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ScoMo reveals to me his Daddy Bear image

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Scott Morrison came through the crowd like a bad acid trip. He was dressed in a brown bear outfit, the face removed to reveal a beaming, bespectacled mug. People slapped his back, shook his hand and called out "ScoMo".

He approached me and I accepted his hand. The grip was firm like it was when we first met while studying economic geography together at the University of New South Wales three decades ago.

We met again at a recent UNSW reunion - the theme fancy dress, the party held on a cold Sydney night under the stars by an infinity pool. A four-piece band played 1980s covers: Funky Town blared.

"Mark Bode!" Morrison said. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"It's a long story."

He looked at his wristwatch. "I've got about five minutes to spare, so fire away."

"Do you really want to hear my life story?"

"Sure. I've often thought about you over the years. You were, after all, responsible for prompting me to change my image, and, as a result, win the heart of Lisa. I know you remember that; I read your column. You're a naughty boy, Mark."

The column he referred to was entitled "I knew ScoMo when he was called Miami". In it I detailed how Morrison successfully pursued Lisa - a drop-dead........

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