CHOWDERFRAUD: Taking delight in a gourmet’s letdown learning that the clams, fish, or meat in his soup are really shark or TVP: defines P.L. Inkletter

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

14^th October 2009:

Wednesday: After walking with Baby Inkletter yesterday afternoon from before the Bell Tower on the riverfront to almost the Causeway – the same walk we did last week – I couldn’t keep my eyes open back home past half nine; the wispy woylie tucked me into bed; I didn’t arise today until over thirteen hours had passed; such is the lot of the chronically fatigued.

Before my visit yesterday with Baby Inkletter, I had visited Mum down in Melville, who is feeling a little better from her ill health of a few weeks back. The Babies Ink&Peggletter wanted me to stay again for tuck tuck, which was a fish chowder that my daughter had made, and left simmering in Adelaide Terrace while we walked; this explains the crowd of thousands of the city’s homeless out the front of their place when we returned, Oliver Twist style, with empty bowls, crying ‘Please Sir Babies, we want some’ (pathos noted); this also explains this post’s headline. I was home by eight, to greet The Dear Leader and the brush-bootyed bettong.

Even after this marathon sleep, which included many dreams that I recall snippets of – some pleasant, some unpleasant – it took me the usual forever to fire up two of the sixteen cylinders of my distant youth. And so, it wasn’t until towards three thirty that I got to Bob’s at Guildford to take him on the train to the city for his much anticipated Perth outing. Poor fellow, for I cancelled this same outing two days ago with his social trainers on the strength of a late arranged visit by Reeve Chocson, who had made a new batch of herbal blaster death-is-preferable-to-disease hooch juice, and asked to drop by and leave it here; he is such a rare gem of a fellow and time with him alone or with but the little green bag/s is so rare that I deemed it warranted me cancelling with Bob (forgive me Bob and your supervisors if you ever learn of this true reason!) And while we spent but an hour and a bit late on Monday with him, that being Missus Inkletter and I, it was, as always, minutes to treasure; if only just every second person was as socially and spiritually fragrant as this fellow!

So it wasn’t long after getting to Bob’s that we set off to catch the crowded train to an idyllic ticking city, what with the cool sunny day and totally pleasant surrounds, the air being rather clear, the birds in Supreme Court Gardens as friendly and amusing as usual, Bob being his normal hyperactive but endearing self (with huge doses of patience imbibed before working with him, this pharmaceutic being essential), the Red Cat ride less crowded than usual and most enjoyable, I could go on…

I deposited Bob back home about seven, and after the paperwork set off for home, getting money from the Malaga Commonwealth Bank ATM before getting home, mindful of the possibility of doubtful loiterers as was the case at this very ATM when I called in recently. The daughter of Dracula had been busy cooking yet again all afternoon, interspersed with dressmaking, bless her fishnets. I was weary, and she kindly fed me din dins while I watched most of Kerry O’Brien’s 7.30 Report. The great Wednesday evening line-up on Aunty followed, and I departed for some writing at half nine, till Lateline began: The (Leigh) Sales Graph: sporting a very attractive white jacket sleeved to mid-forearm, with a pleated collar and lapels, contrasting very nicely with a black and white mottled mid necklined blouse, Ms Sales’ only jewellery was small earrings, her hair out in that complimentary flared and shoulder length style, subtle make-up, all in all a most professional appearance. Her long interview tonight was with Minister for Immigration and Citizenship and Leader of the Government in the Senate, Senator Chris Evans, speaking from Perth; Mr Evans looked dashing in a dark suit, white shirt, and maroon tie, plus a head of hair that Lindsay Tanner would scratch his eyes out for; his accent still belies his birth town of Cuckfield, during this long conversation – you can take the cuckoo out of Cuckfield, but can you take the Cuckfield out of the cuckoo? – in which he demonstrated several very impressive things.

Firstly, he demonstrated a high level of articulateness; secondly, he remained professionally calm throughout, choosing to clarify rather than argue; thirdly he imparted much useful information about a very difficult arena of policy. His approach left me very glad to have a Minister of his maturity in charge of the portfolio.

