GLEN INNES: New miniature sheep line ‘Little Aussie Bleater Arcotts’, bred by Payton L. Inkletter, in honour of Garry McDonald’s iconic Norman Gunston

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

19^th February 2009:

Thursday: Before dawn I cleaned up the kitchen, and did a big watering out the back, interspersed with doing the ‘Healing Matters’ notes from last night, and by this time dawn had long since given way to mid morning, which became midday. Janny kindly made me a platter of crackers with cheese and a big bowl of sliced pears, from our hunter gatherer expedition to Benara Fresh Markets yesterday.

Mid morning Chocci Chocson rang, and she gave me the happy and scary news that her second daughter, Chocsondaughter the Second, had her second baby, Thomas, at half one last night, by emergency caesarian section, due to a tearing away of the placenta or some such. So now the Chocsons are the happy grandparents of five boys. Be fruitful and multiply has had a particular resonance to this couple, who are younger than us, and Reeve even had his goulies attended to over twenty years ago! Imagine the fecundity ramifications had he left things downstairs intact! And there’s a story: how many blokes do you know who don’t bother with anaesthetic when they’re having their gonads decommissioned?

I finally crashed after one o’clock, as she prepared to pick up Pa pree Inkletter and go gallivanting around the cityside, op shopping, Good Guysing, you name it, before returning here with him. I woke about half five, tried to return to sleep, didn’t get anywhere, and emerged from the crypt about six. I did a tiny bit out the back in the garden before shaving and showering in readiness for Missus InkleI’llsayanythingtogetanoutingwithmyhusbandonmyown’s and my ‘movie outing’, ostensibly at Warwick. The Babies didn’t come tonight, as they had already had din dins with us on Monday, for the alabaster dragon’s birthday.

This took place at the local shopping centre, after returning Pa pree to his place after din dins, and we shopped till we dropped, Big Dub, Little Dub, Coles, you name it, we shopped it. It was quite useful, for we were in need of many things, including some acid supplement fertilizer and Charlie Carp for my darling bamboos, and various victuals and naughty chocolate goodies and whatnot. Finally, about nine, we returned many dollars lighter. We were officially still enjoying ‘Ghost Town’, with Ricky Gervais.

I unloaded the wagon, and Missus Inklekindolddear gave me my din dins while I watched SBS late news, having missed My Beloved earlier, and Kezza come to think of it, and Clarke & Dawe; if I go on any longer, I’ll get depressed; hang on, I’m already depressed. The moment the sport began I shot over to Qanda on Aunty, having unsuccessfully tried to record it from half nine when SBS’ news began. Could you believe – of course you could – last night’s disc with the recording of the Wednesday night, mainly comedy, line up, on Aunty would not record again, despite being brand new yesterday, and having plenty of space, and having played back to me yesterday half an hour of the first program I recorded, being Kezza no less. My billions of daily readers know exactly where I’d like to jam this Panasonic DMR ES15 DVD Recorder, if I could find a Panasonic suit and get him (or her) to bend over. I will try to copy its contents to this pooter’s hard drive and watch it on the monitor, before it’s lost forever, as happens most every time this blasted recorder plays up with a disc it was perfectly happy with before, and even recorded onto.

Tony Jones had to contend with the broken record immature indignation of Shadow Treasurer Joe Hockey on Qanda, every time anything contrary to Opposition opinion was uttered by the other guests; I have to remind myself that he is a gorilla who was oxygen deprived at birth, and filter him accordingly. The Greens representative, Tasmanian Senator Christine Milne, typical of The Greens, was not satisfied with anything of environmental significance that wasn’t absolute and to the hilt: they don’t seem to be able, or at least publicly unwilling, to process and acknowledge the concept that a start is better than not starting, and that beginnings can be revisited and notched up.

