“Do you think we might be dead?”, I said to a colleague in the lift at work today. She laughed in recognition.
Just five minutes earlier, there had been an influx of former colleagues in our workplace, and we both wondered if maybe some terrible tragedy had occured, and we had found ourselves in a different universe where everyone we had previously known had come back to visit.
There were two people who had left a couple of years ago, but who had returned in a casual capacity. There was the person who used to do my job who was back in Sydney for a series of meetings. There was another former colleague who I was about to have lunch with. The daughter of a former colleague who is doing some work for us. And on top of it all, another former colleague who had also left a couple of years ago called on the telephone.
Two dancers in seventies style clothing, part of a Seventies Festival at Susannah Place in The Rocks.
There were kisses and hugs everywhere, and for just a few minutes it felt like we were at some giant unexpected, un-planned reunion. It was a really lovely moment.
Aside from that, it was business as usual on my final day before I go and do another job (a bit of a promotion) for 6 weeks or so.
After five, the bloke who is going to be doing my job and I met for a “hand over” meeting over a jug of beer at a nearby pub. Now that’s my kind of handover meeting.
By the time I got home at about 6.30, I was pretty tried and so retired to the couch for a moment.
After a while I decided I’d give “Milk” another go. You might recall, I started to watch it last weekend, but fell asleep on the couch.
Well, guess what? I fell asleep again.
I can’t decide if I think the film is boring or not, or whether I’m just choosing to watch it at the wrong times. I’m gonna give it another go over the next few days when I’m not feeling as tired.
The weekend looks fun, with lunch at Bondi, then a house-warming, and then catching up with Kate on Sunday.
It’s Thursday night and I’m sitting on the balcony, surrounded by Christmas lights.
A few of us in my apartment block have dragged out our lights (one neighbour admitted she hadn’t actually taken them down) in an effort to brighten up our lives in the midst of the lockdown.
I’ve been working from home for over four weeks, and the balcony has become one of my favourite places in the apartment. My apartment is reasonably small, and so getting out of bed, having a shower and then heading into my “home office” is a reasonably short commute. Whenever I receive a phone call, I’ll head to the balcony, as it’s a lovely place to have a conversation. I’ve also done a few video conference calls from the balcony. Right now, it’s a lovely place, as the trees in the street are still covered in leaves. That won’t be the case in a few weeks time, as winter arrives.
At my end of the Crown Street, Surry Hills, things are very quiet, both during the day and at night. The supermarket (which is only a short walk away) remains open, along with a few restaurants doing take-away.
I love that the normally very busy Italian restaurant, Via Napoli has transformed itself into a supermarket.
At night, the only activity you see on Crown Street is from the cyclists delivering food. With their single bicycle lights on a darkened street, my mind has gone to European gothic film noir. “Bring out your dead, bring out your dead” has been the refrain going through my mind.
Things, of course, aren’t anywhere near as bad as that in Australia. Though most of the media attention has been on reactions in Europe and the United States, I remain more concerned about other parts of the world where the health system isn’t anywhere near as good. I worry about places in Southern Africa. In common with them, we’re in the Southern Hemisphere where the flu season generally arrives around six months later than in the Northern Hemisphere. Although I know the conventional wisdom seems to be that we’re passing the peak of the problem here in Australia, I wonder if things might actually get worse. As winter arrives, our immune systems weaken.
I have been getting out and about a bit, with a few “big walks”, providing welcome distractions from being at home all the time. I’ve also been catching up with friends via the phone and video conference, and am probably seeing and talking to them more often than I would otherwise.
Centennial Park was lovely. It was great to see people (safely) enjoying the park, getting some exercise, playing with frisbees and footies, and even some nearby tennis (singles, not doubles). And, as you can see, there was some lovely late afternoon light.I also went for a big walk on Good Friday, all the way to Circular Quay, and then came back via a combination of train and tram.
The line between work and life remains blurred. When you’re working at home, I know you’re supposed to clearly define the lines by arriving at desk, sitting down and doing you’re work and then turning off. But the reality, for me at least, is that work, I’ll meet people face to face, go to different offices and buildings, and go out for lunch. The idea of sitting at a desk from 9-5 doesn’t match the reality of my normal working life.
After four weeks of staying at home, I started to feel a little down and depressed earlier in the week. I went to bed for a day, and I’m feeling much better now. Hopefully not much longer like this, though I’m not too hopeful.
Twelve months ago in Sydney we were recovering from the dust storm. Twelve months later it remains a topic for conversation in Sydney. And it’s an event which has influenced two of the photographs in this year’s Sydney Life art exhibition in Hyde Park.
One is a reasonably straightforward representation of the storm taken on the north side just near the Sydney Harbour Bridge. The other is more interesting, and my favourite in this year’s exhibition.
Mikhail and the Dust Storm by Christopher Lawrie. It’s obviously been photoshopped in some way, as it features a young man with striking dark features (and a hint of redness in his eyes) against a background of the storm taken in the southern suburbs of Sydney.
