Recovering soon

Dear Kell and Cat

Woossh! Tell you what I’m scared to stop drinking least that terrible pain returns. Last nights party by Alice and Jack as a belated birthday party and first at McMahons Point was an excellent example of that old proverb “it’s the people that make the party”. People like Claire and Zoe, Aubrey and Carl, Dice and (?) Chubb’s 2.1 meter housemate who thought that a shot contest was a fine idea and reignited my phobia of being crushed by a falling giant. They kept the night at the end of my flu infested weeks work throbbing. Karah and her friend Hugh, with whom I shared a cab home, succeeded in keeping my head throbbing today with their insistence on seeing where I lived and once inside on wether I had a bottle of wine. Ahh yes but just like Casey Stoner who has battled a bout of flu to gain pole position in tonight’s Grand-Prix I shall battle to inform you in this blog.

Leaving The Duke whose indulgence I had pled at two thirty this afternoon, more than two hours later than usual for a Sunday lunch, I catch a ghostly glimpse of my pasty blotched face in the window of The Sultans Palace and Takeaway, and framed by its nimbus of grey hair I am once more aware of how sick I feel. Only the courage of Souths (by god they owe it to this government’s Pacific Islands Guest Workers Scheme) in humiliating Manly this afternoon sustains me now.

News wise there’s little to report. Anna-Maria Monticelli’s ankles have inflamed my passions just as the Herald intended. Bolt’s bolt down the one hundred meters track has raised the consumption of alcohol in bars, apparently segregated to coloured only, across the world. Federal Police Commissioner Mick ‘the kike’ Kelty’s admission that recent mega drug busts have not inhibited demand amongst party people for illegal stimulants has provided new stimulus for Irish jokes, as if that were needed. Australian sports enthusiasts have invented a snow free dog sled/bike racing concept in the “there’s gott’a be something to do round here” state of ACT (as prophetic a title as I’ve ever heard). Ho-Hum.

I worry about you two though with all this Australia-V-England Olympic animosity. I mean Sebastian Coe saying London 2012 will “piss all over Sydney” and John Coates blathering “not bad for a country that has no swimming pools and no soap” is this sort of place we want to send the fairest of our fair? Do they really have no soap? I don’t want you admitting to be Australians OK. Any piece of fruit held tightly between the teeth will disguise the accent. No matter that Plums are out of season, try Mandarins. Pimms is OK but don’t go ordering Fosters. We want you safe and sound. Are you seriously saying you’ve never heard this?--- No surely not?--- An Aussie Press Beat up?--- Unbelievable.

Aahhh! Now it’s Tuesday 3.00 PM and just back from the park where thanks to the company of glorious sunshine and Borodin’s “Prince Igor” I am cured. My on again off again bout of flu was on again big time yesterday when I resolved to go to the doctor today for the antibiotic cure. Dropped in on my morning walk to make an appointment and the nice girl suggested I come back at 11.00AM. Should have guessed that things were not going well when I discovered I’d brought the Business section rather than News and Opinion and had to lash out $1.30 for another Herald. What I was to witness was, in microcosm, the essential flaw with our ‘administration heavy’ health system. Two receptionists catering to two doctors could not come up with better outcome than a two hour wait without any attempt at explanation. Half an hour after I’d left in despair and was tucking into my fish and chips they rang, begging my indulgence, to say that I was next in line. I explained that my hunger had gotten the better of my illness, proof positive that I was cured thank you very much, and that if they thought I should I would come back after lunch and sign the Medicare document for their service. God knows what important tasks these two were engaged in to keep up with the two doctors but whenever a client err patient came in between their frequent trips out for coffee and bottled water they were too busy to look up from their fortified defences for the mandatory thirty to forty seconds delay. Come to think of it why does it seem that whilst the doctor has a small human size desk that still seems to clutter the room, reception must have granite and wood panelling on a grand scale? Well I’ve got my theories and could go on but you are losing interest and haven’t the time.

Now I’m setting a homework assignment this week in societal attitudes as expressed in sixties pop songs with special, though not exclusive, reference to ‘Pretty Flamingo’ a chart topping hit for Manfred Mann, lyrics and music easily accessed on Google. In particular I would like you to look out for elements of misogyny and sexism and be prepared to comment on the author’s low self esteem.

Class dismissed

Prof. Aunty R