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Monday, August 10, 2009

WUPPERTAL: “My dear aunt would disprinisterously swear by her daily Bex at ten,” aspirinally recalls Payton L. Inkletter, somewhat paracetamolicously!


Be all that as it may, meanwhile:


In other news…

10th August 2009:


Monday: I began my daily struggle to have enough health to face the outside world, but struggle as I might, I was destined to fail today… Before I forget ever to mention it, the other day when I had the bad migraine, I dreamed of finding three rabbits, one of which understood my words to it. This first rabbit was a large and unusual slug at first, in a brick lined subway beneath a railway line, which morphed into rabbit when I picked it up. No, I wasn’t tripping, if you discount the Pramin and the five white comforters…


It was to be Bob’s Perth city outing day, a week since I’d last taken him out, so I set about preparing for that. Meanwhile Baby Inkletter had arrived for a brief visit involving dressmaking (a sadness is very evident, and we are privy to its source), and we ended up watching much of the Minister who’s always wong, Penny Wong, address the National Press Club. I enjoy listening to articulate people, of which she is right up there with, even though I don’t think she and her party have got a sound enough grip on the science in the dragon’s tail about climate change.


The Dear Leader arrived with the preternaturally beautiful daughter, but I was fading fast, and threw in the towel in my battle to have the health to leave the house today; the frilly-knickered lizard phoned for me with apologies to poor Bob and his keepers – I won’t be seeing him till next Monday all being equal. I excused myself and returned to bed.


I heard the wowbait wayfarer leaving at seven, after hours of light fitful sleeping, off on a gallivant, just as I got up, to watch My Beloved. Then it was pure theatre to behold Kerry O’Brien summons his inner mongrel on The 7.30 Report, during his interview with Malcolm Turnbull, and the two men bristled at each other. It was echoes of the good old bare fisted John Howard days, when there was so much blood on the floor at ABC studios they took to drenching the entire fit out with Scotchgard to cut the after fight clean up expenses. Then, as now, I reckon it’s the inner mongrel that summonses Kezza the Great (not the other way round) to these duels, it’s so barely below the surface. Kezza’s got the highest IMQ (Inner Mongrel Quotient) of any at the ABC, and sadly the brilliant journalist can’t quite annoy his inner mongrel equally when he’s got some hapless moronic Laborite in his spotlight. Anyway, it reared within a nano second of Turnbull’s attempted deflection of the Godwin Grech Utegate affair question, with Kezza’s body language so wonderful it brought a tear to my eye: the legendary journalist somehow restrained himself, with just a bob in the chair and almost a Tom Cruise Mission Impossible cheek flinch substituting for what he wanted to do, and that was rush at the plasma tube screen with his seat in a white knuckled death grip and smash Turnbull’s silverspooned arse. The remainder of the interview had me and doubtless countless others spellbound, as the two roosters in their respective fields compared whose dick was the bigger. Oh for one these daily!


Now ABC ladies, if you want to be rightly called ladies, don’t try to emulate Kezza: leave the dirty fighting to the boys please, it’s unbecoming otherwise; it’s far better to use your feminine charms combined with your intelligence, wit, and wiles, as so epitomised by Ali Moore and occasionally Leigh Sales, who would have succeeded in having Economics Correspondent Stephen Long strip to his Keynesian monogrammed boxers Friday night in Ultimo, had she not forbid him, saving having the transmission cut by the studio scruples minders.


Speaking of Lateline, Tony Jones looked spiffy as so he often he does, but he floundered a bit during the excellent interview with Dr Richard Haass, President of the Council on Foreign Relations. It of course is an impossible task interviewing experts in their fields night after night as a journalist, to meet them equally in the expertise in question. Midway things got a tad testy, as Jones got a bit simplistic with his remarks about the history of the first Gulf War. Anyway, Dr Haass had my approval for much of what he said. Haass’ point about the judgment call for exercise of restraint was very good. I love Dr Haass’s line that ‘there’s an awful lot of unfinished business in the world, it’s called ‘history’’.


What a sight was Ali Moore tonight on Lateline Business! Her pizzazzy suit top with ochre tone contrasting modesty panel was ooohhh! so sharp and attractive; and whether she needed this to use her charms – I think not – she was amazingly charming in her interviews with the hapless puppies she interviewed tonight.


Janny and I watched the repeat Letterman show of Joachim Phoenix from February, which we had missed, and I see now what all the fuss was about. The poor actor was not up for this type of interview, any interview. The music act was a delight – Anthony Hamilton – and I dug the heavy dude dancing with the bird and doubling as the backing vocals; not because I fancied him mind you, rather that he grooved so well; so did she for that matter.


I spent most of the wee small hours writing; a quiet moonlit night outside.

+paytontedwithlove+

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