Latest news with #CraigHalfpenny
The Age
11-07-2025
- The Age
If someone like Erin Patterson could do this, how well do we really know anyone?
The Vienna hostel room was heaving with gals when I showed up in 1991. Mostly blonde, all eyeing off the newcomer. And, it turned out, all from Melbourne. Being barely into adulthood meant where we went to school was still a valid navigation signpost in the getting-to-know-you process. Turned out these girls went to the same bayside place where my brother's then-girlfriend (now a mum of two AFL young guns – love you, Ange) had gone. I told them her name. There were two, then three beats of silence. 'Wait. Is your brother Craig Halfpenny?' said one, speaking for all. 'But … he's so good looking.' Sure, I was trekking around Europe in practical shoes and a bad fringe. I'd eaten a lot of Milka chocolate on trains. But I was hardly Quasimodo. Had good ankles and small ears. Yet how I saw myself was clearly out of whack with the new homies. Apologies if I've told that story before, but its disconnect between how we see others – or what we let others see – came back to me with the death of Peter Russell-Clarke late last week. This masthead ran a prominent obituary; social media was awash with tributes to the man who made 'Where's the cheese?' a catchcry for anyone who grew up in Australia the 1970s and '80s. He was as famous for his outbursts and use of colourful language as he was his recipes. I met Russell-Clarke only once, for a magazine interview over lunch at his place, but it was enough to convince me he was a vile man. With a short fuse. Who bullied his wife in front of me. When you experience the outbursts close up, they're not all that funny. I left terrified of this household-name dairy spruiker. Another Melbourne radio and TV star coerced a friend into sex after they met at a media dinner. She felt humiliated, confused. His obits talked endlessly about what a great family man he was.
Sydney Morning Herald
11-07-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
If someone like Erin Patterson could do this, how well do we really know anyone?
The Vienna hostel room was heaving with gals when I showed up in 1991. Mostly blonde, all eyeing off the newcomer. And, it turned out, all from Melbourne. Being barely into adulthood meant where we went to school was still a valid navigation signpost in the getting-to-know-you process. Turned out these girls went to the same bayside place where my brother's then-girlfriend (now a mum of two AFL young guns – love you, Ange) had gone. I told them her name. There were two, then three beats of silence. 'Wait. Is your brother Craig Halfpenny?' said one, speaking for all. 'But … he's so good looking.' Sure, I was trekking around Europe in practical shoes and a bad fringe. I'd eaten a lot of Milka chocolate on trains. But I was hardly Quasimodo. Had good ankles and small ears. Yet how I saw myself was clearly out of whack with the new homies. Apologies if I've told that story before, but its disconnect between how we see others – or what we let others see – came back to me with the death of Peter Russell-Clarke late last week. This masthead ran a prominent obituary; social media was awash with tributes to the man who made 'Where's the cheese?' a catchcry for anyone who grew up in Australia the 1970s and '80s. He was as famous for his outbursts and use of colourful language as he was his recipes. I met Russell-Clarke only once, for a magazine interview over lunch at his place, but it was enough to convince me he was a vile man. With a short fuse. Who bullied his wife in front of me. When you experience the outbursts close up, they're not all that funny. I left terrified of this household-name dairy spruiker. Another Melbourne radio and TV star coerced a friend into sex after they met at a media dinner. She felt humiliated, confused. His obits talked endlessly about what a great family man he was.
