‘Burn the diaries’: Leigh Sales’ plea to bestie Lisa Millar

Besties Lisa Millar (left), 54, and Leigh Sales, 50, have hardly ever lived in the same city, but their 28-year friendship was cemented by their joint stint as ABC correspondents in Washington, where they were (almost) never late for anything.

Lisa Millar: “When my marriage ended, she rang me from a callbox in a piazza in Italy... I knew there was no limit to how long she would stand there, putting money into the phone.”Credit: James Brickwood

Leigh: The first time we met was at a ­dinner in 1995 when we were both reporters with the ABC. We’re both pathologically early, so we were the first two people to arrive at the restaurant and bonded about how we couldn’t be late if we tried. It was one of those serendipitous moments that are profoundly life-changing. What if one of us had been late? We might have passed like ships in the night.

I have absolutely no memory of our friendship “developing”: in my mind we met at the restaurant, then she was staying at my place in Sydney. Lisa is incredibly warm and gregarious and funny, and she has that absolute ring of decency about her. She’s completely sincere and reliable. If you looked up “safe pair of hands” in the dictionary, you’d see a photo of Lisa Millar.

In 2001, we were both desperate to get the ABC Washington posting. Lisa got it. I was heartbroken, but then 9/11 happened, and they announced a second job, for radio. Because my pride was wounded, I wasn’t sure about applying, but Lisa rang me and said, “Mate, you have got to go for it. There’s no bigger adventure we could have together. Get over yourself.” And oh my god, her being there was just so superb; some of the best years of my life.

At the moment, she’s working incredibly hard. I worry about her, actually: getting up at 3am, five days a week, working at such a pace. Selfishly, I know if something happened to her, my life would just be permanently and irreparably less. But she’s not the kind of person who can sit still. If I’m visiting on the weekend, I just want to sit and read books and chill out, and she wants to do the park run and go to the markets and chat to every person she sees.

‘On the one to 100 extrovert scale, she’s 110.’

Leigh Sales

On the one to 100 extrovert scale, she’s 110. On one trip to Sydney, she had this tiny, hour-long window to pop around to my place, but she didn’t arrive. And she’s never late, right? Then she rings and goes, “I had your address wrong, and I went to your old house, and I met Dorothy, the new owner, and we’ve been having a cup of tea.”

That optimism and love of people might stem from her parents, whom she just adored: the glass is always half full. One Christmas, I had to go to the Woodford Folk Festival near Brisbane, which is my idea of hell. I was bitching to Lisa about it – “and I have to take the boys” [Sales’ sons] – and she said, “Salesy, I’ll come with you. I love the Woodford Folk Festival.” Because of course she does: old Pollyanna loves the Woodford Folk Festival! But because she was there, it became really fun. And I just can’t think of anyone else who would volunteer to look after two small boys in 37-degree heat while listening to folk music.

I just wish for her to have many, many years of health and happiness, so we can be the most boring old biddies in the nursing home, annoying the living crap out of people banging on about our glory days. She’ll still be talking to every single person she meets and roping me into yet another adventure, and I’ll still be gritting my teeth and going along with it, then finding it makes a hilarious story afterwards. I just feel so lucky to have a friend like that.

Lisa: We’re always competing about who’s the best at being early. But there was one time in Washington when we had to get to a press conference at the Pentagon, and I was saying, “We should get the taxi now,” and she was like, “No, no, we’ve got time,” and we went to the wrong entrance and there was security everywhere and it was just hellish and we were late. And even now, if I say, “I’m going to get the taxi at 5.20,” and she says, “Really?”, I can just say, “Pentagon”. That’s all I need to say.

I’m so eternally grateful she took the job in Washington. But she almost left the first year because she was so homesick. I think it was the lack of stability, predictability. I loved being overseas and waking up in the morning and not knowing where I’d be sleeping that night; Leigh did not. She loves digging really deeply and thoroughly into things. Which is why, although both of us covered Guantánamo Bay and David Hicks, only one of us wrote a book about it. She approaches things with this professionalism and integrity and intense desire to do right.

‘She’s told me that if anything happens to her, I have to get into her house and burn the diaries.’

Lisa Millar

She still has that perfectionism. After she finished [at ABC TV’s] 7.30, she started learning the cello. We went away to the Gold Coast for a weekend, and she brought the cello. The first morning, I walked out of my bedroom and said, “Are you for real? It’s 7am, are you ­really gonna play that cello?” And she said, “I can’t go a day without practising.” I thought, “Yeah, that’s Leigh.” Lots of us have thought about playing the cello; Leigh actually does it.

Or this book about journalism [Storytellers] she’s just done. The book might be the first time she’s interviewed me, actually. I’ve interviewed her in the past, and she’ll ­always say, “What’s your opening question?” And I’ll say, “I’m not gonna tell you.” And she’ll say, “OK, well this is what I think you should ask.” And I say, “It’s my program!”

The thing about Leigh is that what you see on 7.30, or wherever, is absolutely authentic – but there’s so much more. She loves time by herself, she can be reserved, but she also loves singing songs ’til midnight. She’s just so, so much fun. And she works so hard to make people feel loved and supported. She’s the first person to get everyone to sign a card for ­someone who’s having a tough time; to make up a food basket and take it round.

When my marriage ended, she rang me from a callbox in a piazza in Italy. I was basically just sobbing on the couch, but I knew there was no limit to how long she would stand there, putting money into the phone, if it meant she could be there for me. She has given me a never-ending supply of ­support and love.

She’s a diary-keeper. And I’m not. So, she’s told me that if anything happens to her, I have to get into her house and burn the diaries. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to release them as a five-part series. It’ll be gold.

To read more from Good Weekend magazine, visit our page at The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age and Brisbane Times