Lateline’s Leigh Sales was behaving as though she wanted to (or already had), book a room with her in studio guest Andrew Neil of Spectator Magazine; they were giggling and getting on like two adjoining rooms on fire! And how bloody predictable and sad is the latest rip off to the tune of billions upon billions of dollars by big Texan egomaniac wanker, er, banker, SIR! Allen Stanford. If he put as much effort into integrity with other folks’ money as he did with smiling for the cameras, he wouldn’t be hiding now.

Letterman was a hoot tonight, due to Donald Trump being such a good sport and good naturedly copping Dave’s jokes about his hair. I was most tickled when Dave said that when things get terribly bad economically his Harry and Donald’s new grandson, Donald the second or third – Trumpy reckons it’s a moot point – can live in Donald’s hair. Letterman also has my admiration for supporting so many unusual and offbeat musicians and musical acts at his close. Tonight’s hermaphroditic keyboard vocalist, who I cannot recall the name of, nor find on Letterman’s site (which is very lame of The Late Show, as it is a day old, and I can find M. Ward of the night before, but not this latest already aired act, not even through the ‘Live On Letterman’ link, the latest being Matt Nathanson on Feb. 13, and that described as ‘Upcoming’!), had me visually challenged, but wow, he could sing and play up a storm! The boffins who run the site haven’t even added ‘2009’ as a search option into the drop down date field, so I’m stuffed till whenever they do mention last night’s act, by which time I’ll have forgotten about it all.

While googling for possibilities as to who the mystery artist was for Letterman on the 18^th Feb, I seemed to pick up malicious programs from a site purporting to show a musical video I assume, but it was taking too long to load, and I wasn’t even remotely sure it was the artist I was seeking, so I skedaddled. However, the computer behaved very strangely and slow after this for a couple of hours, with unfamiliar ‘.exe’ programs running in the background as uncovered in Windows Task Manager. Killing them there didn’t get rid of them; they just kept coming back, and slowing the computer down, and giving me new and unhelpful behaviour. This prompted me to do a system restore some hours later to a restore point of yesterday morning; it solved it, and whatever the software was that infiltrated my system from that website, it appears to be gone since the restore, for none of the weird behaviour has recurred.

I made a Winzip file (how I like Winzip!) of two and half gigs of 15 years of my word documents and voice recordings and such, and copied it as an archive onto the Imation thumb drive Baby Inkletter gave me last week. What a fabulous thing is this! Now it’s on my key ring, my novel drafts, my web sites, my everything. Being USB 1.1 it took almost 40 minutes or more to copy over, but now that it has it is a most handy back up. And to think that this diminutive stub the length of my last thumb joint holds a hundred times the capacity of our first computer’s hard drive, an Amstrad we bought in 1991, which had a 40 Mb HDD, in two equal partitions, and I didn’t know I had the second partition, and so used it with 20 Mb for about 8 years.

I went for a very late walk, and the easterlies, while not strong, were hinting at a hot day coming. I had more valuable insights to write down on my return for my critique of Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion, my The Dawkins Deduction. I was rather heavy lidded after my walk, but with so much still to be done, I hoped to get it done, before sleep.

Today, Baby Inkletter had some blood taken for tests, and was attended by Baby Peggletter. Confucius say “Watching phlebotomist trying to find vein not for the faint hearted!”

I cleaned up the kitchen, which took quite a while, then returned to the computer to finally get the information I’ve been tweaking for the ‘Health Matters’ site, uploaded as a post. By the time I got this done it had long since become daylight outside. I was exhausted, but also very glad to have got the information posted, and I hope it benefits many people.

+paytontedwithlove+

NORTH SYDNEY: Joe Hockey confused with a gorilla using an abacus. “Don’t be so hard on him.” Payton L. Inkletter pleads, “Oxygen starvation at birth.”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

18^th February 2009:

Wednesday: Warm but bearable, with the real heat forecast to come in a couple of days. I got ready to take Missus InkleIhavetogetvegetablesandfruit and Pa pree Inkletter to Benara Fresh Markets, and just close to leaving time – and leaving time is critical in our fambly, as any given time is set in concrete in certain minds – the local pair of Mormon missionaries rocked up, as they have a habit of doing when we’ve got deadlines.

