GODWIN No. 5: ‘A little bit for Malcolm on the side, a little bit for Brendan in his need, a little bit for Johnny lest he cried, take one step right…

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

24^th June 2009:

Tuesday: MORE STORY COMING SOON…

+paytontedwithlove+

CANBERRA: “Calling the poor bastard ‘Hansard’s antsy Grechel’ is taking it too far!” Payton L. Inkletter gingers in defence of Treasury’s Godwin Grech

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

22^nd June 2009:

Monday: Beta state knocked on the door of my mind about 8, despite the fact that I felt I needed another eight hours. A tinkle, then a vain attempt to fall back asleep, convincing me that ’twas time to face the day. I left the cataclysmic kitten purring in the cot, and began to coax life into my frame. I sent an email to my cousin Vee for an update on how he’s going, and cleaned up the kitchen, and pottered around until finally being presentable to drive to Guildford. Meanwhile, Janny had taken the Supreme Leader to the local shops and returned with him to spend the afternoon here.

Before I forget: the headline I posted for last Friday, ‘IPSWICH: “Granted, Godwin Grech does resemble Gollum, but heck, he doesn’t really live ten floors beneath Treasury, does he?” asks Payton L. Inkletter’, can probably already go down in history at Fool’s Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring as having the most hits from searches of any of my posts, and it’s been up for barely two days. I hope the poor bastard, Godwin that is – or as he’s otherwise known, ‘Hansard's antsy Grechel’, gets through all this pressure okay, assuming he is an innocent victim of all the shenanigans behind Utegate; come to think of it, even if he’s not as pure as the driven snow, I wish him well nevertheless; I feel this way about everyone, and if there’s any new leaf turning required for any of us, I wish for that also.

A still cool day, as if our locale was taking stock, holding it’s breath, before launching it the long journey back to the high noon of the summer solstice in six months’ time. Bob was his usual control freak self, delightful nevertheless, and he punished the water at Swan Aquatic. I was feeling so foggy that I did no writing, rather I read, mainly from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide…, and I laughed and smiled so many times. There was an author we could have done with telling stories for another fifty years…

On the way to Fish Market Reserve at dark Bob snapped another classic at me, and it was something like “Gee you carry on!” Whatever it was (and one day I hope to feel certain I’ve remembered just what he said) and after the momentary offense it began to tickle me greatly; you would have to know Bob to understand how incredibly funny he can be in total unawareness, often supercharged by the sheer irony of what he can say.

I was very relieved to get home just after seven, and was in two minds as to whether to go straight to bed or eat, but the tantalising kitchen-talented temptress put the heat on me, and I felt that if I refused her victuals it’d be a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire, so succumbing with feeble protest, I endured a huge plate of delicious roast chicken fare, watching My Beloved and Kerry the Great’s 7.30 Report – that thing on his head looking most svelte tonight – with Pa pree. The entire report was devoted to Kevin Rudd and Malcom Turnbull defending their respective positions regarding Godwin Grech’s recollections concerning THAT email and such, while the nation needs full attention on the things that really matter.

After a Moccona coffee was forced upon me, and I consumed it out of fear of offending the serendipitously soliloquacious sizzlepot, I then almost had to be carried to the cot, though it was but a whisker past eight, and I insisted in being tucked in and having bedtime story read to me, and a commitment to wake me for Lateline. Aided with white comforters, I plunged into my long time Mistress Nodette’s embrace immediately…

Janny did wake me for Lateline, but cleverly closed the door straight away, and I drifted back into sleep. Then, as is the story of my recentish life, I woke at about half two with no chance of returning to sleep – one can just tell…

So I spent the entire night from this point writing, punctuated by health problems and fruit and cheese consumption. I also read a long email that cousin Vee sent me, delineating the challenges he’s been and still is going through with his recent radiotherapy treatment. As dawn broke, it revealed a very grey and heavy sky, with just a touch of angst in the jittery light breeze, and laden with the promise of rain…

