A couple of years ago, after my uncle passed away I inherited Dad’s side of the family’s books. These were the pre-Bond, post-Biggles boys’ own that my father and my uncle (who was ten years older than Dad) received. There were books given to my late grandmother, dated 1908. Imagine – 1908! Dad’s second cousin’s communion
Ah, the days of doors that couldn’t be opened by an ever-curious toddler. If this week’s been any indication, those days are numbered, as Master G manages to work out how to stand on the very…. top….. of…….. his…… tippy toes…………..and oh, the pantry door opens, wowee. Chuckles ensue. And hello biscuit shelf, I’m Master G.
You learn much from life every day, but fewer lessons I’ve been taught have been as gratefully received. “Ish ok Dad.”
I wonder if it says more about me than many that I can better describe the key landmarks on the battlefields of Gettsyburg and Antietam than I can Gallipoli. It was with that realisation and the then soon-to-be-aired Gallipoli on Channel 9 that I read Prof Peter Stanley’s excellent book – Quinn’s Post, Anzac, Gallipoli. And
There is ‘noise’ – and there is sound – and the lesson I’ve learned is that they symbolise how life continues to change.
Where to start in reviewing this 520-page tome? WHAT a book. This book is not just a biography on Canadian media / technology owner and magnate, Ted Rogers, although that’s what I bought it for. It is much, much more than a biography, providing detailed insights into the personality and drive of Rogers, whose name
Funny thing, nerves. Sometimes they appear when you least need them – like when you’re about to get up and speak! Three years ago I stood at entrance to a school hall full of high school-aged boys and their parents and teachers at a school in Canberra, as guest speaker for their commencement assembly for
January 2012: Three years ago this week I visited the east coast of the US as part of my holiday so I could attend President Obama’s Inauguration. On the way from New York to DC I detoured via Antietam and then, on the Sunday before Inauguration on the Tuesday, to Gettysburg. I’ve often thought of
Taste. It’s one of those wonderful senses that can delightfully whisk you to a time and place, often of happy memories. Some of my most treasured memories are based on food and drink, the latter often to do with coffee. This afternoon, I rejoiced in seeing one of my favourite flavoured milks on sale, so
Dear my Canterbury trackie dacks I wanted to write to you and say goodbye and farewell. I know you’re just outside, not far away really, but we know, come Tuesday morning, you’ll have crossed into trackie dack immortality. I remember buying you that sunny day at Lake Taupo in New Zealand – it was 1999