An apology, an architect and an 'audience with Parky'
Foreign correspondents often like to boast that they watch the world unfold from a front row seat on history, but at the national apology in Canberra on Monday it was standing room only.
It was a rare privilege to be in the Great Hall of Parliament House, as Kevin Rudd and Malcolm Turnbull sought to right some appalling wrongs. It was an extraordinarily rich experience, and I hope we did not intrude on peoples' private thoughts and very public emotions.
We were close to Sandra Anker from Melbourne, a former child migrant shipped to Australia at the age of six, whose testimony many of you will have watched on television or online. 'Well done Australia,' she said as she stood to applaud Kevin Rudd at the end. 'Now its Britain's turn.' The loveliest of ladies.
What I particularly liked about the event was that it took on the personality of the hundreds of victims who gathered in the room - who cried, cheered, occasionally barracked and, collectively, seemed to derive great comfort from the soothing words of the prime minister and opposition leader.
I enjoyed the whoops of happy recognition when relatives spotted their loved ones on the big screens, and the spontaneity of the ovations for people, like Margaret Humphreys of the Child Migrant Trust, who have made seeking justice and redress their life's work. The victims owned the ceremony. They made it what it was. To use an Australianism, good on them.
The blog that appeared earlier in the week - Shamed into an Apology - was actually penned as a piece of brief analysis that was supposed to appear on the Sunday. It did not capture the special quality of the day, which was more about remembrance than recrimination. Whitlamite, who it is good to welcome back from semi-retirement, said it was day for healing rather than blame, and I could not agree more. But thanks for your comments.
After a couple of all-nighters in Canberra - on the big stories I work the Australian day, then the British day, and then repeat the whole thing again - I managed to make it back to Sydney in time to meet Jan Utzon, the son of Jorn, the architect of the Sydney Opera House.
He'd just opened the new western foyer, part of the ongoing attempts by the SOH to renovate and revitalise the building. Lovely bloke, who, like his father, has a quiet charm and charisma. I walked through the bowels of the building with him, watching him meet and greet Opera House workers who have clearly come to know and greatly admire him since his family was re-engaged by the New South Wales government in 2000. The Utzons are held in awe by the people who work in the building.
Regular readers of the blog know that I'm a bit obsessive about the Opera House, whose interior was finished by a local architect after Utzon's forced resignation. Will Jan live to see his father's glorious vision for the opera theatre finally realised? He certainly hopes so. He wants to be there on opening night in his very own front row seat on history.
My third treat of the week was to watch the recording of 'An Audience with Michael Parkinson,' a 90 minute monologue delivered without notes or an autocue, and punctuated by clips from some of his most famous interviews and near perfect grammar.
Like Richie Benaud, Parky is another unifying figure, national treasure both in Australia and Britain. In my fantasy dinner party, Parky would be an early inclusion on the guest list, and would probably have interviewed most of the others.
Sir Michael said that one of the main things which endeared him to Australia was that he rarely comes across the kind of Englishmen for whom he hasn't got much time. He didn't expound on that, but I dare say that thought will resonate with many of the Poms who have made their home down under.
I'm 
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