Shades of bias appeared to have been seeping through from Ms Sales a few times, such as when she asked “So their (Indonesia) co-operating is now extending, is it, to take people that we don't wanna have to process here?” Mr Evans didn’t bite, instead sensibly explaining the cooperation between our two nations, and again later when Ms Sales queried the Minister, referring to the views of a possible rednecked letter to The Australian editor writer Robert Pallister, “…What do you think of that view? Do you think it's a common view among Australians?” he was graciousness in motion with the way he rejoined.

On the subject of bias, to be human is to be biased, and even the very best journalists could not possibly erase all vestiges of partiality in a lively and unpredictable interview situation, even if they sincerely desired to; I couldn’t do it; who could? Having said this, it is certainly a worthy aspiration, to aim for perfect impartiality in an interview process; the aspiration will draw the actions congruent with it, will develop the skill.

This subject, refugee genesis and treatment, is highly charged, and the public debate in all Western nations that I’ve seen is generally of a rather low order, with highly spuriously dichotomised opinions being traded furiously. I have written on the subject, and my approach is to very carefully examine the underlying principles of the concepts of ‘nation’ and ‘family’, sifting out the parallels, applying the relevant similarities, and giving consideration to many other pertinent rationales that are somewhat complex, but are certainly required to do the matter justice.

I found this interview to be a particularly good one; Ms Sales remained polite even when Mr Evans didn’t bite, and Mr Evans didn’t get flustered for a moment to his credit, for a lesser politician would have: I would expect the likes of Malcolm Turbull, Christopher Pyne, John Howard, Kevin Rudd, to have become indignant several times under the identical questioning. Many questions, and confronting ones, got asked, and they all got answered, not one was ducked, all on a fraught subject: I almost had to pinch myself. Thank you Ms Sales, thank you Mr Evans.

I watched Letterman, and while the fabric softener had already retired, I wrote and researched till dawn.

+paytontedwithlove+

EUSKIRCHEN: “The taste of success can be bittersweet; yet no sugar coating needs emplacement upon Fischer’s achievements,” reminds Payton L. Inkletter

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

09^th October 2009:

Friday: It was daylight when I got to bed last ‘night’, having been writing and researching virtually all the black hours beyond the joint perpendiculars, so this helps explain the mid afternoon arising today. We had a treat to look forward to, that being dinner with the Chocsons at their home at The Vines, but various subterfuges had to be practiced as wisdom and pragmatism dictated, to pull it off as a couple rather than a trio.

Only by paring back completely on the extra things we planned to do on the journey – to value-add to the pricey-in-multifarious-ways fossil-fueled trip – did we manage to actually arrive dead on time, at six, just having seen the biggest kangaroo in Australia a few stone throws from Reeve and Chocci’s house; these lovely beasts are everywhere throughout The Vines estate, having been encouraged and catered for somewhat.

We had a typically wonderful evening, which started with a photo session of Payton the Koala Bear sitting on the Chocson’s lounge reading Gladys Hobson’s new U.S.A. edition of her book ‘Awakening Love’, the title of which is ‘Desire’, for our retarded Yank cousins. Their camera is vastly better than ours, and I will be asking Reeve to add a tad of Photoshop magic to at least one of the pictures eventually, to upload to my sites.

I said ‘wonderful’ evening, but I didn’t mention that it was shorter than usual, for Missus Inkletter became unwell, and we had to get her home quickly. It wasn’t a life threatening thing at all, more a comfort thing, and she went to bed fairly promptly, being none the worse for wear. On our drive back we saw that gentle soft furry monster Western Grey kangaroo again, still within a few hundred metres of the Chocson’s house, and I was very glad he didn’t hop out in front of us, for we would have hit him, or rather, he would have hit us.

The irritable iguana was well enough on our drive home for a very short discussion about a matter relating to mature marriage building behaviour, arising unnoticed by our gracious hosts behind the externals this evening between the two of us; it, like a million episodes before this one, was not dealt with in any way that could be described as skilful; and neither was it the following day; and neither will it be, I’d bet anything – and hope to be proven wrong; the same actions, and – especially in this case – inactions, have been long shown to produce the same results: funny that.

