It’s been a while, Friends! We have been away for sixty days; Spring is well sprung in Mistley!

Brother David died two years ago on the day we were to depart for Auckland to visit Other Brother Michael, wife Janine and nieces Caity and Laurien – all grown up, soon to be married.

David’s death meant an obvious and sad postponement.

Only one other person knows me as well as Brother Michael and that is Helena whose sandpit I shared in Cape Town 70 years ago. She lives in New Zealand, in Masterton.

And Stuart, too, lives in New Zealand. We were eight years old when we met, unwilling habitués of a prep school, Cordwalles, in Pietermaritzburg a long, long time ago. He a sad little chappie all the way from Zambia, missing his Mum and Dad, flown all the way to Durban with a label round his neck. Mine lived only 36 miles down the road but I missed them just as much. We were fellow mourners.

Only Friend Richard, well known to you all, Dear Friends, as the “CEO of Tarry Tours” with whom Tony and I have adventured many times in past years, is as old a friend – and his brother Jeremy.

Tarry Tours at Chichen Itza, Mexico 2017

The cast list continues: actor and yoga mistress Lynn Webster and husband Rod Oram** both dating from early London, LAMDA days and The Financial Times 40 years ago, now in Auckland.

And not to forget Eileen Thorns that was – Lavranos that is, once from Durban – mark that, Friend Diane Wilson – and formerly at the CAPAB theatre company where I started all those many years ago. She directed lunchtime theatre, school tours and library programmes and flogged our outreach talents across the whole of the Cape – thousands of miles of countless libraries and schools across a province the size of France. 

A Diaspora of oldest friends and family, what a rich privilege it has been; New Zealand basking in late summer sunshine, perfect weather for a drive around North Island for three whole weeks starting up north with Paihia on The Bay of Islands next the Waitangi Treaty Grounds on the 6th February, a very sacred day, a busy Public Holiday for Maoris.

Ceremonial Waka at Haruru Falls

Exploring all the way north along the impressive 55 mile “90 Mile Beach”!  to Cape Reinga.

Bay of Islands – 55 mile “90 mile Beach!” – Cape Reinga – Hole-in-the-Rock

Then down to Whakatane along route 2 through passes and mountain scenery along roads still showing signs of the terrible floods a year ago, to Gisborne now mended. It was completely cut off from the rest of the country for at least a week.  Napier next where in 1931 the country’s worst natural disaster, the Hawke’s Bay earthquake, devastated the region killing 256. The city was prettily rebuilt in the low-rise deco style and every year the town holds its Art Deco Festival celebrating its rebirth.

We picked up a car there driving down to Masterton leaving Michael and Janine to their own devices for a few days agreeing to meet at the unpronounceable town of Taumarunui  on the edge of the Pureora Forest Park.

Masterton: Helena is two years older than me. Her family where our neighbours in Pinelands, Cape Town. Her Dad was from Warsaw. Her Mum was Italian, from Turin. How they landed up across the fence from us is a tale on its own. How my own Mum and Dad landed up there is an equally fascinating story but it made them unlikely neighbours these Anglo-Scottish-Polish-Italians and that story will have to be told another time. Needless to say I was plonked into Helena’s sandpit along with Janek her brother. Apparently my Polish was better than his though I now remember nothing.

Years later, at UCT for a BA and a dramatic launchpad, I introduced Stuart to Helena, they partnered each other at a Rag Ball, fell in love and married; I was his best man. He was at the Medical School, became a Doctor; Andrina was their first and only born, herself my friend and sometime habitué of earlier blogs, living in London, teaching primary school kids.

Sadly a marriage that burned for thirty years but became a dying star.  

Ce la vie. 

Also in Masterton is EllaCapella, a special love from long ago at a time of confusion, or Elspeth, and husband Mike who showed us such lovely hospitality. Thank you sweet people. Helena took us to pretty places, particularly Greytown best known for its collection of beautifully restored Victorian buildings and boutique shops, one of the most complete collections in New Zealand.

It does to Victoriana what Napier does to Deco. The fascinating Cobblestones Museum showing an example of the early settler village shed light on how colonists managed to survive so far from home and in such a different climate. Here I succeeded in losing both my driver’s licence and Forex Card! “Age thou art shamed…..!”