Now Missus Inkles seems to have unlimited time for them, so she entertained them for 15 minutes, then I said hello to Elders Tilden and Cooper (a Maori fellow could you believe, and I tried to ask him if ‘whangachongahana’ had been chopped off the ‘Cooper’) for 5 minutes, before we left to pick up Pa pree, who no doubt had begun to give birth to kittens. I stopped briefly in Malaga at Cartridge World to buy an exchange Cyan cartridge for our Canon iP4200 printer. (Only yesterday in the shower I decided not to get another set of originals for later exchange with the refill people, because that second set would cost me, at Big Dub, the cheaper place, almost $130 – at Kmart(wesawyoucoming) add another $20 – getting close to the $180 I paid for the printer 3 years ago, whereas at Cartridge World I can exchange for $12 a pop, or about $60 the set of five. The last two blacks I exchanged are working fine, and the quality appears to me to be at least identical. The disadvantage of not having a second set is that as I run out with a cartridge, the printer refuses to work – at least I don’t know how to make it work – until every cartridge has ink in it, meaning I have to get my white arse over to Malaga to buy another one. I can walk it in thirty when I’m not near death, and I need the exercise, so the distance is not a problem, just the delay might be, especially if it’s after hours, or a Sunday. But shite, I was close to deciding to buy a second set of five originals for near 130 bucks, when it finally hit me, I’d be better off after 3 years buying a new improved printer for not much more. When will the printer folk wake up to the grossly overpriced consumables they hawk? When will they realize they are partly responsible for zillions of perfectly good printers clogging landfill? If Canon would spruik through retail outlets my cartridges for $12 a pop, I’d buy the originals with little complaint, although it would make life harder for the nice folk at Cartridge World.)

The only excitement at Beechboro was when I forgot to present the small bag of lemons from atop a box of pears in my trolley – I always hand the checkout person the card I’m given with the price and description of the box quantities of produce, rather than lift the boxes out – the gal noticed them, and asked “And the lemons?”, at which I pleaded, genuinely, that I didn’t mean to forget them. My eyesight is becoming a bit of a worry, but they were yellow atop yellowish pears. I think she believed me; hope so. As I type, the font here in Word is set at 18 on my now big screen – thanks to Reeve Chocson thinking of me when his previous work upgraded their monitors – and this has done wonders for my eyestrain.

We stopped in at our local Dewsons’, with the little people going their way, while I went mine, specifically to score another four 12 pack cartons of Harvey Fresh UHT mullock, which, unbelievably, is still on sale there for a buck a litre. Oh, and a pack of white Black & Gold sugar, which we have stocked up on in recent months also, and which has been at a better rate than the bulk 25 Kg bags we have bought it in for years. What is the price? Two kilos, two bucks.

My mum phoned, and among other things we discussed cousin Vee’s encouraging progress at The Mount Hospital after his cancer operation last Friday. While Mum spoke to me Maximus Coccioli was asleep at her feet, all fifty plus kilograms of him, big puppy that he is. I didn’t get outside, for Missus Inklecaringolddear fed us earlier, so that she could take off before half seven to gallivant around the neighbourhood: specifically, she went to a party plan type affair at Esther’s around the corner and then around the next corner, in case you ever want to go there too. She took Pa pree home at the same time, and I had to hit the sack before 8 (dulled with white comforters), more’s the pity, because when I have the freedom of being home alone (too!) I would prefer to be awake to enjoy the emancipation it affords me. She woke me, as I asked her to, when she got back, at ten. She reckoned she enjoyed it all very much. These folk, the Graineys, are long term friends from before Baby Inkletter’s kindergarten days when we had not long been here, and Janny saw Esther’s youngest daughter there, who went to school in high school with our girl. Ylvia now has two children of her own; it makes you feel old.

