingham beauty in, but it was only at the close of Lateline – one has to have one’s priorities clear. Kevin Spacey, with his talent, was the main attraction on Dave’s show, not counting Paul Shaffer’s great orchestra, but then The Flatlanders were a treat as well.


I did some writing, now after midnight, and about one the incomparable dissimilar got up for a tinkle, when I decided to tackle a kitchen clean up for an hour, before heading back to writing on this stillish night, with the odd shower trying to arrive. I struggled with capricious Blogger’s comments settings, trying unsuccessfully to get its option of 300 comments per page to ‘take’, which on the settings page it claims to have done several times, but at the Visitor’s Book it stubbornly keeps showing only 200 and a link for the new ones. I hate your guts Blogger, I quickly learnt to, and I suspect I always will, for all the countless hours I’ve struggled with your vagaries.

Oh, don't let me leave this day without commenting on a piece of immaturity by our Premier Colin Barnett: I saw him say on some news program today somewhere “China is more important to Australia than Australia is to China. And as Australians and people working and representing Australian business, I just urge you to be very conscious of that.” I would have preferred he said “China is very important to Australia. And as Australians...”

I managed a dual posting, a bit of writing, and finally crept into the arms of the alabaster dragon about half five.

+paytontedwithlove+

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