+paytontedwithlove+

IPSWICH: “Granted, Godwin Grech does resemble Gollum, but heck, he doesn’t really live ten floors beneath Treasury, does he?” asks Payton L. Inkletter

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

19^th June 2009:

Friday: …with an effort of will I clung to the crusted film of precipitate of my sanity in the sunbaked bowl of my mind after the Bill Gates episode of my XP mega freeze of paralysis. Hate your work Bill; may you have to spend a goodly portion of eternity fixing the shit you sold as operating systems at highly inflated prices here on Earth! As dawn broke the front that was forecast began to let its presence be known, and before the morning was very old very strong winds were howling around the house, with some showers to sweeten the mix. I returned to the computer and worked again on the new blog page, realising that I was not fit to take Bob swimming today, not having slept, so I phoned him and spoke also to Richard his social trainer, arranging for Monday instead. This saved me leaving when a wild storm was raging, which I never like doing for two reasons: there is great value in being at home in case of storm damage, and the roads are so much more dangerous.

Before I knew what was what, it was almost one o’clock again, and I was tucked into bed by the cuddly chameleon, there to fall gladly into Mistress Nodette’s arms and charms… My alarm rudely awoke me at a quarter to eight, having mis-set it by one hour too late, and I got up to an empty home, for my wife of 27 years had left me… planning to return about half nine.

So I caught The Collectors after the tail end of an interview with our Premier Colin Barnett on Stateline, and then settled in with a big mug of tea – three teabags (Nerada, good Aussie brew, gggrrrrhhh!) – with the bags left in, sucked afterwards (as I intimated, I’m tough) to watch the compelling SBS series ‘World War II – Behind Closed Doors’ under the ‘As it Happened’ umbrella. My word what good likenesses they got for Stalin, Roosevelt, Churchill; and how good it is that interviews with some of those who were there have been recorded.

I stayed on to watch SBS late news, and eat my tuck tucks left for me by the lovely lushburger, who, by the way, got home before ten; she had been to a Latter Day Quaints International Dinner at the Ballajura Chapel, the invitation from the other evening when I ran away to this computer to write when I heard the tell-tale door knock. She really enjoyed it, and the entertainment the church members put on was excellent. She caught up with a number of her long term acquaintances, most of who commented upon how good she’s looking, thanks to the net benefits of the Byetta drug she’s been taking now for maybe 8 months.

We yabbered for a while, then I did a quick burst of writing at the computer, before rejoining the frilly knickered lizard to watch Lateline, I having accepted a moccers coffee from the beauteous girl buffalo heifer. The (Leigh) sales graph: again, Ms Sales looked great, for her weekly wind up on the political, the social, the trouble. Keep the eye make-up subtle, like these last two nights Leigh! Lindsay Tanner squared off with Tony Abbott for tonight’s political biffo, two old tomcats who’ve done it all many times. The Ozcar story was boring the day it was first aired this week, for it was already old news, and the Opposition is hammering it for all its worth, which might be very little, who knows?: but thank god for today’s bonus in interest level, when one senior Treasury official, Godwin Grech, emerged from about ten floors below the basement of the Treasury Department in Langton Crescent, where he obviously works, eats, and sleeps, to answer questions about whether there were favours or not sought for Ipswich car dealer John Grant; now and then fabulously humorous events, situations, people appear on the current stage of public attention, and Godwin Grech would surely have to be one of them: and if he isn’t almost a dead ringer for Gollum, then he is a near perfect caricature of the subterranean denizen, don’t you agree? And could you have chosen a more fitting name if you tried?

And I got my treat of the weekly wrap up of matters economic with Stephen Long’s reconnoitre into Ultimo: I always learn something sensible from his opinions, and it is a joy to experience the wonderful chemistry between Ms Sales and Mr Long. Plus I got my final treat of Stephen’s inimitable sign-off smile. (And his curly locks had been nicely straightened out from the inevitable tussling his mum must have given it again today.)

