diary of an independent publisher  by greg t ross

Hello. My name is Greg T Ross and, apart from a whole lot of other stuff, I am the owner and editor of the magazine, The Last Post.

Part of what I do is an (almost) daily blog, Diary of an Independent Publisher. It was set-up, initially after my wife’s death from pancreatic cancer, as something to do with my time (not that I have much, but I’ve got to be doing something). Then it became a way of letting magazine readers and followers what I was up to.

You’ll get to know me over the journey but right now I’m in Adelaide, working with Kirstie Wyatt from Wyatt Creative, in putting together the next edition of TLP.

We have interviews with Nat Young, Poco’s Rusty Young, Greg Champion, calm guru Paul Wilson and a lot of other things including book extracts from surfer/author friend Murray Walding and the great Rod Laver. In this edition too, we have input from Art Gallery of NSW, National Portrait Gallery, Pancare Foundation and Tim Page.

I’ll be returning to my home base in NSW soon but first, Kirstie and I will be with Rina Ferris at Cold Chisel’s Saturday gig in Glenelg and then to Melbourne to meet up with business contacts.

I wrote this recently, expiring from the heat and in search of some cultural infusion before hitting the pubs.

Diary of an Independent Publisher –
I was restless. I wanted to interact.

It was a stinking hot late afternoon, too hot to shave. Too hot to do almost anything but I wanted to do something, I walked to the train station and caught the 4.56 pm into the city. It seemed even hotter in the city but I found shade during a walk along the beautiful North Terrace which houses the Art Gallery, Parliament House, the Museum, Library, Law School, University and Botanical Gardens.

I took photos of the shade and buildings which have dominated Adelaide’s law and education and arts scene. I needed a beer and stopped at the Botanical Hotel.

I saw a couple, sitting outside in the shade and began a conversation. Carl and Joanne were from Manchester, UK. We sat and chatted and bought beers for the next two hours.

They were enjoying their stay in Adelaide and were staying with an Uncle in Mitcham who had been here for 50 years. They were, however, knocked out by the heat. “I couldn’t live here”, Carl told me. They were both longing for rain, snow and weather cold enough to wear a jumper.

Carl told me that if it was snowing on their return to Manchester, he would strip off naked on the tarmac and let it fall on him. In this heat, I told him, I can see how that appeals. They invited me to their farewell bash next Friday.

I caught the train back to Warradale after a martini at the Casino. I got off the train and a car pulled up. The woman inside asked if I had seen her two dogs. I said no. She told me she would give me a lift back to where I was staying.

Thanks, Brodie.

I had a good night and met some good people.


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