Twelve months ago this weekend, Kate and I were on an art crawl, visiting a number of galleries, including the rather fantastic White Rabbit. Today I went on an art crawl of my own, taking part in a guided tour of Art and About.
Art and About has expanded quite significantly this year. This year in Hyde Park there’s a fair bit more than Sydney Life, with art and craft workshops and a rather spectacular idea which has involved dressing up various statues around the city in a variety of interesting and sometimes outrageous clothing and adornment.
Although much of the focus in the media and on blogs has been on Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and Captain Cook, I was rather taken with the William Bede Dalley statue in Hyde Park and the wild boar statue, Il Porcellino.
The Dalley statue was interesting because a) I’d never noticed the statue before and b) I loved the way they gave him sunglasses and a “green” theme. And I loved the wild boar statue simply because a) it’s a great statue anyway and b) the idea of putting wings on a pig is simple and effective.
As I wandered back through the city I jumped on a bus which I assumed would take me further back up George Street to Railway Square. Wrong. Before I knew it, I was half way over the Anzac Bridge. With a deep breath, I figured there was little to lose and it gave me an opportunity to wander – without plans – around Balmain. The one opportunistic discovery I thought I might made was visit/trespass on the White Bay re-development site which Carol mentioned. Although I was tempted and tried to trespass today, I couldn’t find a suitable entrance, and got scared at all the signs about not trespassing.
It was interesting to walk around some of the back streets of Balmain, though, especially since I only really know the main drag. I discovered, for example, a little laneway called Datchett Street which has wonderful houses, wonderful views, and is so tiny and intriguing, I couldn’t help but think I’d like to live there sometime.
Catching the ferry back to Darling Harbour, I attempted to purchase an ice-cream, but with lengthy queues – as bad as those at Sydney Ariport today – I ended up with a slurpee.
As I wandered back through the city I came across an unexpected parade which had closed off much of George Street.
If there was ever such a thing as the “Sydney Straight Mardi Gras” this was it. Lots of “golden oldies” rugby union players from Australia, NZ and the Pacific have gathered on George Street in a range of costumes. Lots of Aussie flags, kangaroo outfits, etc.
When I thought the day was just about over a mate invited me out for a drink and to listen to some old style disco tunes at The Midnight Shift.
Quite a diverse Sunday you might say. And a day with absolutely beautiful weather here.
As I walked along my street tonight I looked at the half a dozen or so houses with Christmas lights. Aside from the Santa with moving arms and head, there’s really nothing spectacular about the lights in my street. It’s not the kind of street where people are likely to drive up and down looking at the pretty lights. Although the apartment upstairs has some on their balcony, it’s the terrace houses (where I guess they have children) who have them. And no one seems to have gone to much effort
In the midst of a crazy couple of days, I needed a moment or two of bliss-out child-like non-concentration. I know I’ve mentioned this before here, how I like at least half an hour of absolute complete silence when I get home, but it came up again in conversation again today at work. A colleague who consumes a fair bit of media, and who, like me, spends his life talking and listening, told me he too demands complete silence when he arrives home.
Perhaps it’s an issue of work-life balance? Perhaps things will be different when I’m working from Lismore next week. But in preparing for that move to Lismore, I feel like I’m running out of time. My work life is extremely busy right now. And although I’ll be working from Lismore when I get there next week, there’s still a sense of a headline looming. I feel there’s so much I need to do before next week. And there’s the Christmas catch-ups.
I’m not complaining, I’m just thinking out loud I guess.
Today was a beautiful day dedicated to “story-telling,” starting with a session and a reminder about the essence of a good story: it has a clear beginning, middle, and end, following a linear story arc that people intuitively understand.
The session included a fascinating presentation that drew on some groundbreaking work in improv theatre, as referenced in some of Valerie Geller’s publications. The core of a compelling narrative was described as “this happened, and that happened next, and then that happened after, and the result was…” This workshop, led by Valerie Geller herself, was part of a series held at the Australian Film, Television and Radio School (AFTRS).
I first met Valerie when I was a young, up-and-coming broadcaster working in regional radio. At that time, she was brought into the ABC to help its presenters reconnect with their audiences and improve their on-air communication. I’m a fan.
Valerie Geller is an internationally recognized broadcast consultant and author, best known for her theories on effective radio and television communication. Her seminal work, Creating Powerful Radio (1993), has been a foundational text for broadcasters worldwide. This was followed by Beyond Powerful Radio: A Communicator’s Guide to the Internet Age (2006) and The Four Fundamentals of an On-Air Personality (2018). Her latest book, released a few months ago is called Beyond Powerful Radio: An Audio Communicator’s Guide to the Digital World – News, Talk, Information, & Personality for Podcasting & Broadcasting.
Valerie’s core philosophy revolves around the idea that broadcasters must be authentic, emotional, and truthful to build a strong connection with their audience. Her famous catchphrases, “Tell the truth, make it matter, and never be boring,” encapsulate this philosophy.