I managed to successfully record three hours of Aunty on the infernal DVD recorder of last diary entry’s philippic of mine, and after watching Lateline and Letterman, I watched my recording of The 7.30 Report. That old farmer in Victoria, Lou Ackerman, has my sympathy regarding his complaints about bureaucratic and academically lovely restrictions upon reducing litter build up along the roads. Academia is, sadly, so often so out of touch with the real world in a million ways. The last story caught my attention also, the proposed model for paying royalties to artists, or their estates, upon the resale of their works; I think the idea is good, and I don’t have a lot of faith in, or rather, I need more convincing of, the purity of motive of Lesley Alway, Managing Director of Sotheby's Australia who opposes the scheme. Her company wouldn’t benefit from the current situation, would it now?

Lateline’s Leigh Sales interviewed Mary Kissel, the editor or the Wall Street Journal Asia section, and I had a few smiles as Ms Kissel gave her opinions of what not to read into Secretary of State Clinton’s non-inclusion of Australia in her first overseas trip. She had some sobering ideas about Australia’s economic stimulus package. Oh, and how cute is Mary’s mouth slightly twisting to her left when she talks… Another feature, the job cuts by GM America and their request for billions of dollars more is sobering also. It is no surprise to me that they are in dire straits, as many car companies, for still making prehistoric problem creators rather than suitable problem solving technology. I think the internal combustion commuter vehicles still being sold would have to be the greatest depreciator we can buy the moment we leave a showroom, all things considered. We drive away in a vastly overpriced lemon.

Dave Letterman had a very nice chemistry with Bonnie Hunt, who is very easy to like, but I wish he’d drop that Lyle the Intern idiot sketch who is foul mouthed and mock offensive toward him. Back to a positive note, I so enjoyed the different and talented M. Ward, of whom I had not previously heard. His music was unusual and very good.

I tackled some writing on the pooter, then embarked on a walk on this not so windy night, about half two. I got more ideas for The Dawkins Deduction, which I tapped into my dedicated Word document on my return.

I prepared more notes for publishing to ‘Healing Matters’, about the ‘Religious option’, mainly being a copy of my old notes from some years back which I used to email to relatives and friends upon request. I plan to rewrite this section, but as that may take me a while to get to, I don’t want to hold the web page up for that long, so my old notes will suffice (I will simply be expanding the concepts when I rewrite them, and adding more explanations, essentially). I checked the current links to Dr Johanna Budwig’s dietary advice for her cancer cure, and put these latest links into the information I’m preparing for uploading. So the state of play at the moment is that I have got the diet additive info ready, the links, the account of Mum’s experience, the ‘Psychological option’, rewritten early last week, and now the old notes for the religious option, so it is close to being ready for uploading.

I noticed an order form on the kitchen bench top from Missus InkleI’mabunny’s soiree at Esther’s last night, and it was for almost fifty bucks, goods arriving and dough due in mid March. Pretty little smelly candles and such useless trinkets. She managed not to bother me with this detail before she retired to the boudoir for her beauty sleep.

Today I broke down and revealed to the alabaster dragon that I have been using a secretly stashed tube of Vicco toothpaste for over two months; she took it well, at least outwardly. Using exclusively the electric toothbrush means that I consume the tiniest of amounts daily, and what’s more, I alternate it with a herbal Colgate number that has fluoride in it, thinking that my teeth might need a bit of that poison to keep the enamel hard. Maybe my food will begin to have bamboo sheath fur added, if it hasn’t already…

+paytontedwithlove+

NUMBAA: Counting on doubling it, one half-hearted and fractious Payton L. Inkletter fingered divisively in two minds at quarter time, before splitting

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

17^th February 2009:

Tuesday: Another day of bearable temperature, and we were able to open the house up late afternoon to catch the welcome seabreeze. When I surfaced Missus Inklegooddaughter was gone, and she had picked up Pa pree Inkletter and took him to the local major shopping centre (being able to drive a little distance again), where she attended her appointment with Samantha the wonderful shrinking doctor, and later Pa pree Inkletter attended his appointment with his doctor, and then the pair of them shopped till they dropped, or so I assumed, because as I write this I realise I didn’t specifically ask the alabaster dragon. The boot load of shopping goodies and paraphernalia that I unloaded for them would back up my inference, however.

