For all his trillions and SpaceX toys under development, Elon cannot escape the gravitational pull of mortality or the feeling of dread that fills the soul when contemplating the cold mechanics of the universe.
After endlessly asking for the return of my firearms, and repeatedly meeting the brick wall of bureaucracy, I’m resorting to writing this open letter to NSW Police Minister Yasmin Catley.
The Third Man takes us from the top of Vienna’s ferris wheel to deep in its sewers. It has the finest final scene in cinema history – only one comes close.
I was raised by grandparents on a tiny farm where our daily fare was simple. Working-class tucker. Nanna was a crook cook, but to be fair, she had one pièce de résistance.
Having been in the news business since the age of 12, I fear the end of the newspaper. Who now gets their news, if that’s what you call it, from the traditional chip-wrapper type?
For some people the greatest dread of all is public speaking. Not even the prospect of death comes close. But there is hope.
I’m going to be a very busy boy. There’s AUKUS – all those nuclear-powered subs to negotiate. Not to mention US bases, Pine Gap and other means of sacrificing our sovereignty in the cause of better US relations.
Having failed to complete my secondary education – I walked out the gates of Eltham High at the age of 15 – I’ll confess I know very little about anything. Or everything.
I’ve owned every imaginable brand from a Goggomobil to a Rolls-Royce. Dozens, scores, enough to create my own traffic jam. Now, at 85, I’m down to one car that will see me out.
Our local cinema has been shuttered for decades. Our long-term bank closed its doors – and its ATM – ages ago. But there are signs of life.
Original URL: https://www.theaustralian.com.au/author/phillip-adams