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Friday, August 21, 2009

THE LOUVRE: “And my eyelashes have bells on them!” exclaimed Payton L. Inkletter, when told the Mona Lisa had eyebrows before she vacated Salon Carré.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

21st August 2009:

Friday: I was incredibly tired last night, and staggered to bed, having hardly been able to keep my eyes open for more than moments at a time while trying to watch Letterman: I shouldn’t have bothered, for I can hardly remember any of it. I must have been tired, because it was about one in the afternoon when I surfaced, thinking it was maybe eleven. The gorgeous goanna had been up for a while, cleaning up the kitchen (my job) from our din dins last night with The Babies Ink&Peggletter and The Dear Leader, and then started a lazier day than usual for us.

About three o’clock the local Mormon missionaries called in by arrangement, as Janny had baked a chocolate birthday cake for Elder Ruben, and we chatted with him and his companion Elder Happel for over an hour. We thought it was E. Ruben’s 21st birthday today, sharing the day with my neice Elizabeth’s 29th birthday, but it was actually his 20th.

After this verbal interlude, the alabaster dragon and I went shopping up at Alexander Heights, ALONE!, and firstly it took enormous persuasion to coax the translation candidate into the Coles Liquor store with me, where I bought a flagon of sherry; the frilly-knickered lizard must fear being seen by a Mormon or some such; and yet it was simply to get some sherry for her cooking, the next item being our planned mere trifle for Kip Dumpling’s 60th birthday early next month (although I’ve never quite worked out the dearth of sherry flavoured dishes compared to the empties).

We lolled about in Coles, and it was while in there that the exhausted chef suggested takeaway – I had already suggested a DVD night – and so the scene was set for a lazy night as well. So over to Malaga we did zip, and at Civic Video got three new releases, followed by Subway and Led Loostah, all within spitting distance of each other. A visit to the ATM nearby, and we were soon back home.

I set up the first DVD, my choice, while the righteous rissole delivered some Led Loostah to The Dear Leader. We settled in to watch ‘I Hate Valentine’s Day’, featuring Nia Vardalos and John Corbett from ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’. We liked it a lot, but my later googling revealed that most folk hated it. I think they didn’t get it. Yes it was a weak plot, and predictable, but it was as quirky as all get out, and that’s what did it for me; I’d even go as far as declaring it as borderline cockywhacker.

After this the Birmingham beauty was fading, but as an interlude she did some sewing for Baby Inkletter, before we returned to watch Lateline: The (Leigh) sales graph: Ms Sales looked wonderful again tonight, her smart dark jacket and high necked mottled blouse topping her excellent colour matching teal blue outfit of last night, but I would that she kept to fuller hair. Her interview with David Kilcullen on the military and civilian situation and outlook in Afghanistan had especial interest to me, as I still incline to the opinion that we are fighting a losing battle there, given the huge difference in values between the man (deliberately chosen) on the street there and our population, and the limitless supply of hatred for most things Western from nearby Pakistan. I would like to be wrong on this.

And what a treat was Stephen Long as usual!: The (Stephen) long and short of it: doubtless fresh from a hair and make-up untousling of his tousled-by-Mummy curly hair – although not dressing as flash as he can – Mr Long wowed us with his mastery of all things economic, and I must say I liked his expressions regarding Macquarie Infrastructure Group, financial alchemy … turn bitumen into gold’, and ‘ringfenced it … did something of a Pontius Pilate’: pure Esslongshpeak. And yes, we were treated to the trademark puppy dog bared teeth smile, and long may it continue! But wow, oh wow!, Leigh Sales treated us with some transcendently lovely smiles at the latter end of her program tonight; smiles that you would expect from someone in deep love, receiving very fulfilling romantic love perhaps, or the pure love of children; whatever the source, Ms Sales’ smiles were magically radiant and pure tonight, although I detected a possible edge of mischievousness in her lips and eyes when she introduced Mr Long.

I had to put the dozing dibbler to bed, and, before and after Letterman (on which his guest Renée Zellweger again reinforced my compassion for women everywhere being expected to be flesh baubles: she looked gaunt and needed much more covering of her scrawny arms and shoulders) I resolved to, and actually did, write, to try to assuage some of the guilt from the ‘goodies’ I indulged in after my Subway sandwich; I won’t embarrass myself by divulging the particulars…



Gladys Hobson said...

Jelly babies and chocolate? Tut tut!
'Flesh baubles'? Is that what you aussies sit on your Christmas trees? Fascinating!
Mona Lisa smiles from Leigh Sales? Maybe she knew you were watching? Ah, Mr Inkletter, you must charm the frillies off all the lady koalas in Fools Paradise.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Gladys: Well observed, astute antiantipodean! I cannot help being charming, it's like it's in my DNA, the same as my complete inability to cook, but fortunately this non-fortuitous misfortune has not interfered with my ability for, nor enjoyment of, eating.

Oh, but you do realize, don't you, that lady koalas wear no knickers?

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