In 1974 , after getting rid of the shop in Hobart. Philip Brooks, Gary Waddell, Greg Pankhurst, Carol Porter and i moved into house in George Street Fitzroy. Just one block away from Gertrude street. Drugs started to become part of the scene. Brown rocks of heroin. Paul and Anne were living at the Freestore at 42 Smith Street. A shop that just gave things away, to further their libertarian ideals. Fitzroy in the early seventies was still a bit rough, Paul became fascinated by the criminal element. Some crazies started to become part of the scene. Dangerous ones. professional thieves like Steve Sellers. Brian O’Callagan. Armed robbers. Running into banks, or stealing payrolls. Men who had spent time in Pentridge. “H division”. Lots od sadistic behaviour. I remember one very long night in the kitchen at the freestore. Phil Motherwell and this lunatic of a man had this fight, that started with them smashing at least a dozen empty beer bottles over their heads. They were so wired that nothing was going to knock them out. The fight gradually moved to the backyard, where paul convinced Phil to piss off. I remember Paul and Anne and I going back into the kitchen which was just a sea of broken glass and blood. We all just chipped in and cleaned up the the place. Put on the kettle for a cup of tea. 10 Minutes later, who should walk in but the main protaganist from the fight. Psycho mother what ever his name is.Long dead now by ant luck. We are all just sitting there still trying to recover from the furor. He pulls out a gun, and points it at Paul. “You drive me over to Phils place and I’m going to shoot his wife and kids”. Paul just calmly says no. The courage of his denial instantly bonded everyone in the room.He was marvelous. But there was a dark element that had entered the dynamic. The dangerous had met up with the idealists, and we were on a road to ruin. Michael Doran started what was called the Prisoners action group. Politics and crime. Guns and stick-up men entered the scene. Everything unravelled. There were a few exceptions, Margot Nash and Robin laurie started a small broadsheet and formed an organisation. ASIF (The Anarcho-surrealist insurrectionary Feminists). Margot had just returned from a couple of years in southern India studying the kathakali theatre. Robin lived in a house in Bell street in Fitzroy with Red Symons, Jenny Keith and Peter Cummins. Red was to play an integral role in forming Skyhooks, with Greg Macaintsh, Steve Hill who was later replaced by Shirley Strahan. An act that embittered Steve for the rest of his life. later in 1974 Philip Brooks and I moved into a house in Brunswick with Isobelle Rosenberg whose parents owned the river Seine bookshop in Elgin street in Carlton and Eddie van Rosendael ,a blonde gorgeous marxist intellectual and righteous Dutchman and just by the way a great drummer. it was one of those stinking hot summers in melbourne and philip and I would venture off to the fitzroy Baths just down the road. It was here that I met Helen garner for the first time. She lived in a large share house in Falconer street in North Fitzroy. With Alice ,Rose Costello and her 2 kids Raani and Noah, Alan robertson, Greig Pickhaver (HG Nelson), Larry Meltzer, Ponch hawkes and Andrew Bell. Philip had been having a light weight affair with Helen,She was also having a relationship with Philip Frazer. He was the editor of “digger” magazine, and had the Australian rights to “Rolling Stone” in Australia and also produced The “Go-Set” magazine. That he co-ownwd with Molly Meldrum and Jon Hawkes.Philips aspiration was to become a journalist ,so typical of his opportunism. We became involved with the all night sessions laying out the newspaper every month. A big block of hash and the layout took about 36 hours. Philip , then came up with the idea that we should take a trip to Cambodia. Go to a war zone and provide some material for “The Digger”. There were 2 ways to become a journalist in those days. One, go to university and engage in 4years of study, or in Philip’s case , go somewhere dangerous where others were too frightened and cover it for a newspaper. This was an impulsive decision as were most of philip’s. We decided to go on a wednesday and left the following saturday morning. A mad rush. Saturday night in Bangkok. Wide eyed. Drug crazed. We checked into the Malaysia Hotel at the bottom of Sukumvit, notorious for being the place to score when arriving in a strange place like Thailand. Each floor of the hotel had a boy that would do