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Against the cerulean blue of the South Australian sky, an octopus soars, its limbs flailing wildly. The man who has thrown it stands beneath, frozen, looking like a baseball pitcher, his leg just so. The spectators behind him crane their

People often ask me about Australia. It doesn’t matter where I happen to be—Vietnam, India, Morocco, South Africa—there seems to be no end of interest in the massive but tiny country that Paul Keating once memorably described as “the arse-end

I had fallen in with an Emirates flight crew—British, Irish, South African, Korean—sometime after eleven. A Swedish stewardess, the eldest among them at a mere thirty-something, watched her charges’ increasingly drunken antics with a wry smile and a half-concealed yawn

Driving from Melbourne, the Great Ocean Road comes to an end just short of Warrnambool. But for those who have a little more driving in them—or a lot more—there are plenty of reasons to push on. With its rugged coastline,

Perth’s occupiers are no longer occupying it. They voted on the matter yesterday. The model of participatory democracy they favoured held good until the bitter end, when someone put forward the motion, soon seconded, that the bitter end was what

By the time this article is published, I will be somewhere in Perth’s CBD, marching through the CHOGM security area and hoping I don’t get my teeth knocked in. I will have taken the train into the city. What with