Then via Palmerston North for a reunion with Friends Dominic and Elin, to the tiny hamlet of Rewa along Route 54 where Stuart and Carole live in their beautiful Heritage farmhouse in the middle of a perfect landscape.  That New Zealand can be described as bucolic is an understatement!

We met with Brother Michael and Janine in Taumarunui, that unpronounceable town on the little north-south railway line between Auckland and Wellington. They’d found the most fabulous place to stay: Omaka Lodge.

Here in this beautiful location we were the guests of hosts Scott & Chris, gardeners and chefs of note; a boutique experience. This picture does not do justice to the garden which reminded us very much of Christopher Lloyd’s Great Dixter, not the house but in its landscape layout and style.

Down the hill and round the corner is the Forgotten World Highway a spectacular journey through some of the country’s most beautiful and remote locations with its backcountry ghost towns, pristine native bush, rugged hills and deep hidden valleys, along the now-abandoned Stratford to Okahukara railway line; a 142km construction through 24 tunnels, 90 plus bridges – all hand-built.

This little clip gives you a taste. At each stop for teas, pees and lunches we were told intriguing stories of people from a bygone age, of local histories, some funny, some tragic but all dramatic. Our journey started at the Whangamōmona Hotel, headquarters of the self-proclaimed and quirky Republic of Whangamōmona!

Three weeks flew by and it was time for a last few days in Auckland and our flight to Sydney. Thanks lovely Friends & Family!



I have to intrude here and sadly tell you that after I’d written this section and soon after our lovely meeting, we were horrified by the tragic news that our friend Rod Oram, husband to Lynn and father to Celeste had a fatal accident on his bicycle In Auckland. Some of you may remember him when he was with The Financial Times. A vital force and wonderful man. It seems inconceivable. Our hearts go out.


Australia couldn’t be more different. We have been to Sydney before but not to Melbourne or Adelaide – now on the radar. Once again Friends and Family in different places: Allan Momberg in Sydney was our cultural signpost and culinary advisor. We visited Art Galleries, walked our socks off round the city, the botanic gardens, the older bits and the modern pieces.

We revisited the Opera House this time to see Opera Australia’s La Traviata – it was dark last time – impressed by the ambience, the Orchestra, the Dancers and Sophie Salvesani playing Violetta and Luke Gabbedy as a powerful Giorgio but underwhelmed by Tomas Dalton’s Alfredo which though sung well, especially in Act III, lacked passion and an electricity between the lovers.

We found the design somewhat clunky too. But what a stupendous building!

We chased Pat Tucker around too but had no luck! She was a step ahead of us in South Africa! As Pat Schwartz she wrote a wonderful, illustrated book about The Market Theatre, Johannesburg, copies of which we stumbled across on our travels!

Back to Sydney! We were so struck by several art galleries in all the cities. Whoever curates these in Australia do so with incredible sensitivity and imagination.

Bearing in mind the difference in collection sizes across the world, their talent to make a little go a long way is actually more satisfying in many ways that the ocean of visual plenitude that Europe and America provide. There is a greater use of thematic display of cross-disciplinary artefacts. Somehow this makes periods in cultural history seem more accessible and we found this technique being deployed in all the galleries we visited. The added dimension of “First Nation” cultural contribution in these times of more concern over the European penetration of culture in the imperial/colonial past also adds richness. Aboriginal and Maori histories are often prevalent in New Zealand and Australia.

In Sydney there was an exhibition of Louise Bourgeois’ work in the astonishing postmodern, glass and steel Art Gallery of New South Wales Extension itself built over an old World War 2 oil bunker buried in the hill (Domain) beneath and part of the exhibition space – The Tank. This was drained and cleaned up. It reminded us of the huge Basilica Cisterna built by Emperor Justinian in the 6th Century.

Personally, apart from her sculptures, I find her works rather impenetrable and was more impressed by the building that houses them than the exhibition itself!

We were struck by The White Rabbit Gallery too. Startling to say the least – The White Rabbit Gallery was opened to showcase Judith Neilson’s White Rabbit Collection, which has become one of the world’s most significant collections of Chinese contemporary art.

This is the new extension on Domain. Impressive to say the least though controversial. I need you to note, dear Friends, the Westfield Skytower on the left, location of a recent terrorist outrage. We went up it in an attempt to conquer Tony’s vertigo. 268 metres above sea-level, the highest open platform in the southern hemisphere! Great views! He was very brave!

