Canberra’s not such a bad place. When I started at The Canberra Times in 1997 it was one of the better newspapers I’d worked on. In the next 15 years it turned into one of the worst: it was a big boy’s toy that little boys started to play with. Inevitably, they broke it. But I made a few good friends there.
Canberra has some great institutions: The War Memorial, the National Library, the National Gallery, Portrait Gallery, Old Parliament House. And yet comfortably the worst National Museum of any country anywhere. Te Papa puts it to shame.
When I came to Canberra, my rugby playing soon ground to a halt. I found no trace of the true spirit of the game here. I started collecting cats and typewriters, helped look out for two wonderful young sons, wrote columns and sports and music history and met some truly interesting women. There’s certainly been some fun times. Typewriter collecting opened up a beautiful new world I'd never dreamt existed, full of fantastic people, many of whom I've actually got to know in person.
I celebrated my 50th alone, my 60th in good company and hope, if I can survive just one more year, to spend my 70th with the most gorgeous grand-daughter imaginable. Seeing Ely Messenger grow up is something for which it’s definitely worth hanging about. But in the past eight years, I’ve lost a brother, a sister-in-law, two brothers-in-law and countless good friends, and have developed a deep sense of my own mortality. This is no country for old men like me.