One of the best

Bangkok, Thailand

I met Colin Climo when I landed my first job as a newspaper sub-editor in 1984 at the Rupert Murdoch-owned Sunday Telegraph in Sydney.

Like any new sub-editor, I needed help – and from day one Colin was always there for me.

After a shaky start, I slowly started to picked up the fine art of editing copy and writing headlines that not only filled out a line or two, but were occasionally quite funny. Colin was so good at what he did that whenever I was stuck and couldn't think of a headline, he would come to the rescue with a half-mumbled line that often verged on brilliance.

When my father, who also worked at News Limited, quietly took Colin aside in the canteen one day and asked how I was doing, he gave me a glowing report. While I still thank him for exaggerating about my sub-editing skills, I will never forget the look on my father's face when he told my mother about it that night over a glass of Penfold’s red at dinner. Colin had made him the proudest man in Sydney.

In a short time I made my place on the News Ltd sub-editors' desk, along with Colin and a whole world of new friends, some brilliant, some eccentric, and some just plain mad.

I went overseas for a while to work on the Daily Telegraph in London and when I returned I again joned News Limited, this time as a sports sub editor. By this time Colin’s skill had been noted and he had progressed to the features desk.

That's when the now infamous Wednesday lunches started. Colin, a great friend named John "Doctor" Deese – who still works at News Ltd – and another great guy called Kent Sanderson (nicknamed "The Fabulous Sex Machine"), worked on the weekly features section and had absolutely nothing to do on Wednesdays.

So the plan was to turn up at work around 11.30, look busy for 30 minutes, then slide out the door and head to a nearby restaurant where a booking had been made. That was it for the day.

Somewhere, buried in a pile of old photos at my house in Sydney, I have a picture of Colin face-down in a plate of what looks like spaghetti marinara, surrounded by empty bottles of wine. Some unkind soul had placed a tomato on top of his head. He was snoring soundly, I was assured. Another long, hard Wednesday on the features desk.

By the end of 1999 my itchy feet struck again and I took a job at The Nation newspaper in Bangkok, but after a few years the Asian financial crisis hit, sending the company I worked for down the gurgler with a loud burp.

I headed back to Sydney and my first job when I landed was one day each week (Saturdays) on The Sun-Herald's racing desk. The sports editor was another close mate, Rick Allen, who promptly sat me next to Colin. We produced the racing section every week, and Colin knew racing inside-out. I struggled, but with his help the section came out on time.

I managed to get some more work on The Australian as a casual sub-editor, but couldn't get on full time. After sixth months in sheer frustration, I called Colin again who, by now, was working at The Financial Review. The following day I found myself in an interview with the chief sub at the Fin, and they not only gave me a job, but the top pay rate as well. I felt like it was Xmas. I only realised later that Colin had recommended that the chief sub hire me on his last day at the Fin – he had resigned to join the Bulletin! But he was held in such high esteem that the chief sub had taken his word that I was worth hiring even as Colin was walking out the door.

After that I ended up moving back to Asia – Bangkok, my second home – but every time I went home to Sydney, my great mates Rick Allen and his lovely wife Brenda, and Colin and Dael, and a few others from time to time would organise a wine extravaganza, either at Rick or Colin’s place, or a good restaurant At those feasts, we drank some of the best wines in the world and ate some astonishingly good food, sometimes cooked by Colin himself. The empty bottles we left on restaurant tables were collectors' items.

I remember Colin trying to talk Hebrew to our taxi driver after one such feast, and amazingly we made it home in one piece. They were special nights, among special friends.

He was one of the funniest guys I've known, a friend in a time of need, and a dedicated family man. One of the best.