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Andrew may be gone but won’t be forgotten – there are plans for an annual writers’ retreat in the town and those of us lucky enough to pass through Larrimah from time to time will be be stopping in to share a drink or ten with Andrew – again. And the NT Writers’ Centre is accepting donations for the Writers’ Retreat …

Nigel Adlam’s award as NT Journalist of the Year was unsurprising and – in light of the three minor gongs awarded for solid work – deserved. But there were more than a few mutterings that it might have been better for him to leave the field to the many younger, and no less deserving, early career journalists who might appreciate the the nice cheque and trip to Brisbane for the Walkley Awards in a few weeks as much as he will.

Well he’s up late at night with the work light on, He’s gonna write a book but first he’s getting out his bong, He’s drinking red cask wine, smoking home grown reefer, Got the stereo on, he’s listening to Aretha, They call him Jesus of Westralia Street.
Lyrics for “Jesus of Westralia Street”, Tracey Bunn/Colin Holt

Andrew — a proud sort of bloke — has always refused to go on the dole, so has scant resources to fall back on. That’s why his friends and colleagues are staging a “Living Wake” to raise funds for his needs until he is back on his feet again. The idea of a Living Wake has some appeal to Andrew – he will be around, in the words of Big Bill Neidjie – the Kakadu Man – “to hear the nice things said about me”.

If, in the Crowd, there’s one who’s not forgot me,
If there’s one, perhaps who asks how I am,
Say I’m alive, but deny that I am well: That I’m even alive is a gift from a God.
(Ovid, thanks to Paul Kelly via Chips Mackinolty)

In the Territory the stories are all too common…backpackers in vans swerving to avoid a wallaby of a basking lizard or a stubborn eagle feasting on roadkill, losing control in the dirt, over-correcting, rolling over and over ’til they come to permanent rest in the the scrub…