Last week I was walking from Roma Street Station to the top end of George Street, the hub of State Government. I was meeting friends for lunch and on the way passed a few apparently homeless young men on park benches, one tucked inside a doorway, others hovering around intersections, nervously smoking. One young person was sitting on the footpath with a cardboard sign that read “homeless – please help”. I was too preoccupied on…
There’s a Waifs’ song with a plaintiff chorus that defines the homesick expatriate – “I’m in London still, I’m in, la la London still.” I’m a Waifs’ fan but never thought much of London. The capital city of England, despite its numerous parks and gardens, museums and galleries, ancient monuments and centuries of history etched into every building, was never among my peak travel destinations. Sure, I was broke, lonely and depressed on my first…
The smell of Scotch makes me want to puke. That’s an astonishing thing for a Scot to say. Let’s call it a physical memory; traces of a bender with no recollections to go with the nauseating smell. Our State of Origin friends gathered on Wednesday for food, wine, conviviality and (as it turned out), a fairly subdued evening as our team was soundly beaten. I’d forgotten to get some sparking mineral water or what we…
Dear readers, it’s time for those of you who don’t like rugby league or sport in general to get back to posting cat and dog photos on Facebook. Today we ask the unthinkable: why not scrap this faux State rivalry called State of Origin and let footie players get back to their own teams? Each year at this time, professional rugby league players face a massive conflict. If you’re good enough, fit enough and have…