Letterman’s highlight was Danny DeVito, and that scorpion story was a hoot. DeVito is a bit of a deadly scorpion whisperer it would seem, if he wasn’t making it up. Bear Grylls’ account of his injury in Antarctica was a bit gripping, and I’m glad it was he and not me; also, it was nice to hear that his experience in the wild with Will Ferrell was so positive.

I put the wingeing keel to bed, then tackled trying to rewrite the many words I lost into nothingness last night due the XP freeze paralysis spac attack, and ended up spending the entire night at the keyboard, apart from a few breaks, for the sake of ergonomics, in the kitchen doing a big clean up in instalments, and when dawn arrived I went out the back to learn that all the wind and storm kerfuffle of the past two days might have delivered a meagre 10 mm if we’re lucky. I fed scraps to the worm farms, and dealt with the usual health issues, before a nice long hot shower…

+paytontedwithlove+

STURT: “I’m pyneing for explorers to find an inland pea; political bean counters double crisscross,” says Payton L. Inkletter, wolfing into a dessert.

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

16^th June 2009:

Tuesday: I dragged myself up at noon with the buxom butterfly’s help, and by half one we’d picked up Pa pree and were heading toward the big smoke. We met Baby Inkletter at the pad in Adelaide Terrace not long after two, having scored a parking spot almost right out the front, and went up to the apartment for a short visit, and returned her car keys which she left at our place last night.

From here we eventually got to Kennedys Sewing Centre in Queen Street, somehow, negotiating the torturous one ways and congested streets, and I dashed in, leaving the delinquents in the car in the tiny rear car park, and picked up our two newly serviced machines: the overlocker and sewing machine with and over which the material girl has sweated blood for years. Glad to be out of the guts of the city, we headed for Kings Park, where we found the same table near Saw Avenue for a cup of tea and a sit down that Pa pree and I used the other week with The Babies. The afternoon was cool, dry, and half sunny. I got a few photos taken of Payton the Koala Bear among the gum trees…

I then drove the delinquents to the Galleria at Morley, where they window shopped and such for about an hour, while I rested and imagined in the car in the undercover carpark. The idea occurred to me during this break to make a web page solely to generate inspirational headlines for a ticker, and link it to my other sites. I very much like the idea; I hope to make it work as an additional scrolling ticker on each site. After this it was approaching dark, and the last port of call was our local Dewsons’, where, by the way, we’ve finally got a sign up at the new building on the corner on the old petrol station site informing us what it’s to be: medical suites. This is very good for the area, and it replaces the old surgery next door that was itself replaced by a child care centre years ago. And it puts paid to my joking insinuations that the large two storey structure was to be a shul to complement the mosque next door, in the interests of elusive interreligious respect.

Before tucker I had to reinstall AVG antivirus, for something had played up big time, and the poota had gone into semi freeze mode; damn nuisance. Kerry O’Brien’s 7.30 Report began to inform me of the day’s political intrigues in Canberra, when the door knocked with the tell tale signature of Mormons, so I deftly departed, taking the evidence of my din dins with me, leaving Pa pree alone like a stunned mullet, then I informed Missus Inkletter – who was on the throne – that I thought Mormons were knocking the door. She was unimpressed – at me – and who could blame her? (but long term readers, among my billions of daily visitors, will recall that I’ve long ago been rendered exhausted by these well meaning but boring dogmatists – or at least when in official Mormon visiting mode – and prefer to use the time they consume doing other things of greater interest to me). I snuck into the back room and did some writing on the computer, sustaining a head in the door by the vicious vixen informing me that in fact these Mormons were none other than Peter F. and the so-and-so President of somewhere-and-such, so “Did I want to come out?”, to which I replied “No way!” We have known Peter and his missus for donkey’s years, and Janny is pals with her, but still, the attraction of catching up with my backlog was greater than catching up with a fellow I nevertheless have hardly got to know over these many years; sound bad? I’ve become rather selective with which folk I give my discretionary time to (and this is no pejorative reflection upon this particular bloke), for there is so relatively little of it left, so much left to achieve, to write, to …

