Reading Campbell's record of his life is a delight - not only for his wit and sense of the absurd, but for the way he bothered to record the minutiae of a day-to-day life that has partly disappeared. Opening the book is like cracking open a time capsule.
At various points, Campbell confesses that his writing was looked down on by most of his colleagues. He quotes one woman who wondered how much he paid Frank Packer to publish his thrice-weekly ramblings. And he mentions the radio program that introduced him as "Australia's greatest garbage writer".
What sweet revenge that Campbell's writing has outlived that of his detractors: the stories still so funny, well-observed, full of affection. It was a joy to revisit the world when it seemed a much nicer place. ( )