This expedition of theirs must have consumed at least four hours methinks. I made and uploaded a new header for the main web site, and cleaned up the kitchen from last night’s birthday celebration with the Babies and Pa pree Inkletter. I got a bit of back yard gardening titivation done before My Beloved, and The 7.30 Report, on which Kezza interviewed by satellite the highly talented Ricky Gervais, who I have admired since being captivated by his ability in The Office, and Missus Inkles hasn’t been able to stand since the same show. If I needed reminding of his acting brilliance, Extras did it. Ghost Town looks funny, judging from the short Kezza teased us with.

Missus Inklenicetoeveryone(exceptattimestome) took Pa pree home and at the same time delivered a hot meal to her brother, Umple Dais, all before eight. I returned to the back garden, and did my big once weekly blood and bone fertilizing, and this and that, until Foreign Correspondent on Aunty, which featured two stories, both interesting: David Frost, who is featured in the new film ‘Frost/Nixon’; and the Malaysian astronaut, Dr Sheik Muszaphar Shukor, which story included the absurd effort by Islamic scholars to ascertain the appropriate manner to conduct prayers in space. Gee, talk about majoring in minors, like all the formalized religions are wont to do; in case no-one’s noticed, we’re already in space, and the vehicle is planet Earth.

The good old hunk of shit crap manure – hang on, those are all good things as far as my plants are concerned – the Panasonic DMR ES15 DVD Recorder, a total waste of money in my humble opinion, and a machine which makes me think twice about another Panasonic product, played up again tonight, while recording to a new disc an SBS documentary for me, and getting itself into one of its destructive loops where it tells me to do one thing to reset the stupid thing, and then proceeds to make it impossible. I eventually fooled the fool of a thing by loading a DVD movie disc and repeatedly powering it on and off until it began to offer to play it, seemingly forgetting its previous meltdown. This machine is not even a year and a half old, and has done very little recording, and a fair amount of playback. If money was no object (and there were no environmental consequences) I’d toss it into the sea, if I couldn’t find a Panasonic suit’s arse to jam it up.

I stayed on to watch Artscape, which featured the quirky and highly talented Tom Moore, who makes the most wonderful glass objects. Missus Inklenotbadherselfwithvariouscrafts enjoyed this show as well, and we both agreed this Tom has something seriously wrong with him, which is a way of us giving him our approval. Well, what d’ya know, it was then Lateline, so on I stayed, and I had to battle the vomit reflex as Tony Jones interviewed the odious Christopher Pyne, Sturt pee and Manager of Opposition Business, , and while it wouldn’t matter what the interview was about, this one was about the reshuffle in the shadow cabinet, and Peter Smugello’s intentions, or lack of them. Also on this program was Stephen Smith, Foreign Affairs Minister, visiting Pakistan, and how tired and aged the poor bastard’s looking these days!

Now Letterman was imminent, so Missus Inkles and I did a tad of marriage building, which, due our humanness, degenerated, but then there’s always tomorrow, with the springboard of apologies today. Letterman’s highlight by far was Willie Nelson’s performance, with Asleep at the Wheel. Missus Inkletter, Baby Inkletter, my brother, and my nieces met him years ago at Perth Airport, and he was a humble gracious man, as he still obviously is. I have an envelope with his signature on it to me, courtesy of Missus Inkletter, who asked him to sign it for her husband, a great fan from way way back.

I went back outside after midnight, (and after my apology to Missus Inkles, who responded ditto, from the boudoir, the site of many an intense and wild, wanton apology…) and finished the marathon watering, back and front. By half two I was ready to go for my walk, the first in three days… this will not do, I need to walk daily. The easterly winds were strong enough to not bother to even take my mp3 player, for I wouldn’t have heard a thing. This meant more thinking time, and I came up with some good ideas for my Health Matters site which I’m putting together, focusing on cancer. Telstra’s phone box at the local Dewsons’ had both glass panels smashed to blazes by some brains trust, single or corporate, quite the most powerful impact I’ve noticed ever at that box. I shudder to think what all the vandalism on this one booth has cost Telstra over the years.