Thus I was able to escape the saccharin of such visits, which purportedly was to invite us to an international dinner event, but Janny knows the stock standard answer I give when I’ve not been quick enough to escape, and that is, ‘Payton won’t be there, but I (Janny)…’ I have learnt it is best to immediately create certainty in my case, even though it is in the negative, and of course, with politeness.

I got to watch Mark Corcoran’s very good report ‘The Bulldozer’ on Foreign Correspondent, about Afghan warlord Gul Agha Sherzai and the progress he’s achieved in moving Nangarhar Province from its 18000 hectares of opium poppy farming to zero, in the back room while they were yabbering away in the lounge, then when the all clear was announced, I did stage one of a kitchen clean up, before returning to my writing.

Janny took Pa pree home about ten, and I reemerged to watch Lateline, getting a very pleasant surprise to have Leigh Sales hosting a day early; The (Leigh) sales graph: she looked very professional and elegant tonight, with her hair style perfectly complementing her face (flaring wide at her neck), and her long sleeved outfit finishing the effect so nicely; still, a tad less eyeliner I reckon… I enjoyed her interview with Julia Gillard, Deputy Prime Minister, and if I was Gillard, I would be grateful for the quality of the interview. And Ms Sales wasn’t afraid to vigorously interrupt the Deputy PM when she considered she was digressing on the Indian students issue, and Ms Gillard, true to form, graciously handled it and made two winners from the moment. I think Sales and Gillard conducted themselves very well in this interview, and the viewers were gratified also; oh how I enjoy professionals doing their jobs well! My word, wouldn’t Gillard make a potentially excellent Prime Minister one day?

Lateline Business next, then Letterman, who tonight made a better fist of his apology to Sarah Palin than the shambles of last week, when he rambled and his audience got in the way repeatedly. His interview with Dr Sanjayan showed some of Letterman’s well concealed more astute side – pity he doesn’t reveal it a bit more often. Jack Black is a hard case; he didn’t help himself though with his overly extrovert entrance.

I had a long session of bestowing empathy upon Janny, who suffers tremendously with being taken for granted and sucked dry by certain folk, then returned, after tucking her into bed, to the computer for a very long night, punctuated by a big kitchen clean up stage two. I got a long, involved, complex, and very overdue email (postponed for over a month) written and sent to my sister Helena, as well as a comment posted to Leigh Sales’ Well read-head post at The Punch, ‘Well read-head: back off or I’ll throw the book at you’. The web page designer hasn’t thought the comments section out very well, by putting ‘Your comment:’, ‘Your name:’, and ‘Your email:’ as text inside each field, rather than as descriptors outside the fields, and so in the confusion generated, my comment, number two in the list, locked in with just the initials ‘PL’ – even though I put my full name – and the phrase ‘Your comment:’ stayed at the start of my contribution; oh bother! I also committed a grammatical faux pas with 'your' instead of 'you're', so I deserve to be given a gentle beating, perhaps by Ms Sales herself. I remember having no end of trouble with my previous two comments posted to other entries at The Punch, all because of this glitch in its design. And there is no facility for editing one's mistakes (fair enough I suspose, given the mayhem that could generate), or deleting one's comment entirely after it has posted.

I had my usual health problems to contend with also, and didn’t manage to climb into bed beside the inviting slumberqueen till almost 8 a.m.

+paytontedwithlove+

ULTIMO: Payton L. Inkletter makes a wish: That the wussies and pussies at the ABC grow up and understand black humour, rather than chase PCbrownnosers

Be all that as it may, meanwhile:

In other news…

05^th June 2009:

STORY COMING...