your bidding, procuring that which the brain desired, be it drugs or sex. So we are fixed up..off our faces so to speak. I awake the next morning to philip talking to Air Cambodge about getting into Pnom Penh. “They can get us in, but they can’t get us out”. Philips books 2 tickets in to Cambodia, one way. Its march 1975. We sway around Bangkok, off our faces some more. The smack is pure and strong. I think now I must have been looking at most things through the back of my eyelids. All of a sudden its saturday and we are racing out to the airport. Everything with Philip seemed to be a last minute dash. We run right down to the very last gate at the terminal, grab a copy of the Bangkok Post as we get on board. We are the only passemgers, but for a journalist Bruce Pauling who was working for “The Times” in London. He was an old hand, had covered both Cambodia and Viet Nam using the The Trocadero Hotel in Bangkok as his base. The rest of the plane was freight. Just as we are about to begin our descent in to Pnom Penh, Philip and Bruce chortling away, I pick up the newspaper we had bought before embarking. There on the front page is a photo of the airport we’re about to land at under attack from the Khmer Rouge the day before yesterday. The heart is really pounding by now. Lots of khaki ,guns and cameras, a mad race into Pnom Penh. We check into a cheap hotel in the city near the market area. As you always seem to, the first thing you do is explore the local geography. There are more than a million refugees in the city, its crowded and thick with humanity. We get a cyclo to the Pnom Hotel and go to the hotel to cool off around the pool. Chew the fat with the journalists. Philip cuts a deal for a beautiful Leica camera with Bruce Pauling, while talking about the war situation. Viet Nam was about to fall as well , its close to the end as you can get. The city is being rocketed with anti-personnel from across the river. You get passed frightened quite quickly and get into this fatalistic observance perspective. I took photos, Philip talked. We interviewed the British military attache. Colonel Rymbat from the American embassy. We visited the military and civilian hospitals in pnom penh , lots of blood and death. I remember one very dark night , riding the cyclo from the Pnom back to our little hotel. Its really quiet just the sound of our 2 drivers chatting away in Khmer. When all of a sudden the drivers pull off the road and these troop carriers boom down upon us as they are crossing from one side of the city to the other. They pass , and we resume . Hotel room, terracotta tiles, lime green walls where the paint remained. Stifling hot, the sounds of small arms fire punctured occasionally by the whistle of a rocket cruising into the city. An explosion, screams, followed by sirens. We’re in our element, young men in search of reputations, dangerous animals in dangerous situations. Whats left of Cambodia is being controlled from the US embassy by John Dean. Lon Nol , the token head of government is a lunatic , whose policy in these last days is to build a zoo in Pnom penh. He had a stroke 18months prior, and seems to be missing his faculties, especially any sense of the doom thats about to befall the country. We wangle an evacuation flight through the American Embassy, because “digger” the newspaper we are “working for” is associated with Rolling Stone “. An American organisation. We kill a few more days in PnomPenh , having interviews with various players. The Australian Embassy staff left weeks before. We talk to the British Military Attache, get a summary of the war situation. Surrounded and stuffed seemed to be the message. 5 days later, another mad rush to the airport. This time getting on an old Air America DC3. just journalists escaping. 45 minutes later we are back in Bangkok. We score, and hole up in our rooms contemplating our lucky escape. The warm rush of smack coursing through our veins. The next day we wander around the city. We are totally pinned. Philip says he needs some sunglasses to hide our pupil less eyes. And dashes into a shop. He comes out in a bit of a rush and starts running down the road. The shop assistant is chasing after him. We jump into a cab. the local police surround the car. Philip pushes the sunglasses down the back of the seat. We are dragged out of the car and searched. momentarily we seem to have escaped trouble. Then the lady from the shop climbs into the taxi, drives her hand down the back of the seat finding her stolen shades.

