Stir crazed Boynton finally got out of the city today, a short hop up to the central goldfields region which is just coming into that magical green spell of bright warm days and balmy evenings. She enjoyed a cup of tea and a pun or two with parents and whipped her two canines down to the park for a brief constitutional. Everything just about to unfurl.
Boynton's mother tells her that as a child her grandmother tried to ply her with those very same Pink Pills for Pale people - but evidently she was not so pale and just said no. A funny familial link back to quackery and another century.

Nora, as an 11 year old, was very impressive to her fellow school friends, by having several songs, jingles, and even entire albums down word perfect. Boynton remembers being impressed by Nora rattling off all the lyrics to Gilbert O'Sullivan's song, and to fess up the sweet ditty seemed to carry a profundity to this oft melancholic schoolgirl. Nora knew (and sang) the whole of Superstar and gained particular esteem for express delivering the lyrics to the Kentucky Fried jingle of the time. Boynton could almost match her, but there were usually several notable gaps and mountain tops (coodabeens' word for mis-remembered lyrics) there!

SOME UPDATES Hetty reports back that while she finds Lelord "horrible!" It is sort of relentless in a reasonable tone and after a while you get sucked in. I have tucked it way under the cupboard The selection linked to was perhaps not indicative of the depths of his dumbness eg the chapter title: "Pregnancy can be normal", and Boynton hopes to include a little Lelord every now and then once Hetty summons the courage to fish book back out from hidng place.

Dollar day at the Thrift. Boynton was told by her friend that today a queue had formed outside the shop before opening. "Have people just worked it out, do you think?" she asked. We both shrugged. Boynton swears though that the last five times she has been happily meditating amongst the bric-a-brac and books, the song "Alone Again Naturally" has played throughout the store. She tries not to take it personally. Or to listen. Some think it's a work of art "it will always be valid in the hearts and collective subconscious of people". Such regular exposure to the song is making individual subconcious validity dangerously possible.

On matters invalid Boynton could report on the cough. But she has noticed that blogging ailments is rather dull. She should just shut up and try these.

Boynton just stumbled upon these links to the celebrated processed luncheon meat which is lately haunting her. See Comments for advice on the correct wine to serve with same.

Boynton was talking to a man who is a fan of the martian manual - in the kind of Vive la difference way. (And hey - bien sur, monsieur!) This friend claims that men don't use subtext. Having literally traded on subtext for years, Boynton finds this possiblity temporarily disturbing. "If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ'" What was he really saying there she wonders.

About to step out with the canines, Boynton was greeted by the sight of hail. A walk around the golf-course was not to be - there are enough round white missiles to dodge as it is. She's waiting for golf-balls to be the size of hailstones.

Boynton still troubled by croaky vocals. She consulted her favourite medical text The Illustrated Home Doctor. 1935. This is a wonderful way to self-diagnose given that each condition has several alternatives, a "codex" version of hypertext for the hyperchondrical. Now it's looking like she might have Clergyman's Throat A dry cough and a tendency to hawking (See Larynx: Pharanyx) No doubt members of the clergy were heartened by the prescription: A visit to a spa possessing laxative waters is often beneficial. Boynton might try to locate such a spa within scootering distance of Melbourne.

Boynton was recently cornered into politely borrowing the infamous MMWV book from a friend. Tis that mad Martian metaphorical take on the gender divide that made a lot of money and adorned the bed-side tables of countless country B&B's. Boynton dutifully read it and then dreamed of going on a picnic where all planets could (or is that would) play kick-to-kick with the puffed-up paperback. Explaining her reservations to "Hetty" (owner of MMWV) tonight, an earlier incarnation of this gender-construct-instructional species leapt out the bookshelf of another friend, Nora. This book is Lady Be Loved by Lelord Kordel, 1953. It used to reside harmlessly enough amongst the cultural miscellanae section of Boynton's bookshelf, until Nora swiped it and took it home. Boynton's fears were realised when Nora's satirical chuckling gave way to an increasingly ashen-faced demeanour, and Boynton could see a residue of the book's essential silliness was somehow managing to cloud Nora's better judgment. Boynton was planning to do a daily decontstruction here (hard copy at last), but now Hetty has stolen it, and all Boynton can say is: Lady, watch your step ! However, Boynton has tonight found that Lelord already has a web presence - and came across this wonderful site that will keep her going for weeks!

Checking in with a fellow drinking companion, find she is also a croaky old tenor today. Or indeed husky. Maybe it's just kennel cough.

Boynton woke up with her voice an octave lower due to an excess of passive smoking or second hand smoke last night at the local. Smoke is one of those recycled things that doesn't aquire thrift cachet.

On Channel 9 news last night re the shootings at Monash, a dstressed student lamented that after this and Bali, nowhere seems safe. In these dark days guess we all just have to follow the vice-chancellor's lead "There's a general assumption that things were operating as normal".

Boynton just finished sesh playing with beloved ageing black labrador Douglas. His spontaneous puppy moments are rare these days. Boynton has to grab them while she can. Boynton would love to put in a snooty disclaimer of the type: as much as I'd like to, I can't talk about my dog. Afterall it wasn't his decision for me to have a blog Truth is Doug endorses all of Boynton's cannibalising of his soul for artistic ventures. On matters canine, this is a wonderful book Boynton bought a while back. It was a time when all the dog detractors out there were getting to her - and flicking through these pages quickly restored sanity. A book of affirmations.

Boynton succumbed and watched that 50's (or as one apparently says now mid century) cultural text Three coins in the fountain. According to this link "unrepentant romantics" are bound to feel dreamy... Boynton should check her status here. When she last saw this film she may have had to relate to the young naifs - now it's more the jaded older Miss Frances figure. And Boynton really only got dreamy when Frances was going to cut loose with the six double scotches and a plunge in the said fountain. Oh well. The closing refrain"make it mine, make it mine, make it mine" is a bit peculiar too. Sounds like a mid-century heavenly choir of bachelors and spinsters. One favourite quote. Anita reassures her man: "You gut your wish" - that's how it sounded anyway. Sometimes, like fishes, that's what happens to them.