I did my usual again: researching, writing, and catching up with recorded documentaries or current affairs programs I have missed, till morning light was well and truly shedding. I managed at long last to finish part three of my latest posting titled ‘HELSINKI: “50-50…’ And one of those recordings I watched was tonight’s Lateline: The (Leigh) Sales Graph: Ms Sales’ appearance was excellent, wearing a dark jacket with a high necked disorderly-patterned blouse that complemented the jacket nicely, her hair style that flattering loose and flaring style that opens up her glowing face so well, her make-up on the fair subtle side. She had a pair of pollies join her for an interview on the latest weird and wonderfuls of the long running Canberra comitragedy: The Liberals’ George Brandis and Labor’s Mark Arbib, focussing upon Coalition self-scrapping on the ETS, and the possibility of our economy being overheated by the Government stimulus spending, and a potential bill of rights; both men looked immaculate – why, when there are so many excellent examples of suitable dressing by men in public life, do so many women miss the mark so often?; I don’t believe a degree in rocket science is required: powerdressing for both men and women follows some rather simple principles, and pays dividends in politics, in business, in news-current affairs presentation; and these principles wreak no violence upon enhancing a woman’s beauty nor a man’s handsomeness, a woman’s femininity nor a man’s strength, cause no obliteration of the celebrated differences between male and female.

This interview was tight and kept moving well, business like, with Ms Sales in ideal control; the boys behaved with rather unusual decorum. My five cents’ worth: Brandis won the point on the non-necessity of passing the ETS legislation in November rather than a few weeks later, despite Arbib’s predictable argument for doing so. Brandis’ use of the line ‘and the reason they are doing that is as plain as day: to play politics with the issue’ was as hypocritical as they come, but he’s right.

Mr Brandis made a salient point when he noted, on the subject of the public criticism of Turnbull’s policies by some of his colleagues, that ‘this could only happen in the Liberal Party. In the Labor Party, if a Julian McGauran or Wilson Tuckey had criticised the direction of the party's policy, they'd be expelled within 24 hours. So this is the price we on my side of politics pay for having a party which does - which doesn't punish the free and open expression of opinion...’ Well put Mr Brandis. But he went backwards again later with another hypocritical ‘It's all about political posturing, and I really wish the Labor Party would stop playing the politics of this’; take your hand off it George, all your lot ever do is play politics, both sides are riddled with the practice; I think we’d all think we’d woken up in Alice’s Wonderland if tomorrow Australian politicians ceased forever to play politics. He progressed soon after, when he challenged Mr Arbib’s charge of filibustering, and reminded him of the concept of ‘proper parliamentary debate’; however, of course, just as one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, the other side’s filibustering can be that side’s proper parliamentary debate.

Mr Arbib made the excellent distinction between a bill of rights and human rights, when Ms Sales brought this subject up, and Mr Brandis seconded the differentiation.

I think Ms Sales played devil’s advocate most acceptably toward both politicians in this interview, with honed critiques and questions to both all the way through. And let me complement both Mr Arbib and Mr Brandis for their manners towards each other and their moderator. And it was nice to hear Mr Brandis sign off with a farewell by name to both Ms Sales and Mr Arbib, a piece of social fragrance that Tony Abbott, to his credit, practices also.

I watched a bit of some recorded Q&A from both last week and last night, and because I’ll probably never find the time to return to these programs again here, let me make a couple of very brief observations: Waleed Aly demonstrated a sharp and clear mind with much of his sensible and moderate response to the issues as they arose on the fly during the ‘God, Sodomy, and the Lash’ program, and Todd Sampson’s ego tilted the entire desk sharply down to his end, on the program last night called ‘Hey Hey it’s Racism’, and that notwithstanding the heavy weight of Germaine Greer’s self impress on the other side of the fulcrum!
+paytontedwithlove+

HELSINKI: “50-50 when we Finnish the deal, kyllä!: that’s 30 penniä for you, out of every markka we make, horky dorky?” contrived Payton L. Inkletter.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

07^th October 2009:

Wednesday: It wasn’t long before dawn when I had got to bed last ‘night’, judging by the bird calls starting outside, and verifying by the clock. The shepherd’s pie had been up for a couple of hours, suffering her usual middle of the night insomnia session, and I ended up joining her in the cot, after working on my ‘Headers Archive’ site, doing a bit of tweaking, but leaving the radical template widening to another day when I actually feel like driving a stick through my head.

