I’m taking a week off to promote our album, The Last Waterhole, which is getting noticed after a national radio interview and a 4-star review in the Courier-Mail. Enjoy this piece by my trusty offsider, Laurel Wilson, who learned a thing or two about carpentry and plumbing at her Daddy’s knee. When Fred called the other day, Bob told me that when he picked up the phone he said “You’re lucky we answered. Laurel’s…
In the late 1990s, a Brisbane developer was briefing me on the future for the city’s yet-to-happen apartment boom. The empty nesters from Clayfield and Ashgrove (old suburbs, big houses and yards), would be the first to opt for the high rise apartment with views of the Story Bridge, he said. But not all of them would stay. Living in an apartment is not for everyone – there are the benefits of lifestyle, location, security,…
We were softly singing ‘Andy’s Gone with Cattle’ somewhere out near Sofala (western NSW), while picking out dead locusts from our radiator and various parts of the vehicle’s front grille. It was the Mike Jackson version of Henry Lawson’s classic poem we were humming, about a drover gone a-droving, with his missus and his dog pining for him. Mike told us he wrote his tune (one of many versions) in a minor key, as he…
So I’m at the IGA checkout buying three or four organic items, as you do. The young woman behind the till has a Trainee badge on her shirt. “Plastic bags?” “It’s OK, I brought my souvenir Fred Smith ‘Dust of Uruzgan’ cotton bag,” says I, with a subtle hint about a splendid house concert coming up on the 29th of March. “Community benefit number?” “Umm, it starts with a 2…” “Savings or credit?” “Credit,” I…