We took the train to Melbourne proud of its new status as the largest city in Australia having overtaken Sydney – but in area alone, not population. The train took ten hours. Very comfortable; great views though the landscape was fairly gentle – and very brown and dry. Eucalyptus everywhere of course with its gentle green colour. In my whole life I’d never seen either a kangaroo or a koala bear, except in zoos; and after this trip can boast that I still haven’t really! A glimpse of one maybe in the Cleland National Park outside Adelaide but I don’t think that counts. I was expecting them to be jumping around the countryside in their droves and nibbling away in the eucalyptus tree – but not a sausage! Well we shall just have to go back again one day soon and say “third time lucky”!

Melbourne feels totally different to Sydney. As a South African I’d say Melbourne is to Sydney what Cape Town is to Johannesburg (though Johannesburg, frankly, is a dump compared to the glories of Sydney. More of that later!).

It’s a laid back city. We wandered around it and along its riverbanks, galleries, and gardens; there was lots of good food.

And company. We met more friends, notably (Dr) Matthew Pitman and friend Maxime from Paris. This was by way of a preview because we later spent a week in Adelaide with his parental units, Julia and Guy! Matthew beguiled us with his charm and zealous commitment to research into HIV and the incredible vagaries of academic research. I must say the more I hear of academia the happier I am that I was an Actor. My profession sounds positively gentle compared to the cut and thrust of academic research, publishing and achievement.

We went swimming from the beach at St. Kilda and found Jake Schulmeyer whom absolutely none of you, well, apart from two, know; I mention it because it was one of those beautifully serendipitous moments, touching and sweet.

Jake is Friend Stacy Schulmeyer (née Jenkinson)’s son. Stacy was a recording engineer at the RNIB studios for years and years, where I recorded hundreds of books. We have remained friends. I remember her marriage to Frankie; Tony and I attended their wedding reception in Drury Lane; we remember Jacob’s birth and Tilo too! Suddenly in the midst of Australia it transpires that Jake is now an undergraduate artist, exploring the world, a twenty-something gentleperson on a mission and, like millions of young, paying his way with odd jobs, a barista in this instance, though homesick for Europe in general and Munich in particular. So……we went to find him and it was sweet. Thanks for the coffee, Jake!

So far so good. Australia is going down extremely well. We saw no live shows in Melbourne but did see Dune Part 2 in a vast cinema somewhere. Very impressive, very visual; huge picture, very violent; very, very impenetrable – we still didn’t know, really, what was going on! We are told we should read the books again. Well…….we know Paul Atreides is on a mission to revenge the murder of his family but we both felt that talented and handsome as he may be, Timothée Chalamet did not convince as a messianic figure. He is too pretty, too slight and lacks the gravitas of a Harris, Shaw, O’Toole or even a Connery or a Caine.

The Overlander

Another ten hour train journey across Victoria and South Australia to Adelaide; more delights in store. Here are Friends Guy & Julia Pitman, Laura Tomlinson and the Adelaide Festival: theatre, music, dance and Writers’ Week, putting up at the amazing Oval Hotel immediate across the river from the Festival grounds. Apart from the usual visits to galleries, drives in the countryside (notably through the Cleland National Park to Hahndorf) and a sunny day away in Carrickalinga where Friends J & G have a chalet de plage, our time in Adelaide was dominated by several visits to Writers’ Week part of the Adelaide Festival an annual event rather along the lines of the Edinburgh Festival that takes place each March.

It was extremely hot and most of the writers’ events took place under the trees on the old Torrens Parade Ground where

we were transfixed by some rather excellent conversations between the likes of Kathy Lette (The Revenge Club), Suzie Miller (Prima Facie), Anne Enright (The Wren, The Wren), Édouard Louis (Change) in conversation with Ruth Mackenzie.

The Arab-Israeli conflict and Gaza were well represented and there were interesting talks and debates involving Avi Shlaim (Three Worlds : Memoirs of an Arab Jew), Tareq Baconi (The History of Hamas) Ilan Pappé (The Israel/Palestine Question) and of course our own Mary Beard & Polly Toynbee were there, also Yanis Varoufakis, Richard Denniss, Joëlle Gergis and Thomas Keneally – by now a ‘national treasure’ – all Straight Talking!

And don’t forget Richard Ford!