The Ashford’s Anonymous went off to her weekly Dianella Spinning Group shindig at Menora, and she set the alarm for me, which contraption, being quite inaccurate, let me sleep longer than was practical for today – but I damn well needed the extra shuteye.

I cleaned up the kitchen, and finally got going to take Bob swimming at almost three in the afternoon, the yodelling yarnfest having returned with the brum brum; it was almost half three when I got to Guildford; I saw his head manager Janine briefly, for only the second time since she took over the house a few months ago; we know each other however from about 8 or 9 years back when Bob was in the homestead nearby.

The pool was not very busy and got quieter as the afternoon turned to evening. We managed a walk later at dusk along the river at Fish Market Reserve, eyes peeled for dolphins, before Bob had a cup of thermos tea. Back at his house, after finishing with the paperwork, I had the longest chat yet with social trainer Richard, a Perth born Aboriginal man, of Wongutha and Noongar ancestry, about the habits of the nomadic tribes along the boundaries of their territories in the pre-white man days; I have particular interest in the Wongutha-Bibbulmun boundary east of Balingup-Manjimup.

I got fuel on my way home at Altone Road Woolies, and managed to catch Kerry O’Brien conduct a bonzer interview with Don Watson, on The 7.30 Report: The More O’Kerry (O’Brien) Volume: the interview was inspired by the publication of his latest book ‘Bendable Learnings: The Wisdom of Modern Management’. Mr O’Brien looked so snappy in his very dark suit, very white shirt, and very grabbing orange shaded geometric patterned tie, setting off that thing on his head beautifully; however, the threads for both men were casual for the actual interview, recorded earlier ex-studio, and Kezza certainly looked in need of the airbrushing Make-up gives him four nights a week back in Ultimo.

Mr Watson was so acutely insightful about the modern disease of obfuscatory speak, and I so loved the moment when he said to Kezza ‘I don't know how you cope every night talking to them!’, referring to politicians; my sympathies added to Mr Watson’s to Kezza, Leigh Sales, Tony Jones, Ticky Fullerton, Ali Moore… Mr Watson drew a good laugh out of Mr O’Brien, with grand facial contortions to match, when he said ‘...speaking of which, the Church itself has taken it on. When Cardinal Pell signs off his advent letter in the last year or the year before, “May the Lord be with you going forward.”, you think what's going on? The entire history of the Catholic Church it was never necessary to add that to the blessing.’ If only every interview Mr O’Brien conducted was as happy and jovial as this one – the esteemed and feared journalist would live till five hundred, proving the efficacy of laughter generated endorphins as a fountain of youth, and he’d save a fortune on plastic surgery. And what a delightful speaking voice Don Watson has, as well as such good articulation – so important for damaged cochlear doodle doodahs like mine. A special interview now tucked away in my ABC archive: thank you Mr O’Brien, thank you Mr Watson.

The alleviatory alkaloid watched the remaining Aunty lineup with me till I retreated to my sanctuary for some writing at half nine. Before I knew where I was, it was Lateline time: The Tick(y Fullerton) Check Mark: The ever versatile Ms Fullerton sat in for an AWOL Leigh Sales tonight. Ms Fullerton radiated, wearing a vivid orange-red long sleeved top, her hair setting off what could only be called a vision of loveliness. She had Australian politics on the agenda with her first interview in-studio with Peter van Onselen, and a little later she conducted an powerful on-screen interview with Peter Galbraith, the recently sacked UN's deputy leader in Afghanistan, currently in Bergen in Norway.

This is one of those subjects of burning import to me, and I occasionally write about it here: should we be using and sacrificing our military's personnel, and spending money that's needed for a million other good causes, to prop up a government and a people whose values are very divergent to our own? Mr Galbraith's sacking for disputing Ambassador Kai Eide's, the Special Representative of the UN Secretary-General for Afghanistan and Head of the United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan, handling of the reported fraud in the recent election there, is a disturbing development. I think this was a very good interview, and Mr Galbraith was given ample opportunity to well-nigh diplomatically make his complaints about how he was treated and the gravity of the matter. Ms Fullerton's question regarding the feelings of Australian parents of killed soldiers was very valid, and Mr Galbraith empathised capitally with this, adding 'But I agree and I sympathise with those who ask the question in Australia because it's awfully hard to justify committing troops to fight for a country which has these kinds of elections.'; I would add to this '… and these kinds of values in general (subjugation of women, low/no religious freedom, restriction of ideas-the Media…)'.

