Anson Cameron is a columnist for Spectrum in The Age and the author of several books, including Boyhoodlum and Neil Balme: A Tale of Two Men.
Flowers are all about love, right? Not when it comes to competitive growing.
I’ve come to moisturiser late in life, but I’m already turning heads.
Reinvention is easy with someone you have only just met.
Diesel hikes won’t stop the annual exodus, but vengeance will be mine come September.
A tiny bird’s ungainly end reminded me of my father, his shoddy binoculars, his devotion to a family of pardalotes and the havoc Spice the cat wreaked.
If I was inclined to, I could walk around the house nude, without even a sock to mar my eruption of atavism. But I’m not inclined to.
Public outbursts have, happily, become an archaic, almost obsolete, tool of social leverage.
Wifely devotion has its limits. So does our ability to digest onions.
We prepare speeches for weddings, birthdays and funerals but are strangely silent as our loved ones slip away.
The woman from United Airlines was not as attentive as he would have liked. Later, he realised why.