’I have never, ever been censored in The Australian’
I remain free to write whatever I like. The question – perhaps you could call it a mystery – remains: Why do they keep me on? Perhaps it’s just that they haven’t noticed I’m still here.
I remain free to write whatever I like. The question – perhaps you could call it a mystery – remains: Why do they keep me on? Perhaps it’s just that they haven’t noticed I’m still here.
We slaughter Australian trees in their millions. In Tasmania, a horror story is unfolding.
I’ve long been interested in people’s last words – seeking inspiration for my own. Why was this town on England’s south coast the focus of King George V’s dying breath?
With all the woes and worries of the world, from wars to our attempts to voluntarily euthanise the planet, it’s little wonder we’re so depressed.
It’s official. ABC managing director David Anderson has unceremoniously dumped me on the footpath at 700 Harris Street, Ultimo, for council collection.
Laughter can neither save you from death nor delay it – but it can deny its total victory. You see that in the phenomenon of black humour, and even more in Jewish humour.
Once upon a time in Australian politics, friendships transcended parties. I remember when a conservative like Sir Robert Menzies could be on very cordial terms with a lefty like Jim Cairns – and grief-stricken by the death of Ben Chifley.
I’m driving slowly, as it’s raining. Passing a parked ambulance, I distinctly remember thinking, ‘You won’t get me.’ Then everything changes in an instant.
My friendship with Lady Joan Lindsay lasted for years, with Joan playfully giving me hints as to the mystery of the missing Miranda at the Rock.
At the Saturday Matinee session for children we were treated to the classic cinema of the day, and eventually introduced to my celluloid hero Johnny Weismuller as Tarzan.
Original URL: https://www.theaustralian.com.au/author/phillip-adams/page/3