The face of mass murderer Martin Bryant.

Titmus, father of Australian swimming gold medallist Ariarne, has his own moment to celebrate this month as he toasts 40 years in television.

It’s a rare achievement in an industry so volatile it can make an erupting volcano seem like a tummy rumble by comparison.

During his journey Titmus has opened the batting with Test great David Boon in club cricket, covered the birth of the Adelaide Crows, got to interview the late motor racing icon Ayton Senna and even, at a moment’s notice, his own daughter in a welcome home parade after the Tokyo Olympics.

Titmus still smiles at the memory of being slapped in the head with a book by author Jeffrey Archer, who took umbrage at the question, “Could you tell us what is in your novel?’’

“I think he thought I had not read it but I had,’’ Titmus said. “It’s just that I needed him to explain what was in it on camera!’’

But for sheer abject heartache nothing matched the earthquake of April 28, 1996 when 28-year-old Bryant killed 35 men, women and children at Port Arthur in Australia’s worst mass shooting.

Being a Tasmanian working in a local newsroom, the grief was magnified and it was all the more haunting for Titmus because Bryant had been a shadowy figure lurking on the periphery of his working life.

“Martin Bryant lived over the road from the television station where I was working in Hobart,’’ Titmus said.

“He used to walk through the car park of our station. We told him he was not allowed to walk through the car park but he kept doing it to get to a little takeaway store.

“We were very respectful that something was not quite right with Martin so we were very polite about how we dealt with him.

“We just knew this long-haired bloke was called Martin. Then when Port Arthur unfolded we found his full name was Martin Bryant. One of the cameramen said “I think the killer is Martin … the bloke from up the road.

“Obviously that’s stunning news but I was surprised rather than shocked.

“It was a horrific time. I was really good friends Peter Crosswell, the head of Camp Quality in Tasmania. He was in the Broad Arrow Cafe when it happened. He shielded a couple of ladies from Martin who told Peter it was his lucky day (Crosswell was shot while lying on the ground protecting the women but survived).’’

Titmus, who now works as a Channel 7 newsreader on the Gold Coast, started his career at The Examiner newspaper in Launceston before moving into television in an era of simplicity and self-reliance which seemed pure stone age compared to the modern world where a thumb click can become the steering wheel of a man’s life journey.

“I started work on a typewriter and I can still hear the clatter of it. Back in those days it was very hands on. There was no social media, no mobile phones so you had to call from your desk. You had to get people at home or at work on the phone or might have to knock on their door.

“The changes has made me really resilient and my passion for television is the same as when it first started. I still get the same buzz walking in to the studio I did when I was a 17-year-old.’’

We meet for lunch at the quaint Half Pint Kitchen in Bowen Hills just to test my theory that their $24 Porterhouse steak is one of Brisbane dining’s hidden delights.

We both order it and give it a rousing 9-10. Titmus reckons if Ariarne was with us she would be in her element for there is a family soft spot for an old fashioned steak in a house where the presence of an Olympian necessitates a shopping list so healthy it could be planted in the ground and watered.

“We buy very little processed food,’’ he said. “Arnie occasionally will say “I must have a steak – I need some iron’’ and we will have dinner together.’’

In 2015, Steve, without any promises of a job, moved with wife Robyn, Ariarne and Mia to Brisbane from Tasmania to allow Ariarne to fulfil her Olympic dream, a move which has reaped gold medal glory in Tokyo and Paris, the latter after she battled a secret health scare.

“She has an incredible mind. By the time she got to the Olympics Arnie knew she had done all the training. Once you get to the Olympics it becomes a massive mental game. Arnie’s ability to be able to turn it on every day when she really has to is extraordinary. The thing we are most proud about her is the person she is out of the pool.’’

Titmus says the commitment of an Olympian and their family had many hidden threads and their ethos makes sure Mia is not trapped in her sister’s shadow by ensuring their house is not a shrine to Ariarne’s pool glory.

“The great thing about Mia is that she is Arnie’s biggest fan. One thing we never did is have memorabilia in the home. Arnie’s medals are all kept in a bank vault. Her posters and stuff are in storage.

“You probably overcompensate. Mia has been great. Initially she said because of the cost she might not get to Paris but there was no way that was going to happen. We wanted her there and she had a great time.’’

“I know a lot of people see the glamorous side of the trips to Paris and the celebrations in pubs but they don’t see the early mornings or the changes of lifestyles in your family home. We might have people over and at 9.30pm Arnie will send a text from her bedroom saying “can we keep the noise down … I have to sleep?’

As we drift back in time Titmus recalls opening the batting with Boon, a cherished highlight, particularly as it came just before he had to make a call on whether to chase stories or runs.

“I chose journalism because I got paid $78 a week in my first job! I was a cadet at The Examiner and played at the Launceston Cricket Club. I got to open with Boonie … he got 100 that day and I got 17.

“He was a genius at hogging the strike and would either a three or a one off the last ball of the over. But it was a thrill to bat with him at the start of his international career.’’

Titmus shifted to Adelaide where he met his great mate, 60 Minutes reporter Peter Overton, godfather to Titmus’ daughter Mia and covered the dramatic birth of the Crows.

“We had to find Crows secret meetings and you’d find yourself looking over fences.

“One player had a waterfront home and we got in a dinghy and went out to see who was inside of his house.’’