NEW YORK: "Fellas, we can all point our percy at the porcelain, but who among us can powder milk?" Payton L. Inkletter asks plain. +paytontedwithlove+

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

'In other news…'

09^th April 2010

Friday: How hard it was to arise late this morning, Mistress Nodette having a firm grip on my leg, but I had to pull free.

In less than an hour and a half, record breaking threshold territory for me, I was driving to Hillarys for my doctor's appointment. The day was one of those balmy April days for which the Southwest of Western Australia is famous for, and why God, if he left Paradise, would come here to live.

Dr Barry was as pleasant as ever, but made an unpleasant sounding recommendation, and wrote the referral for me to attend to in six months time: a fine needle aspiration upon a growth on my thyroid; "No, it won't hurt" – what else can a doctor say? It certainly won't hurt him!

From here I pointed Suzi towards the hills, and took the Hepburn Avenue route to Alexander Drive, stopping at Benara Fresh for boxes of frooette and a bag of Royal Blue spuds, and finally arrived at Guildford 'early' to take Bob swimming. Paul the social trainer sprayed plastic skin on Bob's scabbed nose, hoping that it won't bleed in the pool this time, which caused us to leave early on Wednesday. (It worked a charm.)

After leaving the pool at Midvale Bob wanted to repeat the marathon walk we took on Wednesday from Ray Marshall Park at Midland to Reg Bond Reserve in Viveash along the Swan River, but I convinced him that half way was wiser, given the approach of dark. He was fun today.

And I was weary when I got home to my beautiful devoted wife, who put food in front of me immediately, then she delivered vittles to The Dear Leader (this week I mainly have been eating... – thank you Paul Whitehouse). She was back soon, and we watched one of our favourites on Aunty, The Collectors.

I fell asleep for much of Hitler's Bodyguard on SBS, with Cadbury the kitten on my lap. I finally revived for the SBS news, and watched my first 'Ladies of Letters' starring Anne Reid and Maureen Lipman on Aunty, which I found funny and witty.

The (Leigh) Sales Graph: Next it was Lateline time, with a prettily attired Ms Sales, sporting a tangerine bolero atop a black underbodice, and her political interlocutors for tonight's Friday night fight club were Christopher Pyne, looking most prime ministerial aspirant in a grey suit and white shirt theme, set off with a black and white dotted effect tie not unlike an exotic lizard's skin, and Chris Bowen, snappily dressed similar to Mr Pyne, except for a jazzy metalic purple tie, mainly discussing the just announced changes to the processing of asylum seeker claims of Sri Lankan and Afghanis,

No surprises from Mr Pyne tonight: just the usual 'oppose everything the Government is doing, has done, or ever will do' approach, but having said that, regarding the asylum seekers/unauthorised arrivals issue overall, the Opposition has shown a strength that the Government hasn't, since it boiled over last year.

I cringed last year when Prime Minister Rudd uttered words to the effect, regarding the Oceanic Viking's on-board asylum seeking Sri Lankans refusing to disembark in Indonesia, of having 'infinite patience' over these people's intentions. He couldn't have broadcast an apparent weaker stance to the world if he tried.

However, Mr Pyne's hyperbole, frankly, paints him as a fool, and sadly, his hysterics are typical of his side; we know he isn't a fool, just a bottom feeding political animal, with more ambition than John Winston Howard ever had, if that's possible. Mr Bowen was a model of moderation on the asylum seeker matter, even if he has to toe the often somewhat mamby pamby Rudd-Labor line.

Ms Sales was clearly in charge during this interview, yet gave the lads plenty of rope. She got my vote for letting Mr Pyne know directly: "That has nothing to do with the question that I just asked you" when he went off on a politician's moment, that is, a non sequitur. She good humoredly attempted again to get the unctuous politician to answer her population target question.

Thank God that Stephen Long came on next, and while I think it's a bit unfair of some to claim that an unpleasant odour leaves their living rooms when Christopher Pyne finishes his on-screen appearances, I understand their sentiment: The (Stephen) Long and Short of It: Dapperer than dapper, Mr Long's attire suffered only from having too pastel a shaded tie, and how cool of him to grease his hair (my bet: Californian Poppy)! What we don't know yet is whether it was a vain attempt to dissuade his Mum from tousling his gorgeous curls, or to align somewhat with the subject he discussed with Ms Sales in their "our regular Friday night rendezvous" (Ms Sales' words – woo-ooh!), this subject being the sovereign debt crisis reeling from bad to worse for Greece.

I was tickled by Mr Long's description of certain financial sector workers: "I've been getting feedback from the poor saps in the banks that are underwriting the Greek bond issues and next week have to sell 1.2 billion Euros worth of Greek bonds..."

Now correct me if I'm wrong, but Ms Sales gave Mr Long an eternal 3½ minutes tonight, for he's usually lucky to get 3! I'd put him on every night and give him half an hour with Leigh!

I took to the soothing quietness of the deserted suburban streets for my half hour constitutional at about four a.m., and my how nice it is to walk in the cool of autumn at long last.

+paytontedwithlove+