“I’m not ready yet. I’m just beginning to understand things.”
If these are not the last words that Julian Burnside ever utters, they will, he says, define one of his very last thoughts. And, no. It’s not my fault that this chap -- who may, at 67, not even be described as physically “spry”, but more precisely as boyish -- is talking about death. Who am I? Australian Story? It’s his fault. Or, rather, it is the fault of conversation, to which Burnside appears to commit very fully.