A Grande Dames of Letters at the town hall included Mary Beard, Anne Michaels, Jane Smiley and Elizabeth Strout. An interesting evening. The entire writers week well represented women who dominated throughout. Yay! For a change!

And don’t forget JM Coetzee!

My name drop, you see :  Dorothy Driver, married to JM Coetzee, is an old friend of Tony’s from Rhodes days. They have lived in Adelaide for some years and we were invited to dinner at their home one evening, enjoying their company. John was also part of the Writers’ Week nomenclature but he was ‘on’ after we had departed to South Africa so we couldn’t see him perform.

Back to the Festival:

There were operas and plays: The Berliner Ensemble were at Her Majesty’s Theatre in a quite impossibly awful production of The Threepenny Opera directed by the self proclaimed “Gay, Jewish, Kangeroo” Barrie Kosky. Usually so brilliant, we hugely enjoyed his production of Die Meistersinger in Bayreuth in 2019 and his Carmen at Covent Garden was a great hit, but this was dire.

All five of us sat gob-smacked and were the more so the following day when much of the press both international and Australian seemed to think it was brilliant. How could we be so wrong; though it was clear that many in the audience were with us in their confusion and disappointment.

Let me hastily move on to an altogether different and lovelier event at The Adelaide Festival Centre where Igor Stravinsky’s The Nightingale & Other Fables directed by Robert Lepage wowed us “with a fairy tale unfurling through acrobatic shadow play, Taiwanese hand puppets, Vietnamese water puppetry – exquisite music, all telling captivating stories” : the programme notes were not wrong, it was beautiful.

Also at The Festival Theatre, at The Space, was that “pioneer of performance art”, Marina Abramović Institute’s Takeover: conceptual art way beyond my pay grade or understanding for me to offer either an explanation or a criticism!

Marina Abramović Institute’s Takeover:

There would not be a proper visit to Australia without a vineyard; so we headed for McLaren Vale where the Osborn family have been tending the vines for wines at the d’Arenberg Estate since 1912. There we attended tastings held inside the astonishing d’Arenberg Cube (see the pictures!) enjoying fine wines with names like Hunjee Heartstring (a Montepulciano), The Dead Arm (I kid you not – a Shiraz of note), a Riesling called The Dry Dam and an unlikely, low alcoholic Sauvignon Blanc, The Low Life.

A Grenache, The Custodian hit the palate well too.

On one of the floors at The Cube was a sale of “Limited Edition”, posthumous casts by Salvador Dali. One was a snip at AU$1,500,000! So, after you have tasted and purchased your wine you simply slip downstairs with your credit card and pop a posthumous Dali into your trolley. Easypeasy!

While we were in OZ the AU$ was about two to the pound.

At The d’Arenberg Cube

But time to move on. We loved Australia; much of its landscape and the way of life, the weather and general rhythm speak to our ‘SouthAfrican-ness”, I guess. It is a far more relaxed society than Britain. Blimey – we are so uptight and wound up here with our extraordinary preoccupations with class and privilege. I’m sure no-one here will deny that Britain is not a comfortable place at present. Our ruling classes are getting it all horribly wrong and muddled up. Nothing works without some sort of problem!

This is not to say that Australia does not have its problems too. Like New Zealand there are burning race issues that percolate their societies but it seems to me that next to other parts of the world these are as tiny drops in the ocean of trouble and strife.

Yes – Australia is like South Africa but without the massive guilt we carry as Europeans for the appalling impact our arrival in Africa caused.

On the way to Carrickalinga

And then we arrived in Johannesburg. Oh my God! The long, exhausting flight didn’t help our shock at the state of the city. It was never beautiful but at least it functioned. Now it doesn’t any more. There is no water because the systems have been burglarised. You turn the taps on and nothing comes out; there is no electricity because of the uselessly corrupt power distribution company Eskom’s on-going inefficiencies and the perpetual, greed of the Kleptocratic State, the ruling nomenclature having by now, thirty years down the line, accrued quite literally trillions of Rands at the expense of the very people whom they are meant to protect and represent.

The roads are ghastly; the traffic is dirty and messy; there is rubbish and graffiti everywhere; the railways have collapsed because the overhead copper wiring has been stolen – miles and miles of it; and the rails too.

Some 3,000 kms of rails have been ripped out, melted down and sent to China (probably); there is murder and tragedy lurking. We know because we have been first hand witnesses. There has never been an incident-free visit to South Africa!

