Social event of the week, or so it seemed: the funeral for Richard Pratt, one of Australia's richest men.
The wealthy industrialist died of prostate cancer on Monday night, and according to Jewish custom, had to be buried as soon as possible, as a mark of respect for the dead.
Even for a billionaire, he had a contact book to die for. Very few people could draw the A-list that he did - especially at a day's notice - when they held his funeral service at a small suburban synagogue in Kew.
A severely wizened Bob Hawke, 80 this year, but looking about 97; John Howard, his yarmulke perched ridiculously high on his skull, giving him the appearance of an elderly cub; Lindsay Fox in a fetching camel overcoat and blue giggle hat; Frank Lowy; John Elliott, incongruously teary; Steve Vizard; the McGuires, Frank & Eddie; former Carlton skipper, Rhodes scholar, AFL Commissioner and millionaire financier Mike Fitzpatrick; America's Cup skipper John Bertrand; Dame Elisabeth Murdoch, magnificent at 100, pushing her own walker around; AFL CEO Andrew Demetriou; Lillian Frank; Tony Barber; Molly Meldrum, hat on and clutching either a skull cap or a hot cross bun - something religious, anyway; Daryl Somers; Jeff Kennett; John Brumby; Steve Bracks; Bob Carr; Simon Crean; Michael Kroger and Ann Peacock (separately); Rod Kemp; the entire Carlton footy club, by the look of it; steelmaker David Smorgon; Michael Gudinski; Tottie Goldsmith; Ivan Deveson; John So; Bill Shorten, and many more, including more than 50 members of the Melbourne media.
Plus, of course, the remaining Pratt family itself: matriarch Jeanne, a delightful person, by all reports, but a tragic reminder of the hazards of excessive plastic surgery; son Anthony; and daughters Heloise and Fiona.
Lifetime friend, former political journalist, and Pratt Foundation boss Sam Lipski spoke eloquently at the service of Pratt's many facets. And he condemned with cold anger what he believed was Pratt's persecution by the corporate cops at the ACCC. Pratt was cast, as he put it, in a play that should never have been produced; unjustly conceived, and unjustly pursued.
Like hundreds of others, there was no room for me inside the synagogue. They stood ten deep on the footpath outside, hearing every word on four big screen TVs and a PA. (I caught snatches as best I could, but was preoccupied serving up two live crosses into Seven's morning programs) A busy day, the greatest challenge, deciding what to leave out of the story for 6pm.
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