Sometimes what we remember from our childhood is confused with the stories other people tell us. A micro narration in a minute or so. TRANSCRIPT I remember exactly the day Kennedy was shot. My mother was wearing a black twin-set of jumpers, it was probably spring, or autumn, and we were watching...

You loved each other for a month, then he had to fly back to Melbourne. In days when you could only write letters and, very very rarely, place extra-continental phone calls, finally seeing each other was scary. A micro narration in a minute or so. TRANSCRIPT The flight to Melbourne has been very...