Dad knew the city tracks. Not just the steps and pathways round the Cross, for example, but he had a mental picture like a map. The shortcuts all the way from the coast to Parramatta which makes me think of Sydney as like a middle-eastern city, multi-layered and only readily knowable by people with that ancient knowledge.

But still the centre of gravity is the inner city, and oddly enough it is here, in my corner house, with traffic on two sides of me, that I've begun to learn how to be still, and to accept that changes can come in small and undramatic ways.

It's me. Footscray is me. I know I'm happier here than I've been for years … I felt as if I've come home … I liked it very much, I do, and I won't be leaving here.

Well, it may sound a bit corny, but to put it this way, when Helen and I went down to our place in Cherwell fifty-odd years ago, I thought that was the loveliest place that anybody could ever have. […]