“Whatever else I’d got myself into, I still had a living to make. In twenty minutes the Health and Social Services Policy Committee would be looking at my empty chair and making tut-tutting noises. ‘Permanent House?’ said the chirpy sub-continental behind the wheel. ‘Near airport.’ ‘No such luck,’ I said. ‘Parliament House. Big joint, top end of Bourke Street. More columns than the Weekend Australian.’ We cruised towards the CBD, stopping to have a cup of tea and a chat with every red light on t...he way. I pulled out my phone and called Inky. ‘Another record-breaking performance on Saturday,’ I said, mouth full of chocolate biscuit. ‘Leppitsch played well.’ ‘If you don’t count getting reported for striking.’ As we reached the Shrine of Remembrance, it started to drizzle. ‘I’ve spoken with Barry Quinlan. I’ve also had a word with Sid Gilpin.’ ‘And?’ ‘Well, Quinlan didn’t let any cats out of any bags, if that’s what you’re asking. He seems pretty relaxed.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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