In 1974 , after getting rid of the shop in Hobart. Philip Brooks, Gary Waddell, Greg Pankhurst, Carol Porter and i moved into house in George Street Fitzroy. Just one block away from Gertrude street. Drugs started to become part of the scene. Brown rocks of heroin. Paul and Anne were living at the Freestore at 42 Smith Street. A shop that just gave things away, to further their libertarian ideals. Fitzroy in the early seventies was still a bit rough, Paul became fascinated by the criminal element. Some crazies started to become part of the scene. Dangerous ones. professional thieves like Steve Sellers. Brian O’Callagan. Armed robbers. Running into banks, or stealing payrolls. Men who had spent time in Pentridge. “H division”. Lots od sadistic behaviour. I remember one very long night in the kitchen at the freestore. Phil Motherwell and this lunatic of a man had this fight, that started with them smashing at least a dozen empty beer bottles over their heads. They were so wired that nothing was going to knock them out. The fight gradually moved to the backyard, where paul convinced Phil to piss off. I remember Paul and Anne and I going back into the kitchen which was just a sea of broken glass and blood. We all just chipped in and cleaned up the the place. Put on the kettle for a cup of tea. 10 Minutes later, who should walk in but the main protaganist from the fight. Psycho mother what ever his name is.Long dead now by ant luck. We are all just sitting there still trying to recover from the furor. He pulls out a gun, and points it at Paul. “You drive me over to Phils place and I’m going to shoot his wife and kids”. Paul just calmly says no. The courage of his denial instantly bonded everyone in the room.He was marvelous. But there was a dark element that had entered the dynamic. The dangerous had met up with the idealists, and we were on a road to ruin. Michael Doran started what was called the Prisoners action group. Politics and crime. Guns and stick-up men entered the scene. Everything unravelled. There were a few exceptions, Margot Nash and Robin laurie started a small broadsheet and formed an organisation. ASIF (The Anarcho-surrealist insurrectionary Feminists). Margot had just returned from a couple of years in southern India studying the kathakali theatre. Robin lived in a house in Bell street in Fitzroy with Red Symons, Jenny Keith and Peter Cummins. Red was to play an integral role in forming Skyhooks, with Greg Macaintsh, Steve Hill who was later replaced by Shirley Strahan. An act that embittered Steve for the rest of his life.

