Farewell Clive James, you were a brilliant writer and satirist and your stories of growing up in Sydney were some of the first and funniest I ever read. Thank you Clive.
I remember one of the first 'funny' books I read was a collection of short stories which featured Clives stories of growing up in Kogarah and in particular the Billy Carts he built. I re-read it again and again, each time finding it hilarious :-)
He was everything you could ask for in a writer, incisive, observant, laconic, damn funny and gently sentimental.
I reckon Mark Twain would have rated him a top writer.
I grew up watching him comment on the Telly, with Marguerite Pracatan singing in her....unusual style.
A few years back I was horrified by the local Aussie Tabloid Media when they staged an ambush with a 'secret mistress' looking for some form of 'gotcha' moment, raced over to England with a woman who had for whatever reason, decided to reveal they'd had an affair.
Instead of A Jerry Springer moment they encountered an aging, extremely unwell James, who was genuinely glad to see her and very kind about it.
A 'gotcha' moment it wasn't and I hope the folks involved feel a deep abiding shame for their treatment of him.
I believe if any person found themselves with even a smidgin of his warmth and intellect, they'd feel pretty chuffed.
He added well to this world and we would benefit from more like him.
Vale Clive James, thank you.
