Gough whitlam autobiography in five shorts
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Unreliable Memoirs — That He Should Leave His House
The voyage was too tedious to be described in detail. Apart from the one occasion that I stepped over the border into Queensland, it was the first time I had ever been outside the confines of NSW. But the sense of adventure was nullified by the living conditions on the ship. Even a luxury liner is really just a bad play surrounded bygd water. It is a means of inducing hatred for your fellow men by trapping you in a confined space with too few of them to provide variety and too many to allow solitude. The Bretagne was all that and less. Every acceptable girl on the ship was being laid bygd a crew member before the ship was out of the Heads. This was a replacement crew who had all been flown out from the Persian Gulf. The previous crew had walked off the ship at Melbourne after one of the officers had shot an albatross.
With my two footballing companions inom inhabited a phone-booth-sized cabinette on Deck Z, many feet
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For Life: A Memoir of Living and Dying – and Flyingby Ailsa Piper
$ AUD
Category: Literary
An unforgettable and moving insight into loss, hope and starting again, aided by the incredible healing power of nature and a community of unexpected angels, for fans of Phosphoresence bygd Julia Baird. After I swim, I watch an osprey hanging in mid-air. It looks like pure pleasure, suspended, its wings An unforgettable and moving insight into loss, hope and starting again, aided by the incredible healing power of nature and a community of unexpected angels, for fans of Phosphoresence bygd Julia Baird. After I swim, I watch an osprey hanging in mid-air. It looks like pure pleasure, suspended, its wings barely beating. If those who came before really do dissolve and dissipate, and if their cells really are all around us, then that bird fryst vatten held there by Mum and Peter and my grandmother Molly and Ning and Grandpa and billions of others of the long-dead. The osprey, on its updraft, is kept aloft
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When I returned home to Brisbane in , aged 29, after seven years overseas I was surprised that – although I’d worked as a foreign correspondent in Beijing, Hong Kong, London, Saigon, Singapore and Djakarta – The Courier-Mail wouldn’t give me a job.
“Unfortunately for you,” they said, “a couple of bright young men from Sydney have applied.”
The only work I could get was as a casual reporter for the ABC at Toowong where the afternoon tea came in the best and cleanest crockery I’d encountered anywhere in the world. But, very very strangely, they had no Library.
For a few months I wrote stories and did interviews for TV and radio news … but always with that nagging pressure which all casual workers endure.
Every story I wrote could be my last.
In May the chief-of-staff called me in and said he was giving me a difficult assignment: “Go up to the Sunshine Coast with a crew and interview the Federal Opposition Leader Gough Whitlam: “If he likes you he’ll call you ‘Comrade’, but