ITALICA: ‘Felicior Augusto, melior Traiano’, the prayer in honour of the virtuous pagan, bemuses and pleases Payton L. Inkletter: “Ah, Hadrian’s dad…”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

18^th September 2009:

Friday: It was hard to get up after only four hours sleep at best; but I had an appointment to keep, and I need about two hours to crank the system. The meritorious milkweed accompanied me for the op shopping and ordinary shopping that we planned to combine into the trip, and to her probable amazement I was spot on time for the ultrasound of my throat at Sterling Radiology.

The opportune knockers scoured the nearby op shop while I was under the sound knife – at which she found a Pyrex bowl, to replace her daily use one of the past umpteen years which I broke early this year for but ten bucks, identical but for colour – then I drove her up Balcatta Road to another op shop, the very premises in fact wherein Payton the Koala Bear was found, as an orphan, by the mothercrafty dismissive; but it was because I fell in love with the lovable mite that saved him from the fate Missus Inkletter had planned for him: to live as a decoration in The Homestead Balingup; now he enjoys fame and notoriety as the Fool’s Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring mascot.

Next I dutifully delivered the vivacious vixen to Textile Traders in Balcatta, all the while at these last two destinations resting in the car, glad of it too.

After this we descended upon Stirling Central and shopped but stopped before we dropped, checking out Target for a blender (poor selection in the cheap and nasty price range) before doing a Woolies sortie, coming away with essentials, for me such as Homebrand Cocoa Powder, being a cocoa addict, as well as sundry sundries.

I took a wrong turn and we ended up driving home through the back streets, which was good, for it gave us a chance to see the amazing changes going on in the local older suburbs. Missus Inkletter spotted her now deceased best friend’s brother, on the verandah of the family home of forty years ago.

With near death approaching, I unloaded the car once home, and after vittles and watching The Collectors, I had to try to get some sleep, while the the titivating termagant span wool, helped by white comforters – me that is. I got maybe an hour in in Mistress Nodette’s embrace, and a worsening headache forced me awake and up for a multiple dose of white comforters. I noticed it was close to Lateline time, so I sat in the Ibis, for the the titillating termite was still spinning in the rocking chair I bought for her a thousand years ago for breastfeeding Baby Inkletter in, planted in front and blocking my Player Recliner. The (Leigh) Sales Graph: Surely not!, I thought, surely the ladies of the night at Ultimo haven’t had that harmless one month old Rottweiller puppy – Stephen Long – taken out, just as it appears they have with Kerry O’Brien, who hasn’t had hide nor red hair seen of himself for weeks? So tonight I missed the unique treat of The (Stephen) Long and Short of It; oh well, life goes on…

Ms Sales looked superb in a strong red jacket, her hair and face complementing her overall appearance very well. Which leads me firstly to backtrack a day: last night Ms Sales had a departure with her hair style, and it was spectacular: almost like a frozen fire, helped along by the natural red ochre she is follically blessed with (why not take a look, and while you’re there, listen to Christopher Pyne briefly and manically answering two questions from Ms Sales – the short sound files are immediately above the latest posting). Come to think of it, I’ve fought fires less impressive in my farming youth. Her dark jacket and white blouse worked well with the hair style. She certainly had Chris Mooney’s attention during her interview on the subject matter of his co-authored book, ‘Unscientific America’. She conducted the interview very well, and Mr Mooney took the opportunities her germane questions provided to address the issues rather well.

I can’t leave last night without one criticism of Ms Sales’ appearance, and I’ll be mildly cryptic and a touch long-winded, whilst also noting that the irony of my offering of opinion is not lost on me: I have said here before that I’m glad I’m not a woman, at least in this yet early era of mankind’s development. A woman her beauty; a man his strength. That generality stated, television is obviously a visual medium; we are a relatively rich society, and thus most all of us can dress with a high degree of discretion. We dress our bodies, and we dress our heads. Almost all of us do this to maximise our approval from the people we will be visually interacting with. Our head roughly speaking has two parts: our hair and our face. If we go to the trouble to choose flattering clothes, it stands to reason that we (more so women – refer to my earlier generality) will also choose flattering styles for our hair and face.

Faces and head shapes differ enormously, and thus the hair styles that complement them differ also; some work far better than others. The same applies to make-up. I will use my oft praised example, Ali Moore here to illustrate a point: Ms Moore’s on-air face make-up differs very little, and I believe it’s because she has settled on an effect – subtle and understated – that she realises complements her natural beauty very well, and so she sticks with it, to her credit. There are other women who vary their make-up relatively a great deal, as if they believe each variation achieves the maximal enhancement of their underlying natural beauty equally well. However this is not actually the case with some; why would a woman spend effort on make-up to look like a Picasso one day, and a Rembrandt the next, when each day she could look like a Rembrandt, proven by the fact that she often does? Eyeliner is tricky thing, and can be unforgiving to natural beauty, on some faces more than others. Those with ears to hear, let them hear.

Finally to tonight’s interview in which Ms Sales had Rod Cameron in-studio and Michael Kroger on-screen, to discuss Canberra’s shenanigans this week. I’ve said before that politicians need to be kept uncomfortable when involved in a political discussion, and to a lesser extent I think this caveat also applies to those of clear political bias, be they former pollies, business folk, commentators, but fortunately these two interlocutors were explicitly polite, civilised, and pleasant, even when they had opposite views, thus making Ms Sales’ job considerably less stressful, my caveat almost supererogatory. The discussion these three had was most enjoyable. The lack of the ad nauseum ‘my dick and the dick of everyone on my team’s dick is bigger’ exchanges so prototypical of most of our politicians was so refreshing. Notice how safely and gracefully Cameron was able to say, in a riposte to Kroger through Ms Sales, “No, Michael that’s absolute nonsense!’, regarding the public’s long term resonance with Turnbull’s Government debt charges rather than his poor judgment with such episodes as the Godwin Grech affair. Kroger told a funny story very well about a fellow who asked his opinion about his plan to run for Liberal Party preselection; it makes me think that he could be a very successful stand up comedian. Both men were uber gentleman with each other, and very respectful of Ms Sales. What a delightful discussion, and there was no lack of meat in spite of the lack of fireworks or rudeness.

I retired relatively early about two in the morning. The splatter day paint was slumbering, but coughing a lot, having obviously caught my virus serious, poor thing.

+paytontedwithlove+