She argues that great content isn’t just about facts; it’s about telling a human story that resonates. Valerie emphasizes the importance of using the word “you” to make a story more personal and engaging for the listener, allowing them to imagine themselves in the situation.
This was especially relevant for me as I’ve always wanted to make sure my deeply personal stories about my amputation and disability were something people could relate to, not just a recount of my own experiences. In the last twelve months I’ve been asked to tell the story many times on radio and in person, and I was keen to make sure my story remained interesting,
As Valerie herself puts it, “There are no boring stories, only boring storytellers.”
A powerful tool that Valerie champions in her work is the “Story Spine,” a simple yet effective framework for building a compelling narrative. Originating in improv theatre, this method provides a clear structure that ensures every story has a logical flow. The Story Spine consists of a series of prompts that guide the storyteller, starting with “Once upon a time…” to establish the world and characters, then moving through “Every day…” to show the normal routine. The heart of the story is driven by a trigger event, “But one day…”, followed by the consequences, “Because of that…” and “Because of that…”. The narrative builds to a climax, “Until finally…”, and concludes with a resolution, “And ever since then…”.
Story Spine
By using this framework, broadcasters can quickly and effectively craft a story that is not only coherent but also deeply engaging for the audience. It provides a simple blueprint for turning a collection of facts into a captivating human narrative, proving her point that there are no boring stories, only boring storytellers.
Her workshop today reinforced these principles, stressing that telling a great story is like a muscle that needs to be exercised daily. It was wonderful to see James Valentine and several other colleagues from my ABC career attending the workshop.
Valerie’s influence has been so profound that a week rarely goes by without me applying one of her principles, whether it’s “Tell the truth, make it matter, and never be boring” or the simple power of using “you” in my narrative. The lessons from today weren’t just for my radio career as a presenter or manager; they were for the storytelling I’ve been doing since, whether I’m explaining something to colleagues, friends, or even a child on public transport who asks, “What happened?”
After the workshop, I attended a live presentation of the ABC radio program Conversations at the State Theatre in Sydney. This show is a cornerstone of ABC’s programming and has a rich history.
Having been involved with Conversations over the years, I’ve witnessed its evolution from a program that started as a local show hosted by Richard Fidler on ABC Radio Brisbane to a national phenomenon. The move to be heard in Sydney and across NSW marked a significant step in its growth.
Its format, which features long-form, in-depth interviews with a wide range of guests, has become a benchmark for thoughtful public broadcasting. The show’s success is largely due to its focus on profound, personal storytelling. The program’s history reflects a shift in ABC’s strategy, moving towards more intimate, narrative-driven content to connect with a national audience. The program is broadcast on ABC Local Radio stations across most of Australia, with ABC Radio National carrying it in Victoria.
Conversations at Sydney’s State Theatre
It was a day that continued the theme of great storytelling, and it was fascinating to see hosts Sarah Kanowski and Richard Fidler on stage, sharing their own stories and discussing what makes a narrative powerful and interesting to an audience. It was a wonderful way to spend a late afternoon, reflecting on the art of communication and the history of one of Australia’s most beloved radio programs.
As someone who usually has no trouble nodding off on planes, I was out before takeoff and only woke up about 30 minutes into the flight. The seating was comfortable enough, helped by the fact that there were only two of us in a row of three. One noticeable shift from the usual domestic run was the all-Thai crew; while the cabin was full of “anglo” Australians. There was no sense of expacts making their way back to Thailand.
Food & Drink
Unlike many international carriers heading into Asia where you choose between a couple of “meat and rice” options, this was a pay-as-you-go service, very similar to an Australian domestic flight.
The Menu: It featured the standard domestic choices with a few international extras.
My Choice: I opted for sandwiches and a glass of wine. The sandwiches were a bit chilled, but they were tasty and the portion size was decent.
Snacks: I also tucked into a protein bar later in the flight to tide me over.
Accessibility & Arrival
The absolute highlight of the journey was the seamless wheelchair assistance at both ends.
Melbourne: A fantastic crew met me at check-in and escorted me all the way to the aircraft door.
Bangkok: I was met at the plane and whisked through the airport. Being in the chair gave me priority access, meaning I cleared customs in about five minutes—bypassing some incredibly long queues.
Logistics: I still had to have my fingers and thumbs scanned, and I was glad I’d filled out my Thai arrival card a few days in advance.
According to friends I look a bit tired.
Final Verdict
The flight went quickly, passed mostly with a mix of movies and sleep. By the time we touched down at 7:30 pm, the transition from the tarmac to my driver—a friendly local who introduced himself as “Mate”—was effortless. For a budget-friendly international option, it certainly passed the test.
Baking bread, but mostly fooling around with the new Google Camera app which, amongst other features, lets you focus on the main subject, blurring the background. For a camera phone app, it’s pretty good, eh?’
