Just between you and me, the best possible Exmess gift I could imagine this year is to see my dear friend of 35 years, Big Bob McLean, return to good and hearty health. And Wilma McLean, too. Bob was only coming to grips with how hellish intensive bouts of chemo and radiotherapy can be, when Willie slipped on one of those big old stones on their mountaintop vineyard and broke her hip. Their bright offspring, Sarah and Adam, are running McLean's Farm while Mum and Dad repair ... photo Philip White
Happy 2014th birthday, Jesus!
What we'll drink in your honour;
please forgive our forgetful greed
by PHILIP WHITE
So. Back to that time of year when the market place, Joe Hockey* and the Christian church corral us all into a spendfest too many of us simply cannot afford. Fortunately, this is diluted by the gentle sound of cricket on the radio, and, in my case, the croaking and squawking of a treeful of baby galahs being fed. The blackbirds in my porch are on their third set of chicks; the welcome swallows in the eave are raising their second lot. And with the flowering of their favourite Melaleuca, the New Holland honeyeaters are back en masse. Since a marauding cat chewed up most of the superb faireywrens the remains of that perfectly-named lot have quite wisely moved along.
Governor of New South Wales, Sir Roden Cutler VCVC , AK , KCMG , KCVO , CBE (1916–2002) , enjoying a touch of PR with Big Bob McLean in 1984. Bob left Orlando to take the marketing boss job at Petaluma, then moved to put St Hallett on the map and finally to McLean's Farm. Get well both you lovely McLeinigs!