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PAYTON L. INKLETTER


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Thursday, August 27, 2009

KRAKATOA: “Very few people are aware just how much older my missus is than me,” explained Payton L. Inkletter. “She heard the 1883 volcanic eruption.”


Be all that as it may, meanwhile:


In other news…

27th August 2009:


Thursday: Another day feeling more tired than awake, but what’s new? Also, another kitchen clean up to help the commode dragon, but what’s new? I was told off for being so slow, and she’s right, but boy am I thorough…


I visited Bunnings in Malaga late, and picked up my special order from the very helpful Kerryn, of the HPM switch equivalent of the Clipsal 780M, but hey, may both companies’ management live in interesting times: the last couple of Clipsal 780M switches I bought about 4 years ago cost about 10 bucks, and that was to replace the broken ones that had hardly lasted any time at all in the toilet, to control the light and fan. Now Clipsal won’t make them unless a distributor orders about a billion in one hit, which leaves us up shit creek, being stuck with the complex Clipsal switch mechanism in our loo. So finally I’ve tracked down an equivalent from HPM, but they won’t sell to me; enter the lovely Kerryn from Bunnings, special order lass: but the HPM mongrels ask almost three times the amount for the same piece of toy crap, and after Bunnings make their margin (about 4 bucks in this case), the tiny switch cost me almost 32 bucks. Methinks it’s a case of HPM knowing they’ve got Clipsal’s former customers by the proverbials.


After picking it up, I turn to leave the building, and who should be waiting in the queue but Warren U., bless his Kiwi socks, and it’s almost a year since I last spoke to him. We chatted about how his marriage was going mainly, and happily it has improved significantly from a serious low last year. We might see each other next week to collect his freezer which he kindly loaned to The Dear Leader in February last year.


I left Bunnings buzzing that I intersected with Warren, yet another Kiwi who’s seen the light and moved to Australia, and then I called in to The Good Guys to check out the Kenwood food mixers. The lady who helped me many months ago purchase the surprise present of the Homedics massager for the mollycoddled massaged missus, Claire, helped me, and the amazing lass remembered me! (I am memorable though, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised; I happen to be the most articulate and handsome koala bear in Australia.) Well, what snazzy models Kenwood has to offer these days! I went away coveting the Major model, titanium and all. Our Kenwood Chef must be approaching 25 years old, and has done oodles of work.


The Babies Ink&Peggletter came for din dins, and The Dear Leader joined us also. Janny put on a delicious meal – 3 course – as usual, and we played Blokus, and we all ganged up in the second game to try to defeat Baby Peggletter, but we just couldn’t do it; he’s a genius.


I caught the tale end of Q&A after the visitors left, and then it was Lateline: The (Leigh) sales graph: let me first talk about last night: the sun rose for the second time on Wednesday, for Ms Sales was so beautiful: her hair, her face, her skin was so clean that surgeons would be legally allowed to rest operating table instruments on it (how does she manage to keep her fair skin so fresh and lovely?). Her dark top contrasted amazingly well with her skin, her eyes were gorgeous. Now let’s talk about that curious species of politician, Environment Minister Peter Garrett, and the interview Ms Sales conducted with him:


Well, Peter Garrett had obviously just watched the full set of episodes of both Yes Minister and Yes, Prime Minister before sashaying into Ultimo to sit opposite Leigh Sales: I don’t envy Garrett’s job to explain how his deliberations have any bearing on the Gorgon Project expansion, but he filibustered and digressed, waxed lyrical and long, and his efforts to avoid admitting the bleeding obvious until many minutes into the interview, when he claimed that the bleeding obvious was not correct, and that he could have sunk the whole thing, were political poetry in motion. Now I wouldn’t be surprised if Garrett had never heard of Golden Wallabies or the Speckled Haired Bandicoots – or is it the other way round? – but hats off to Ms Sales for keeping her composure as this Midnight Gas and Oil Man proved he’s become a slippery polly, up there with the greasiest.


I was almost expecting Ms Sales to pull out a plastic bag after her questions about them, and slip it over the famous bald bonce to do a bit of amateur carbon capture if not sequestration live for we the viewers’ education. To her credit, she treated the Minister and we the viewers to her good humour and some of her trademark delightful smiling face and scintillating eyes towards the end, when Garrett decided to trumpet his idealist credentials, which many think went down some drain hole ages ago.


On to tonight: Looking even better, if that’s possible (dark long sleeved jacket, perfect hair style, subtle makeup, except that her eyeliner was bordering on more than she needs, given her lovely eyes’ natural charms), than last night, the sparkling and smartly turned out Leigh Sales’ great interview with Thomas Keneally was a gem. How wonderful when two cultured and intelligent people get together and chat; the pity is that it is so rare. Mr Keneally was witty, funny, self deprecating, articulate, revealing, inspiring, and much more, and Janny and I agreed we’d love to have him in our garden any day. I’d polish his head several times every week. Thank you Ms Sales for this wonderful addition to your numerous memorable interviews, wherein you get your interlocutor comfortable and loquacious; it’s in my archive already.


I had an unpleasant sharp pain through my left forehead later, which I was mighty glad when it left; one is easily nudged into pondering one’s mortality at such moments.


I watched Letterman, and he was extra quirky tonight, with some funny physical movements.


I retired to my sanctuary to write, and before I knew where I was it was well after four in the morning, and I was still going. Outside there was not a breath of wind, but it was nippy.

+paytontedwithlove+

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