PROPHETS OF DOOM?
Four-time Walkley Award winning political commentator and Churchill Fellow, has returned to the fray over concern that the integrity of news dissemination is continually being threatened by a partisan media.
You might think when a bunch of oncologists gives you a very depressing prognosis, your remaining life turns to shit. In fact my life has been better ever since that depressing prognosis, except for not being able to play golf.
My extraordinary wife has helped me recover 30 kilo in weight with her time-consuming, yummy cooking, and I see more of my family each weekend.
My little boy is unaware of any prognosis but my daughter, who I made the effort to witness receiving her achievement award in Grade 3 this week, knows everything without being told. Somehow she just knows.
She has undertaken to give me 20 kisses a day and to tell me she loves me 20 times a day and so far she hasn't missed one day. If I have nodded off she leaves a beautifully crafted letter complete with clever and colourful little drawings on my chest.
After school she cleans up my disgusting desk and puts all my paints and pencils in colour order. Wow, it doesn’t get much better than that!
Each year my wife asks me what I would like for my birthday, and each year I say, “two sheilas”. Well, you wouldn’t believe it, this year she finally agreed, with only one proviso, “They both must be as old or older than you!”, she said.
Hmmm, so now she leaves these pics on my keyboard each day with a note and somehow I have lost interest in one of my bucket list.
"What a disgusting man!"
"His place or ours?"
"Can I borrow your shaver Merle?"
"I think that's his number."
So I reckon I might just settle for underpants and socks.