Ms Fullerton's emphatic remark 'Those are very strong words, given we're at war' interjected after Mr Galbraith repeated his extensively reported explosive and personally costly point 'There is no doubt that these elections and the fraud that was perpetrated by Afghans, election officials, has given the Taliban its greatest strategic victory since the US war started eight years ago, US-led war started eight years ago today' drew immediate and unrepentant agreement, and rightly so, from the man. Galbraith explained the futility of the pretense of continuing business as usual with Karzai, and implied that only harm would result from sugar coating what's just occurred during the exercise of suffrage in that country. More power to you Mr Galbraith.

I am not convinced that 'democracy' is an unconditional value, especially in places like Afghanistan, where even if the populace votes in an unencumbered fashion, a regime can be elected that stands for very questionable values: take the last Palestinian election result for the Gaza Strip. A democratic result can sometimes empower barbaric government: democracy in the hands of the immature can be a very dangerous institution; only long practice with the appropriate civil mechanisms and structures combined with an enlightened citizenry converges towards perfection. So here this fellow is sacked for trying to illuminate possible - and highly likely - election fraud, but irrespective, it's all in the context of a country that has a thousand other values opposite to Australia's and The West's which even a perfect election wouldn't touch. Neighbouring Pakistan is an endless source of fanatics crossing the border to wreak havoc and shed blood, who care not for Afghanistan, nor Pakistan, only for their version of a theocracy which most of us Westerners find abhorrent (I should note that any theocracy is bad news: the Christian theocracies of the past - and possibly of the future - produced far more human suffering and limitation than they removed); separation of Church and State is an advanced principle, and its practice a measure of a society's maturity.

Peter Galbraith is the image of his famous father, John Kenneth Galbraith, by the way. Yet another valuable Lateline interview for my archive; thank you Ms Fullerton, thank you Mr Galbraith.

Hot on the heels of this interview came Lateline Business: The Ali Moore or Less: Demonstrating yet again that she is consistently the appositely best turned out female presenter on the ABC, Ms Moore looked superb tonight: no point waxing lyrical about her head, for she has mastered the effects with hair and make-up which enhance her natural beauty, leaving the experimentation for the Learners; I will comment on her outfit: a very smart olive greenish broad but subtle striped wide lapelled suit jacket, lifted with a red camisole vee plate, which contrasted excellently with both her skin and the jacket - often I see women paying homage to the former, but neglecting the latter: the result becomes an indefinite extension of their décolletage to who can tell where, and it looks sloppy to say the best. Yes, Ms Moore looked fabulous, and her dress sense is an asset to the Lateline Business masthead.

Paul Shaffer was funny during his interview with Dave Letterman about his book 'We'll Be Here For the Rest of Our Lives: A Swingin' Show-biz Saga', but I didn't get very excited about the Kiss final act.

I wrote and computed all night, and got some hand lawn watering done outside in the early morning sunlight before hitting the low thread count poly cottons.

+paytontedwithlove+

THIRSK: “Ill creatures great and small were cheered by all things bright and beautiful, not to mention wise and wonderful,” pines Payton L. Inkletter.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

03^rd October 2009:

Saturday: How long is it since I’ve written “It’s Sarrerdi!”? Well, however long, I’ve just shortened the time passed when next I ask the question. Oh how we Inkletter’s love Sarrerdis! Another week almost bitten the dust; the duties and obligations buried for another week.

I had awoken in the middle of the night feeling unwell in the heart area, but it eventually wore off, and I got back to sleep. I was up at sparrows plus a couple of hours, leaving the heavenly hellhound slumbering. I watched a recording of Letterman from Thursday while eating a bowl of mandarins and doing some exercise, glad to be feeling a bit better in the chest. Madonna and Harry Connick Jr were his guests; Madonna was forthright about her failed marriage; I remember an episode not so long back when she was chastening Dave for not having married the mother of Harry, Regina Lasko. Anyway, I feel sorry for Madonna, who I think is mellowing at long last. I also will never forget how pleasant a guest Harry Connick Jr was years ago here at a Perth Telethon.