Speaking of cancer, I noticed a red mark on my nose when I hopped into the shower on my return from the walk, in my field of close vision, and after, in front of the mirror, squeezed it, then gouged it, thinking it was a pimple, but no, and whatever it is, it stubbornly refused to budge, but bled like, I won’t say ‘buggery’, for that’s crude, but it bled a lot, and is some kind of solid little lump. Aloe was applied, and I’ll have to slather it on for days to clear it up, assuming it will heal. I get so many skin blemishes and slow-to-heal spots these days, echoes of my days in the sizzling sun of my youth, I’m sure.

My Bambusa balcoa clump has put up a new largish culm the other day, and I’m tickled pink, for I was not expecting another one to follow the biggish one that came up in early spring, sat dormant for two months, and then skyrocketed to almost the same height as the tallest one from three years ago, only now almost stopping its vertical growth. I began spoiling it yesterday by digging a tiny trench around the new shoot, and pouring worm liquid into it.

I tackled my diary, this very one, after my shower, and some emails to Baby Inkletter, answering various questions and topics, some from the ‘Daughters and their Dads’ book by Bruce Robinson. Where does the time go? It was after dawn by the time I left the pooter, to tackle my pre-bed ablutions, including the practice of electric toothbrushing of my fangs, something I’m sold on since Baby Inkletter gave it to me about a year and half ago. Prior to this I assumed electric toothbrushes were simply a lazy yuppie option for avoiding work in the bathroom. It does such a magnificent job I had to experience it to believe it. And it’s taken me ages to control the flow of saliva it generates… Dame Edna should look into this means of collecting her healing lotion, ‘Mother’s Spit’.

+paytontedwithlove+

JANE BROOK: “My missus is the most perfect woman in the world,” shares a pensive Payton L. Inkletter, sucking a lemon so bitter it hurts: “Ouch baby!”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

16^th February 2009:

Monday: Happy birthday Missus Inkletter! No doubt the floodgates of Paradise and the six heavens underneath will open today.

Janny was happy with my card and gift, and that made me happy. I cleaned up the kitchen, and did a cowboy water outside, and then took off for Guildford on this mild summer’s day, to take Bob to Perth. I was tired from the poor sleep last night. At Bob’s I learned that for the second time in less than a week he had played up, smashing things, just last night this time. The theory is that his housemate Jason’s recent holiday has made him envious, and he has reacted in the way that comes easiest to him. He has, as a result of this misbehaviour, had a privilege removed from him, but not had his outings with me withdrawn, which is good of the team there at Guildford.

We trained to Perth city, and it was lovely and refreshing in the strong sea breeze that went through the skyscraper canyons like medicine. Bob had his lunch in his usual spot in Supreme Court Gardens, and I was able to admire the only remaining ancient clump of Bambusa balcoa, and some huge new culms, which make mine look like twinkies. They had a lovely red orange shade in their bud sheaths, whatever the correct name for them is: I really should know – if you know, please let me know. We took a ride on the Red Cat this time, and before we knew where we were it was time to head back to Guildford.

I finally got back to our neck of the woods about half seven, picking up Pa pree Inkletter and bringing him to our place. The Babies Ink&Peggletter arrived to have din dins with us to celebrate Janny’s birthday soon after, and they gave her a fabulous food processor, our first ever, and a beautiful large framed photo of a most handsome couple, the Inkletters ourselves no less, taken last month in our lounge by Baby Inkletter. It was a gorgeous surprise. We will put it up on the family gallery north wall in the self same lounge.

Janny’s meal was delish as usual, a chicken thingy and polenta meal, with birthday chocolate cake courtesy of the Babies. We played one of our great favourite games, Absolute Balderdash, won again by Baby Inkletter, who uncannily can attribute almost every time each one of our fabrications to the fabricator. They left before eleven, returning Pa pree on their way.

