He was rapt when some old bloke from across the road hollered out, ‘You’re doin’ a good job there, mate!’ He even talked for a bit about starting a business, doing manicured trees, because people would actually stop in the street and hold their kids up to look over the fence. We’d hear them saying, ‘Look at the tree, cut like a kangaroo. Isn’t that clever?’ He started cutting back the Paterson’s Curse that was all over the fence, but I told him to stop because I liked the jungle feel and the purple flowers.

Maybe you’re thinking, ‘Well, that’s all very well and good but what else did he ever do? Sit at the pokie machines and suck on his bong?’ But like most people who have got these problems, he’d have times when he was great. Like when the Olympics came to Sydney, and everyone was signing up to volunteer. He was right into that. I admit, we both decided to volunteer mainly to get those uniforms – Mark seemed to think they would be worth something one day – and because he wanted a shot at running the torch relay. Those torches were apparently going to be worth something one day too.

I filled out the forms and we both got accepted, basically because everyone was being accepted, and we both got the uniform – I loved mine, and I still have it in a box somewhere. If you weren’t in Sydney for the Olympics you missed out because it was brilliant. I was a volunteer on the torch run – we had Jane Flemming on our part of the road – and I was keeping the crowd back so she could stick to the line they’d drawn. Mark was at the main stadium at Homebush, taking tickets and doing crowd control. It was fantastic, just fantastic, and we got invited to the volunteer party, and all the government big-wigs were there, coming out to shake our hands.

But anyway, it was a week or so after the Olympics that I found out about Mark having this affair. Apparently it started at one of the Olympic volunteer pub nights. This woman was trying to hit on Mark and get him to do the ‘Macarena’. I’d been saying to her, ‘Forget it, no way is Mark the type to do the “Macarena”. He’ll punch his fist to “Khe Sanh” but he’s not going to dance.’ But this woman got him on his feet and she was putting his hands on his hips and doing all the movements, and he was shuffling and grinning and trying to pretend like he didn’t like it.

Later I said, ‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself, Mark,’ and he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

We had an argument when we got home and Mark was saying, ‘No, no, there’s nothing to it.’ But a week later I came home from work and that same woman was sitting on my couch. Mark had his hands in her lap, and it wasn’t like they weren’t trying to hide what they were doing, because they didn’t get up and run when they saw me, they just sat there, grinning like idiots.