The single worst thing about life in Sydney
It's easy to hate Sydney this time of year, all sweaty humidity and traffic. And lots more. But for the single worst thing about the city, the answer is on the calendar.
Tim Dick is a columnist for the Sydney Morning Herald
It's easy to hate Sydney this time of year, all sweaty humidity and traffic. And lots more. But for the single worst thing about the city, the answer is on the calendar.
Surely there is no better endorsement for Gladys Berejiklian to become premier of NSW today than having an old cranky windbag declare her unsuitable for the job.
How reassuring was the Sussan Ley expenses fracas, an underwhelming tizz over a minor infraction. It was as if there are still rules to be obeyed in a world seemingly determined to break all of them.
Hitler was a great friend of mine and, good lord, could that guy dance. Of all the lines in Trevor Noah's new memoir, Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood, that's one of his most arresting.
Our household had a late and unwelcome entry in the death toll of 2016. It came with Rocko, who scraped in with a departure on Friday.
It's been an entirely hopeless year, which has little to recommend it other than as an example to not repeat.
The Prime Minister wants Australia to grow up, and stop genuflecting to its coloniser. Just not yet.
He may have "knifed" two prime ministers, but Bill Shorten as the nation's leader offers a better future than Malcolm Turnbull.
John Key shows that electorally successful conservatism can come with a reasonable cloak, it doesn't have to be harsh, it doesn't have to be consistently mean.
Sydney, boring! The conclusion that 'sin city' is stuffed because you can't buy a drink in the wee hours is overblown.
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