We were very tired, but I managed to catch Tony Jones’ interview with Stanford Professor John Taylor, on Lateline. If you get two economists agreeing, pinch yourself; however, he did seem to have a strong point – if he’s not fooling with us – that research establishes that tax cut income leads to more consumption than one-off lump sums. I couldn’t move, so eventually Letterman was on, and despite falling asleep for part of it – while Missus Inklexhausted slept for an hour in her Ibis – I was struck by how very relaxed and jolly Dave was with Martha Stewart, and how natural she was with him.

I was way too whacked to walk, but despite Missus Inklehornybeast encouraging me to hit the sackcloth with her, I forced myself to rally, helped by white comforters, and attend to some of the blog jobs piling up here. It was a fillip to get Gladys Hobson’s Visitors’ Book comment this morning threatening me with being thrown in her tower if she is prevented from contributing to the progressive story ‘Venty Still’, so I answered that comment. Any such interest, as many writers should attest, is a morale boost.

+paytontedwithlove+

HARARE: Robert Mugabe offers Payton L. Inkletter Z$100 trillion to write a speech for his 85th birthday next Saturday: “Enemies, dobermans, henchmen,”

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

15^th February 2009:

Sunday: I was dead tired when I hit the sack, and I didn’t feel much better when I got up. A warm day, not hot. Just before My Beloved I delivered vittles to Pa pree, who had me look into some issues with his computer, so I missed the beginning of the aforementioned program, love of my viewing life.

With the intention of watering and doing the special blood and bone once weekly fertilizing outside, I began instead clearing up a section of the carport under lights, and before I knew where I was, Missus Inklelastdayoffiftyone called me in to see Compass on Aunty. I took so long cleaning myself up I missed the start of it, but not to worry. It featured the Billy Graham crusades in Australia in the late fifties. My view of mass preaching as done in the world of the last hundred or two years?: good can come of it, and often does, however the whole style and choreography is irrelevant to spiritual progress, and often inimical to it. It’s most often a brief fix for the audience, and it is highly likely to warp the deliverer.

I was growing sleepy at a rate of knots, and was fighting a losing battle (not the first as it transpired – keep reading, but only if you’re over 18…) between trying to return outside to get a million things done and staying put and listening to the lovely piano music of Roberto Giordano. The peeanee was too nice to resist, so I enjoyed it to the end, and then began to notice those terrifying bedroom eyes grow big and dewy behind lusty eyelids of my spouse, and I soon realised that no matter whether I needed to sleep, or go outside and get all that watering done, I was at extreme risk of another ravishing, the second in as many nights.

Well, to cut a long story short, Missus Inklethechurchdoesn’tneedyourmanhood,Ido got her way, and again I was ravished, ogled, and rodgered (I’ve included the ‘d’ this time) right up to my vinegar string this time, that last precious inch succumbing to her intensity. After this assault upon my innocence and virtue we settled under the covers on this cooler February night to sleep, which I managed before her. I slept for almost two hours, then had a fitful session of dozing for hours, while she couldn’t sleep early on (but then, having just been sent to Paradise propelled by multiple extended waves of legendary strength and piquancy orgasms, internal, external, and blended, what woman could?), but the release into the Land of Nod did eventually come for her much later.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame Missus InkleImusthavePaytonoftenalwaysandthensome, for the girl has needs, and I’ve set the bar very high, competing against myself. Any red-blooded woman would find me, as she does, impossible to resist, but sometimes I just wish she would simply hold me, nurture me, love me, just for being me, rather than treating me as a wild bucking bronco stallion meat slab, as a mains powered, 3-phase, heavy duty sex machine. Oh just to be held tenderly sometimes, and have sweet nothings whispered into my ear, and that be that…

So no walk was had, the outside work was left undone, and the computing jobs mounted.

+paytontedwithlove+