I've been spending a bit of time getting my photo file in order and came across this one from some considerable time ago in a previous life. On the left is a twenty-eight year old truckie's daughter from the beigest of bland suburbs of Brisbane, and on the right, the one-time Prime Minister of Australia, Gough Whitlam. We are in Venice, dining with artists after the opening of a pirate exhibition staged by my then husband, Ray Hughes.
Never in my wildest dreams, when I gratefully took advantage of the free tertiary education his government provided some ten years earlier, did I imagine that I would sit at table with the great man himself. I was, as you can see, what became known as a dewy-eyed Whitlamite.
Although it looks like he is imparting some gem of wisdom, he is actually telling a joke.
I can't imagine how my life would have panned out without that passport out of the burbs, to aspire to something more than barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen (although I did manage to fit that in too). I will always be in debt to the Australian people for that all too brief moment of opportunity.