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Monday, April 12, 2010

NEW YORK: "Put your glad rags on and join me Hun, er, Missus Inkletter, we're gonna rock around the clock tonight, we'll yell for more; one two three"



Be all that as it may, meanwhile:
'In other news…'
12th April 2010

Monday: After precious little sleep I dragged myself up at midday, and went flat stick (for moi) to get ready to take Bob swimming. I had high hopes of getting to him quite 'early', having done the kitchen clean-up in the wee small hours that I normally leave till the following daylight hours. I am being driven overnight most nights now to write some for Venty Still, and I also spent several frustrating hours trying to repair the Win XP OS on my old disk, in preparation for doing the same for The Dear Leader, whose system is refusing to work. If there's anything I dislike more than wrestling with Bill Gates' operating systems and programs, it doesn't come to mind right now.

However, the best laid plans… No, nothing dramatic, only the usual slow pace upon which I couldn't improve, and an unplanned dropping off to The Dear Leader's place an ironing board the delinquents had bought on an Op Shopping spree for this purpose while I was messing about messing about trying to get myself ready, being too heavy for them to get into The Dear Leader's house, and a return trip to our place due to Janny's zapper dapper (Acu Plus unit) being left in the car.

So I was just a tad 'early' in the end. Bob, after I put a sticking plaster on his slowly healing nose, got serious with his walking laps at a quiet Swan Aquatic, and towards dark and in very light rain we had a cup of tea at Fish Market Reserve (note to the tea fairy: since last July or so, 'cup of tea' with Bob means tea for him, hot water for me, lest you fly to Reeve Chocson and report me).

Once back home towards 8, and after having got shopping for the dear dilettante from the local Dewsons, I delivered vittles to The Dear Leader. Back quickly to home, the nicest wife this side of the rabbit proof fence kindly then fed me a lovely hot meal of vegetables and silverside smothered in white sauce, while she got her way with the TV and we watched 'The Big Bang Theory', in which I am Sheldon, only not quite so bad.

She then got her further way by watching a movie in the lounge, so I retreated to the computer to watch Four Corners on the computer with the TV card. Now does anyone know if the ABC has insurance to cover injuries to its viewers who hurt themselves, physically or psychologically, while watching a program? I was so tired that I fell asleep half way through and almost fell off my office chair, sustaining a fright, and almost touching cloth.

This was a reasonable indicator that I had better get to bed, and so I was tucked up within ten minutes, soon after 9, utterly unheard of for me.

Well, the downsides of being blissfully married with a spouse one shares one's bedchamber with: when the dainty damsel-ex came to bed about half twelve, I awoke, and try as I might, sleep would not return. I took an hour and a half to convince myself that I wasn't going to return to Madame Nodette's embrace, and reentered the world of the upright at about two in the morning, having missed all of my Aunty evening lineup.

Thus ensued Venty Still writing, a 4 a.m. walk, and after daylight some back garden jobs, as well as cuddle sessions with Cadbury the Celestial Kitty, and it was almost one in the afternoon when I finally got back to bed, on Tuesday.

And so, I here present a look at Aunty's Lateline, watched a day after its broadcast, recorded on the computer: The (Leigh) Sales Graph: I only watched the interview, and it was wonderful; I am getting ahead of myself: Ms Sales' couture, coiffure, and deportment were simple but flawless, looking fabulous, with her hair falling and flared, tiny earrings being her only resort to jewellery, a dark jacket over a green blouse, and subtle-effect make-up. Her guest, from London, was Lord Robert Winston, who looked like he was actually in Heaven, his light suit, shirt, and tie radiating with an ethereal glow, even if his head looked like it had just had a roll in the back garden.

The topic for their discussion was prompted by the publication of Lord Winston's recent book, 'Bad Ideas: An Arresting History of Our Inventions', and Ms Sales' informed questions and comments let loose his stimulating and refined analysis of various technologies, starting with stone, and covering lasers and the internet.

He sensibly began, at Ms Sales' prompting, with giving language its rightful place at the pinnacle of inventiveness, or at the foundation, whichever way you wish to view it.

The first time I felt like kissing Lord Winston during this interview was when he stated his opinion that most science output should be available to the public, given that it is largely paid for by the public, and the second time was when he intimated that too many scientists are arrogant, that science is only a version of the truth, that more modesty is called for; Wow! I wish his countryman Professor Richard Dawkins had this fragrant degree of wisdom!

Ms Sales' questions really cleared the path for this master science communicator to expound his illuminations. One tiny technical point I'd like to throw in is Lord Winston's selection on the run, at Ms Sales' instigation, of farming as the likely greatest technological advance that changed humans the most, if you ruled out fire, given that, in his words, '…fire, of course, predates homosapiens': strictly, so does farming, because ants farm aphis and grow fungus underground. But enough of my quibbling.

Lord Winston was sent on his heavenly way with a smile to die for from Ms Sales and her trademark courtesies; this was an interview saturated with intelligence, wisdom, refinement, and charm, and I'm glad Ms Sales scooped this one; it was either her or Ticky Fullerton in my opinion: the blokes couldn't have quite lit that cool flame of spirit that set the good Lord on controlled fire. Yet another treasured interview in my swelling archive.
+paytontedwithlove+

2 comments:

Gladys Hobson said...

My, I'm breathless at all you achieve in your 24 hour day — or do get 30 hours down under? That you are writing a novel during all this activity, which includes highly lucid reporting of not only what is being discussed on your favourite programme but also what is being worn by the speakers, is truly amazing.
Nodding off is not surprising (though I had imagined you had fixed yourself up with eyelid clamps — maybe you forgot to put them on?).
Walks, when others are snugly wrapped in their bed sheets, moves my imagination to visualise this extraordinary writer and thinker as being some kind of zombie or vampire, but nay, he is a rare male who is refreshed by night air and communing with his muse in solitude.
Venty Still can wait, even though potential readers pant with anticipation. Yes indeed, we must be patient and merely dream of what is to come.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Gladys: Isn't it wonderful the pictures that words can paint, even if they are far from reality: it might seem that I get a lot achieved here down under, but if you ever got the chance to ask Missus Inkletter, you'd be truly shocked at how little I get done in an average 24 hours, unless you count eating.

If you count eating, then bear in mind that the devotion to this regular activity of mine is motivated purely by the desire to validate my wife, who labours long and hard to please me by victualisation.

Yes, you are spot on, my wee small hours' walks are the source of much inspiration, even if I do occasionally encounter some dubious types skulking around the shadows, and several times a year get questioned by police in scenes reminiscent of Ray Bradbury's 'The Pedestrian'.

Nodding off is an ever present hazard of mine by the way, particularly when sitting in the famous Player recliner after having visited another act of selfless devotion upon Missus Inkletter by eating a (yet another) three course banquet.

Now I must be careful that my reporting of the doings on Lateline don't turn into an obsession…

And 'Venty Still': it still is possessing me day and night, and the challenge is to spend less time possessed away from the keyboard, and more time writing it!

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