later in 1974 Philip Brooks and I moved into a house in Brunswick with Isobelle Rosenberg whose parents owned the river Seine bookshop in Elgin street in Carlton and Eddie van Rosendael ,a blonde gorgeous marxist intellectual and righteous Dutchman and just by the way a great drummer. it was one of those stinking hot summers in melbourne and philip and I would venture off to the fitzroy Baths just down the road. It was here that I met Helen garner for the first time. She lived in a large share house in Falconer street in North Fitzroy. With Alice ,Rose Costello and her 2 kids Raani and Noah, Alan robertson, Greig Pickhaver (HG Nelson), Larry Meltzer, Ponch hawkes and Andrew Bell. Philip had been having a light weight affair with Helen,She was also having a relationship with Philip Frazer. He was the editor of “digger” magazine, and had the Australian rights to “Rolling Stone” in Australia and also produced The “Go-Set” magazine. That he co-ownwd with Molly Meldrum and Jon Hawkes.Philips aspiration was to become a journalist ,so typical of his opportunism. We became involved with the all night sessions laying out the newspaper every month. A big block of hash and the layout took about 36 hours.

Philip , then came up with the idea that we should take a trip to Cambodia. Go to a war zone and provide some material for “The Digger”. There were 2 ways to become a journalist in those days. One, go to university and engage in 4years of study, or in Philip’s case , go somewhere dangerous where others were too frightened and cover it for a newspaper. This was an impulsive decision as were most of philip’s. We decided to go on a wednesday and left the following saturday morning. A mad rush. Saturday night in Bangkok. Wide eyed. Drug crazed. We checked into the Malaysia Hotel at the bottom of Sukumvit, notorious for being the place to score when arriving in a strange place like Thailand. Each floor of the hotel had a boy that would do your bidding, procuring that which the brain desired, be it drugs or sex. So we are fixed up..off our faces so to speak. I awake the next morning to philip talking to Air Cambodge about getting into Pnom Penh. “They can get us in, but they can’t get us out”. Philips books 2 tickets in to Cambodia, one way. Its march 1975. We sway around Bangkok, off our faces some more. The smack is pure and strong. I think now I must have been looking at most things through the back of my eyelids. All of a sudden its saturday and we are racing out to the airport. Everything with Philip seemed to be a last minute dash. We run right down to the very last gate at the terminal, grab a copy of the Bangkok Post as we get on board. We are the only passemgers, but for a journalist Bruce Pauling who was working for “The Times” in London. He was an old hand, had covered both Cambodia and Viet Nam using the The Trocadero Hotel in Bangkok as his base. The rest of the plane was freight. Just as we are about to begin our descent in to Pnom Penh, Philip and Bruce chortling away, I pick up the newspaper we had bought before embarking. There on the front page is a photo of the airport we’re about to land at under attack from the Khmer Rouge the day before yesterday. The heart is really pounding by now. Lots of khaki ,guns and cameras, a mad race into Pnom Penh. We check into a cheap hotel in the city near the market area. As you always seem to, the first thing you do is explore the local geography. There are more than a million refugees in the city, its crowded and thick with humanity. We get a cyclo to the Pnom Hotel and go to the hotel to cool off around the pool. Chew the fat with the journalists. Philip cuts a deal for a beautiful Leica camera with Bruce Pauling, while talking about the war situation. Viet Nam was about to fall as well , its close to the end as you can get. The city is being rocketed with anti-personnel from across the river. You get passed frightened quite quickly and get into this fatalistic observance perspective. I took photos, Philip talked. We interviewed the British military attache. Colonel Rymbat from the American embassy. We visited the military and civilian hospitals in pnom penh , lots of blood and death. I remember one very dark night , riding the cyclo from the Pnom back to our little hotel. Its really quiet just the sound of our 2 drivers chatting away in Khmer. When all of a sudden the drivers pull off the road and these troop carriers boom down upon us as they are crossing from one side of the city to the other. They pass , and we resume .

Hotel room, terracotta tiles, lime green walls where the paint remained. Stifling hot, the sounds of small arms fire punctured occasionally by the whistle of a rocket cruising into the city. An explosion, screams, followed by sirens. We’re in our element, young men in search of reputations, dangerous animals in dangerous situations.

Whats left of Cambodia is being controlled from the US embassy by John Dean. Lon Nol , the token head of government is a lunatic , whose policy in these last days is to build a zoo in Pnom penh. He had a stroke 18months prior, and seems to be missing his faculties, especially any sense of the doom thats about to befall the country.

We wangle an evacuation flight through the American Embassy, because “digger” the newspaper we are “working for” is associated with Rolling Stone “. An American organisation.

We kill a few more days in PnomPenh , having interviews with various players. The Australian Embassy staff left weeks before. We talk to the British Military Attache, get a summary of the war situation. Surrounded and stuffed seemed to be the message.

5 days later, another mad rush to the airport. This time getting on an old Air America DC3. just journalists escaping.

45 minutes later we are back in Bangkok. We score, and hole up in our rooms contemplating our lucky escape. The warm rush of smack coursing through our veins. The next day we wander around the city. We are totally pinned. Philip says he needs some sunglasses to hide our pupil less eyes. And dashes into a shop. He comes out in a bit of a rush and starts running down the road. The shop assistant is chasing after him. We jump into a cab. the local police surround the car. Philip pushes the sunglasses down the back of the seat. We are dragged out of the car and searched. momentarily we seem to have escaped trouble. Then the lady from the shop climbs into the taxi, drives her hand down the back of the seat finding her stolen shades.