Later in the morning, when the zesty zither was up, I watched last night’s Lateline, helped by a plate of six apples and pears sliced up with cheese, courtesy of the aforementioned dewlapped dollface: The (Leigh) Sales Graph: Ms Sales looked excellent, in a broad shouldered white with black patterned, or was it a black with white patterned? – suffice to know it looked very attractive – jacket, loose hairstyle that suits her so well, subtle make-up but for a bit of strength in the mascara, all complementing admirably. Her political beasts she had for the wrap up on the week in Australian politics were those two calloused performers, Tony Abbott and Lindsay Tanner: Tanner on-screen from Melbourne, looking dandy in a very dark suit and glowing seaweedish tie, his nineteen remaining strands of hair carefully coiffured; Abbott in-studio also looking snappy, a burnished bright gold tie dominating his white shirt real estate and dark suit. Calloused yes, but the pair of them are likeable, and so to have these relatively well mannered (‘bullshitting’ excluded) older roosters locking combs would likely be a pleasant bit of work for Ms Sales.

The main topic was the ETS, and Malcolm Turnbull’s ultimatum to his backbench to support his position of negotiation with the Government before another vote on the legislation. I didn’t quite understand Ms Sales’ point with her remark about per capita emissions of Australia, Luxemburg, and Canada: she didn’t mean total emissions; I know that while Australia’s emissions as a percentage of global emissions are tiny, our per capita emissions are high, but then we are not only in Luxemburg and Canada’s ballpark, we are in the U.S.A.’s as well; perhaps she was referring to the small total emissions of we three, despite being in the highest echelon of per capita emitters?; I might well be missing something though. She gently read the riot act to Mr Abbott with ‘we’ve made that point’, and he cooperated: pollies never seem to be able to resist pushing their point, no matter how repetitive; I have to admit, if I was a polly, I’d doubtless be guilty of the same, and in need of the riot act being read to me during my interviews.

Mr Tanner, despite being one of the straightest talkers in Australian politics, nevertheless proved again tonight that he is very good at spinning each particular issue to make the Government look good. I commend Mr Abbott for how well and eloquently he explained his side’s position on the ETS, regardless of its merits – which I think are substantial – for his description leads one to think that there is clarity and intelligence here and there to be found in our politics still.

Mr Abbott did a masterly complete avoidance of the question of Ms Sales regarding whether he would be a candidate for leadership of The Liberals if Mr Turnbull should fall on his sword; one could easily believe that the man is an angel, and would never be anything but uber loyal.

When Ms Sales changed the subject to the economy, there was a cute moment when Mr Abbott declared that the deficit is entirely the result of ‘Labor’s spending spree’; Ms Sales interjected with “Entirely the result?”, with a hint of an incredulous smile. His answer, to my surprise, might well have been accurate – my economics knowledge lets me down, so he might have pulled that one off; he talked of a one percent taxation revenue downturn roughly equalling the surplus prior to the stimulus spending.

The interview ended on a very jovial and pleasant note: Ms Sales asked the boys for their favourite songs, and they both joined in the frivolity with relish. Her remark about Mr Turnbull’s choice of ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ being rather apt given its lyric ‘Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose’ while eyeballing Mr Abbott was a magic moment. She noted to Mr Abbott that he is known for unexpected comments, and wondered if he was about to let out a love of Britney Spears. Ms Sales’ handling of this bit of fun was superb: she had the pair of seasoned pollies in the palm of her hand, and they obliged graciously and dived into the spirit of fun that she had unleashed. My rule of keeping pollies out of their comfort zones does not apply in situations like this, and moreover she left the fun till the pointy business end was done. I think she had a perfect pair to indulge with also. I know Tony Abbott has a reputation for punching too hard now and then, slipping in the occasional “bullshit”if he thinks the microphones are asleep, but he has a very gracious side more often from my observations, evidenced yet again tonight by the simple little touch he applies so often, and that is by bidding a pleasant farewell or simple ‘thanks’ to his opposite number as well as Ms Sales in his sign off; these little things matter a lot, and do illuminate the interiors of a person somewhat. A memorable interview.

