I was 12 years old when "The Prisoner " came out. Sometimes, I would sneak out of bed and watch it from the hallway when my parents were engrossed in watching the TV. I will never forget my fascination with some bloke running around a quirky town being chased by giant bubbles and mini mokes were the go-to vehicle of the time. It confused me and intrigued me. No doubt, my parents felt the same way.  It was hardly the same as watching " I love Lucy " or " Rawhide " but it surely got my little grey cells working overtime. 

"The Prisoner," a British television series created by Patrick McGoohan, first aired in September 1967 and ran for 17 episodes. It followed the story of a British secret agent named Number Six, played by McGoohan himself. Set in a mysterious and surreal village, the series explored themes of individualism, freedom, surveillance, and the power of the state. 

His most famous and often quoted line was " I am not a number. I am a free man. " 

On September 3rd, Australia marks National Flag Day -  a day that should fill us with pride, remembering the first time our flag was raised in 1901. 

Yet today, flying it with conviction is branded divisive, while burning it is tolerated. And in some cases celebrated. 

Some dismiss this by saying  “Does it matter? It is just cloth,” but it is not.

It is the spirit of a nation, the sacrifice of generations, the history of freedom hard won.

When we allow our flag to be trampled, we trample our own pride -  and that is a danger no nation can survive.

Australia was never built on timidity. It was carved out by men and women who faced droughts, floods, and wars with grit, courage, and an unshakable belief in the fair go.

Yet today, that fair go is being strangled.

Ordinary Australians are being priced out of their own homes, left to sleep in cars and tents, while politicians in Canberra open the gates to mass migration on a scale our forebears could never have imagined.

We are told to stay quiet, to swallow the line that questioning this is “racist,” while our way of life - our language, our culture, our unity - is chipped away. The same spark that lit Eureka smoulders again, and if ignored, it will roar into flame.

It is hard to believe that twenty-eight years have passed since the world lost Diana, Princess of Wales. Her death on 31st August 1997 shocked nations, silenced newsrooms, and left millions in mourning. To some, she was “the people’s princess”; to others, she was a mother, a campaigner, a truth-teller who dared to show both her courage and her frailties. To me, and to countless others, she was a rare figure who could cross boundaries of class, culture, and circumstance, touching hearts in places where compassion was seldom seen.

For me, it takes me back in time to a day when a group of hardened criminals sat me down and held my hand in united grief.