Kym of the King

http://www.888dag.com/
Bonkers here this morning when Max found a really big baby magpie wandering around our garden that had fallen out of the nest. It needed flying lessons - badly.
I had to coach it up to the next level, the next, the next... while Max (aka The Kind of Darlinghurst) tried stalking it. Meanwhile the doberman next door was sticking its snout through the fence to capture the action.
All ended well (in the episode I saw), with me and Baby Magpie's parents coaching it up to the roof of next door's cubby house and then into the tree above that. At the end of the episode, everyone with wings fluttered off, Max stomped off back inside and I put a few bricks against the gate to next door's place, so I don't come home one night to a tragedy involving the King.
I took some films, so watch youtube for the miniseries (two parts).

http://www.888dag.com/

Today I went to the funeral of a very dear man - a witty, kind man who loved his job as a paparazzi and was so good at it. Dave Morgan. David Morgan. "Darlin'" as I liked to call him (well, he started it).
Andrew Urban has written so beautifully about him on Urban Cinephile: http://www.urbancinefile.com.au/home/view.asp?a=15115&s=Features
Last month I was flying back to Sydney from Melbourne on a Saturday evening. Derby Day as it turned out. I was well down the plane on the aisle and feeling a bit sad (not 'sad' from Derby Day I hasten to add). I looked vacantly down the plane to see a name tag "David Morgan" swinging from a lanyard and coming my way. It was David - larger than life and straight from the racetrack ("didn't see a single horse, Darlin'"). He'd been snapping.
By chance we were sitting a seat away from each other, so the chap in the middle kindly swapped seats and Dave and I settled in for one of the greatest chats we'd had in years. No work to distract us - and he knew I needed chirping up. He shouted a couple of rounds and talked about everything from what had happened the day before (fascinating) to his favourite photographer Nuri Ceylan - a Turkish photographer and filmmaker he put me on to when I returned from Turkey in June.
http://www.nuribilgeceylan.com/
We talked motorbikes, shared memories, about him nursing his parents - all sorts.
We parted when the plane landed. Dave took off to arrange for his girlfriend to come and pick him up and I headed for the cab rank.
It was the last time I saw him and it was unforgettable.
This morning I found a postcard he sent me from the Cannes Film Festival. We had both been at the festival three years running for work, then in 2002 I wasn't there. "Dear Kym: Where Are You? Dave Morgan xx" read my postcard from Cannes.
I reckon I get to ask the question back now.
"Dear Dave: Where Are You? Kym xx"