Happily Stephen Long came in to the studio for his weekly round up of echo gnommicks: The (Stephen) Long and Short of It: As always, Mr Long looked immaculate, freshly zhuzzed curly hair, dark suited, white shirted, and, apparently, a blue and YELLOW tie, for our TV and my eyes could not discern the yellow. The job losses in the U.S.A.’s economy were his first topic of discussion, and the threat this represents to the green shoots of the global turnaround. Mr Long counselled that the recovery is fragile, and that it has been pushed by Government money, now drying up in many quarters, so the recovery may well be very gradual left to the global free market’s momentum. Another jovial note concluded this short interlocution in-studio, with a frisson-like admission by Ms Sales that she is a complete nerd in regard to the ‘arcanities’ of the Rugby League Grand Final and Mr Long’s barracking target, the Parramatta Eels. This merry ending put paid to a theory of mine: that Stephen Long cannot radiate other than an adorable month old Rottweiler puppy’s teeth baring smile when he’s happy, for he gave a classic smile as good as the best in response to Ms Sales’ jape tonight.

I tackled a kitchen clean up followed by a floor mopping, which took me forever, before a small lunch forced upon me by the testy titfortatter, finally getting outside about half three to work up yonder at the damaged fence, to clear away the mess for the new fence panels to be dug in. I conveniently managed to be up there for the scheduled call in by the local Mormon missionaries, whom the tintinnabulating tinkerbell entertained and fed and watered and sent on their way laden with goodies, all without my illustrious presence, thank heavens! The Deelers, Meg and Murrah, called in at about the same time apparently, but I was none the wiser. I finally got the area to a state that I’m happy enough with before the nibs return and want to get started on the fence repair. I was exhausted again as yesterday, even though the amount of physical work was not so great. I managed some writing back inside for a spell before returning just before dark to the back corner, and by the time My Beloved came on I was ready to expire.

I struggled against my desire to sleep after din dins, showering and then writing instead, and before I knew where I was it was almost midnight. I cannot praise the on-computer program ‘WordWeb’ of Princeton University enough: it is the best free version dictionary-thesaurus I’ve ever used.

+paytontedwithlove+

JERUSALEM: The sage of Salem pitched his tent at what has become tortured ground: hatred, Crucifixion, razings, SIEGES, endless bloodletting, madness…

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

02^nd October 2009:

Friday: One of those rare mornings wherein I’ve actually slept most of the night; up soon after sparrows, having hit the pillow about nine last night, so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open: simply because we had done a drive to Charlie Gees for Janny’s medicines, on to Bilby Yarns in Myaree, then to Melville to visit an emotional Mum. Most of the hour and a half there I just held her hand as we talked. Her health is troubling to her a lot, and understandably so. Back at our local major shopping centre we got petrol and groceries, but all this was enough to exhaust me.


Last night I did manage to watch The 7.30 Report however, and I'm glad I did: The More O'Kerry (O'Brien) Volume: Kezza looked very smartly attired, and he had an on-screen interview with Noel Pearson of the Cape York Institute from Cairns, about his ideas for Aboriginal education as delineated in his essay 'Radical Hope' to be published in the Quarterly Essay. Mr Pearson was minus a tie, but in his tropical neck of the woods who could blame him? I was struck by the sense he talked, far more sense than I notice in general from his contemporary representative brethren; I've written of my special interest in his ideas and approach here before, but that July entry concerning a Leigh Sales' Lateline interview with him hasn't yet found it off my computer to be uploaded as a post. In particular, what an astute criticism and observation Mr Pearson gave tonight when he said “And for example, the idea that education for Aboriginal people should be culturally appropriate - now the problem with that concept, I soon came to discover, was that culturally appropriate education seemed to suggest that an Aboriginal Wik child or a Yolngu child shouldn't study Shakespeare, for example, because Shakespeare may not be culturally appropriate…

In my view we should be producing Aboriginal children who may choose to be experts in Russian literature, or in classical music. You know, the Aboriginal children have an entitlement to the best of the world's culture, and at the same time they can keep their own culture and languages as well.”

That was wisdom: what a stupid idea, doubtless from some ivory towered coterie of academia, is this 'culturally appropriate education'; not only would such a retarded idea hold back aspiring Aboriginal children, if universally applied without discrimination it would also deny a German child learning an Aboriginal language such as the Noongar dialect Pindjarup, if he or she so wished.

