Author: Bert Spinks

One autumn evening in Launceston, I walked down the hill from my share-house to the Seaport. There – where the mouth of the North Esk River flows into the estuary of the Tamar – I watched a Chinese junk ship float past. Pictures and videos were projected onto the boat’s…

A side-effect of my fixation with reading history is that I often find myself framing my life, as it is now, with the question of how I will look back on it – or how it will be viewed by some other future observer. It’s not entirely fair to be…