Towards the end of our time there Tony and I drove up from Durban to Hilton along the old R103 route, once the road linking Durban with Johannesburg and roughly paralleling the original single track railway line as they both meander up from Durban through the kloofs –  Wyebank, Hillcrest and Botha’s Hill overlooking the extraordinary beauty of the Valley of a Thousand Hills, through Drummond and Inchanga. When we travel this route I always think of the opening paragraph of Cry, The Beloved Country which still makes me weep:

There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it. The road climbs seven miles into them, to Carisbrooke; and from there, if there is no mist, you look down on one of the fairest valleys of Africa.

It is at moments like these that I know I will never rid myself of the beautiful and tragic effects of this land, once my home.

On this day we climbed up through the hills along the old road which was in surprisingly good nick. Until Camperdown and Cato Ridge that is. Here the new main road, the vast, multi-lane motorway to Johannesburg is undergoing major changes and the green signboards along the R103, never good anyway, simply vanished and, along a route I must have driven hundreds of times, we got lost fetching up in a terrifying township, Mpumalanga (the name means ‘sunrise’ in Zulu), once Hammarsdale, invisible on the map, a throwback to the Apartheid years when such ‘people dumps’, part of the vicious Group Areas Act that ensured perpetual poverty and exploitation of Blacks, were established. Now grown into a huge, ghastly menace on the land. The roads almost impassable; poverty a malevolent presence where deep hatreds brood, where there is no work, no hope and too much Tik.

A sort of terror grips you when you start to realise you are hopelessly lost, you are the only Whites and you pray you will not be stopped. We have been there before. Last time. In Mthatha.

We were not stopped but two days earlier we later found out that another man, confused by the appalling road signage, had also fetched up in Mpumalanga, lost, and tried to get his SatNav up on his phone. His car was attacked, he was beaten and his phone taken.

Then they cut off his hands.

But this was all later. Back in grubby Jo’burg we are fortunate to have lots of lovely and close friends and you fall into their generous embrace with relief though the realities are never far off. We stayed with Anthony Akerman and Andre Hattingh in gracious Greenside where every infrastructural shortcoming has been trumped by installations – JoJo Tanks, Solar panels, generators, gas-fired demand heating, lots and lots and lots of keys, of security, of entry codes and security procedures.

Anthony’s new memoir Lucky Bastard was published while we were with him – a very moving account of what it means to be adopted and Ivan Vladislavic’s new book, The Near North, is about living – and walking – in Johannesburg, was released in the same week and here we are below at the Johannesburg Country Club with Minky Schlesinger, his partner. Minky had not a little to do with the founding of The Market Theatre as Pat Schwartz’ book, mentioned earlier, attests. And who should we find among the pictures in Pat’s book but none other than Edward Russell-Walling! On the right and back in the 70’s!

Anthony arranged a lunch and, Friends, we saw some of you and loved it. Can I name you? Kathie Satchwell (Constitutional eminence grise), Jan Kennedy – an intrepid traveller and only person we know to have been airlifted out of Libya by the Italian Airforce – Peter Terry of course and Phil Godawa. All with stories which I wish I could tell but can’t.

And Kate – can we call you Searle again? – at Kolonaki for lunch, with her new man, Etienne. So happy for you. Has your golf improved?

And Cousin Avril with Peter de Montille at Nice on 4th – so great to see you cuzz. Avril is a cousin on my Mother’s Scots-Rhodesian side of the family. There is never enough time, is there!

Alison Lowry dear friend and ace-editor – so elusive but will we ever forget the frogs in Goa?

We’d not been in Jo’Burg since before Covid so this was a real catch-up with many missed friends and family.

Clan Heaney, Linden 2024!

An amazing evening with Clan Heaney in Linden. An explosion of energy across such a big, loving family with you, darling Julia, calmly sitting at the centre of it all in this your 70th year. What a lovely evening. The Ubers come and go…..”talking of Michelangelo” Ha!

Actually thank goodness for the Ubers. There is no public transport to speak of anywhere in South Africa, well, none that I’d feel confident to travel on without being murdered. So, yes, the Ubers certainly did come and go.