Yes, that was wisdom, as was his backing of the concept of 'No Excuses Schools'. More power to this enlighted gentleman, Noel Pearson. Another treasured interview from Aunty in my archive: thank you Kerry O'Brien.

Anyway, back to this new morning: I watched a recording of Lateline while having a bowl of mandarins, yum yum: The (Leigh) Sales Graph: Quite a departure from her usual hairstyle last night, Ms Sales’ having chosen a pulled back coiffure, with a very dark green or black blouse with a ruffled neckline, to create a very elegant look, helped greatly by subtle make-up (see if you agree with me here). Again the program’s early reportage was all misery, with the terrible human suffering and housing and infrastructure damage from the Indonesian and Samoan earthquakes. The interview Ms Sales conducted with the International Institute for Strategic Studies’ Mark Fitzpatrick was of keen interest to me, for if ever there was an issue encompassing almost the gamut of the worst of the human condition, the Middle East’s Islam versus Judaism one is it, and let us not forget that therefore it also is pregnant with endless opportunities for demonstrations of the best of the human condition.

Mr Fitzpatrick is either normally a serious fellow, or it was the gravity of the subject, for he sombrely gave very insightful assessments of the problems engendered by Iran’s obvious pursuit of a nuclear weapon capacity; his 26 years in the U.S.A.’s State Department doubtless enlightens his opinions significantly. Maybe – and it’s a longshot – it was early in Brussels, and he was still waking up; the sunlight angle on the skyscraper behind him suggests it wasn’t long after sparrows; he also appears to have forgotten to comb his hair, although his suited apparel was crisp.

Ms Sales reciprocated Mr Fitzpatrick’s graveness, remaining subdued and serious herself, while managing a series of relevant questions, and she allowed him to expound at length on these queries; it was an informative interview, and I think the gravitas on both sides of the Ultimo screen was entirely appropriate. I think Iran will push the matter as far as possible, and its leadership is stubborn and stupid enough to go all the way. The primitive mindset infecting the leadership, plus that of a significant proportion of the population (mitigating this is the global connectiveness of their substantial youth cohort), made a million times worse by the saturation of their neuronal pathways with the dogmatic belief that God is backing their behaviour, is an extremely dangerous combination, making a peaceful resolution almost impossible.

The President of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has publicly trumpeted the annihilation of Israel, thus ensuring his place in deep history in company with the very smallest of leaders of our times, and of course it would not be hard to find significant numbers of hardline Jews who hold similarly abhorrent views regarding Palestinian Arabs, and both general groups invoke God’s support: what hope of any enlightened demonstration, any time soon, of the most reasonable outcome, that of the civilised sharing of the region between Palestinians and Israelis?

One thing I’ve said here before needs repeating: you must understand what your enemy respects. Chamberlain thought Hitler respected a piece of paper, which he waved around above his head; the West in recent decades has been demonstrating a lack of understanding of what it’s enemies respect; Israel still seems to have a good understanding, and Mr Fitzpatrick makes no idle observation when he concluded his reply to Ms Sales’ final question “What chance do you think there is that Israel will attack Iran?”, “…prospects for military action I think are real and they’re worrisome.” And if this occurs, much of hell most likely will break loose, and a lot of lives will be lost and maimed, at least in the region, not to mention the damage to property and environment, when the cascading counteractions instantly begin. The critical mass of maturity essential for a peaceful transition to mutually respectful co-existence simply does not exist yet among either the national leaderships or the populaces. Hatred and stupidity are a bitter and destructive mix. The time is long overdue for the lingering glacial momentum of thousands of years of petty yet brutal and ugly mortmain to be given the burial it deserves.

I did a google search for a biography on Mr Fitzpatrick that would shed light on his birth nationality, to no avail, but me suspects I might have detected some Canadian clinging to his vocal cords or thereaboots.

For the rest of this Friday I did small shifts of work in the far back corner of the backyard, preparing for the fence repair work that needs to be done when the nibs return shortly from their Macedonia homeland holiday. It exhausted me, although it wasn’t a lot of actual work.

By daylight’s end I was in no fit state to do anything much, so I barely got through My Beloved, Stateline, and The Collectors – thank heavens for Aunty – and by nine o’clock the palliative pagan put me to bed.

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