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My love affair with Sydney and my fears for its slow strangulation My love affair with Sydney and my fears for its slow strangulation I felt I could explore its nooks and crannies for a lifetime. But now it is all under threat. Normal text size Very large text size I can still taste my first breath of Sydney. It was October 1978. I was 21. This place, with its shifting, salted air, tangled fabric, voluptuous topography, winding muscular flora and glorious chiaroscuro light, seemed to me the most thrilling, most picturesque, most romantic city on earth. In a Mini Moke at 2am I was driven across Sydney Harbour Bridge by euphoric friends-of-friends. Our hair streamed behind us in the warm air. Above us, uplit bats circled the giant, flapping flag against an indigo sky. I danced in clubs layered like trifle into four-storey glass-backed terraces jammed against giant banana palms and strelitzias. I walked the length of Oxford Street, crusted with its tiny left-bank cafes and boutiqu

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