Off to KwaZulu-Natal, flying to Pietermaritzburg in a little Embraer that barely fitted us and our luggage : I must tell you that when we boarded at Oliver Tambo, the biggest woman, very jolly, with the hugest embonpoint, draped in swathes of colourful silk tulle was cantilevered up the tiny fold down stairs and took her place across two whole seats in the front row, the seating in an Embraer being 1, 2 across, whereupon a special, long seatbelt was installed to enwrap her vastness. It was whispered that she had indeed paid for two seats. Amazing.

We picked up the first of our rentals at Oribi Airport (Pietermaritzburg) – yes, there is yet another drama involving rentals in SA, there is always one every time we visit – and drove down to Kloof to be with Sister Sally, Bro-in-law Alan and Nephew Jamie for a day or two before an early start to drive up to Phinda in northern Zululand, picking up Friends Penny & Nick at Shaka International, they having just jetted in from England, to join us there, putting up at the matchless Phinda Mountain Lodge.

The whole point of the Phinda experience is the drives. Early morning and evening, two a day, we completed six of them with our brilliant Ranger, Declan and incredible Tracker, Menzi. 

Between them we saw everything despite the recent rains and the consequent long grass. Leopard were elusive but on our last evening we did have an encounter.

Funny though because the last time we were there we had a leopard to ourselves literally all day. She was completely unperturbed by our presence and seemed not to care whether we followed her about. My favourite, and we saw lots of them, are Cheetah.

Cheetah – Beautiful creatures : my favourite.

During the day at these lodges you loll about by the pool reading books and generally eating far too much; a gentle, restorative experience tucked away in the deepest bush. Though nature is red in tooth and claw, there seems to be a coexistent peace, trembling on the edge of the next natural drama.

And there can be dramas, often! Look at this clip taken at Pilansberg where a few days earlier Friend Helen Bourne had been visiting these very elephants!

Sometimes Nature can be scary but, hey, they’re wild animals not Beatrix Potter creatures!
And there are surprises too. Just don’t go fishing around where you shouldn’t!

We dropped Penny & Nick off with their friends in Glenwood, Durban, once a genteel rather plush, old part of the city just below the University campus, now a terrifying jungle of appalling roads, rubbish, threat, razor wire and electric fencing. No-one leaves their cars parked outside – they’d vanish in minutes! So we didn’t stop too long there and anyway the rental had developed two slow punctures and we had to change cars at the Avis depot in Pinetown before driving up to Hilton, kuiering  with Friends Lorenza & Mike Cowling,  hooking up with Bobby & Kippie Keal plus Clan and with Sarah ‘Chinese Bangles’ Carlisle.

Sarah’s family have a house in Underberg, in a large garden with spectacular views towards the whole Drakensberg range along Garden Castle, Rhino’s Horn, northwards towards Giant’s Castle and Njesuthi. There was much walking, talking and conviviality – the endorphin-junkies among us putting the sloths to shame. Sorry Friends!

Such a wonderful family of friends; what a special time it was.

With Nigel Bell now 87, my English teacher, director of Henry IV Pt. 1 (Falstaff), The Merchant of Venice (Shylock) and The Gondoliers Don Alambra del Bolero – “The persuasive influence of the torture chamber will help to jog her memory!” Michaelhouse circa 1967 through 1969. I suppose in many ways, where it all began. We are very close friends.

He lives in Glenwood, Durban; that terrifying part of town!

No Cape Town this time – it’s impossible to go everywhere and see everyone though I wish we could.

That is one of the problems of having a Diaspora of Family and Friends.

Thank you one and all.

Napier, Hawkes Bay. February 2024.


  1. Sitting here in a plekkie on marina da gama reading this excellent piece of reporting I urge Pedro to stop off in Cape Town next time. The brass bell continues to serve the best kingklip on earth. Everyone in sa is now on tenterhooks waiting for the outcome of the election on 29 May. A coalition government is on the cards. Most unsettling.

  2. Another great piece, I hope you’re planning to collect them in a book some day. I’m so sorry I missed you, first in Sydney, then in grubby Joburg (which, in the year I have been away has deteriorated beyond even my direst fears). Thank you for the unsolicited testimonial about my book, it was very weird to see it pop up on my screen.
    On another subject the nitpicker in me feels it must correct one little error — the Westfield building in your pic isn’t the one where the horrific stabbings took place, that was Westfield Bondi Junction, where I and members of my family do much of our shopping and my grandson does shifts at the McDonald’s. Happily none of us was there on that dreadful day.

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