I am a country girl who came to live in the city in 1975. The eldest of three daughters born just three years apart. Dad wasn't lucky enough to score even one son to help out around our huge pig farm, just three giggling girls. And giggle we did. Everything struck our funny bone and we were always in trouble at home. Today, as sisters in our 40's we are inseparable. Our last fight when teenagers, was over who would wash, wipe and put away the dishes.

Growing up in a South Australian industrial town meant that we didn't have access to exciting entertainment, cultural outings and shopping expeditions as did our city cousins - in fact we strained our eyeballs with black and white "snowy" television reception for years. We survived endless days of century heat in summer and wore plastic sandals to school, which we washed daily under the water tank and hung up to dry. To cool down, we girls squirted each other with the hose, the reason why none of us ever learned to swim.

During summer school holidays, we picked apricots, peaches, nectarines and figs in the scorching sun and made endless jars of jam and preserves with a ton of white sugar. No wonder our lifelong dentist recently retired a wealthy man.

There was none of the expensive toys, games and gadgets that kids have today, yet we were never bored. We played hopscotch and knucklebones in the back lane with all the kids from the neighbourhood. Dad built a cubby house which we turned into a shop with shelves crammed with empty grocery packets and tins. It was here, in our dress-up clothes and high heels that we learned to "go shopping" with paper money and cardboard coins - and whatsmore, there wasn't a calculator in sight. The only thing I ever wanted as a little girl was a Bride Doll. I never got it. But we did have lots of nice clothes. Mum loved to sew and she made three of everything, all the same, just different colours. Today, Mum is 73 and she continues to outfit me in stunning suits and enviable evening gowns and I am knocked out by her latest creation, a turquoise blue lurex off the shoulder number - yet to be worn..

Dad was an inventive man of the land, ahead of his time. However, everytime a pig collided with his farm truck, we were forced to eat pork for a week. How I hated pork as a kid. Now, I love it. But back then I also hated cabbage, brussel sprouts, liver and brains. Now they're absolutely delicious. Dad was tough when I got my first pay packet at the local radio station. He made me pay Mum board and do a weekly banking which he checked on a regular basis. I remember being so cranky with him, but this was my lesson in "paying my way in life and learning to save". Dad is now 77 and I love him more than words can say. I am proud that he was a Rat of Tobruk and a forward scout on the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea, although he has never discussed the war until recent years.

Our parents were always strict, with solid family values and disciplines. Bed time was 7oclock come hail, rain or shine. At meal time we kids were to be seen and not heard - and I always thought that was pretty damned stupid. There was so much to talk about from school and the slightest squeak bought a whack over the back of the hand with the flat of the knife. However, they instilled in us respect, love, honesty, courtesies and most certainly, a work ethic.

My move from the country to the city 22 years ago was a rapid learning curve in the school of hard knocks. My first real city experience was on a railway station platform in Melbourne, capital city of Victoria, Australia. I arrived at the platform early and waited to catch the train home. Then like a bolt out of the blue, the 5oclock rush hour crowd descended on me. Naturally, I politely stood and waited for all these impatient people to push and shove their way onto the carriages and before I knew it, the doors had closed and the train was gone. That was lesson number one.

It was 1975 and I was living and working in the "big smoke". I was so naive back then, it was pathetic. My second job was in a Melbourne radio station, slap bang in the middle of a mammoth newspaper building. At this place people were so mean to each other, the verbal knives flew, as they stabbed each other in the back. This wasn't how I expected people to behave. It wounded me. I was 25 years old and I often cried on the way home. But I survived and progressed. The disciplines and values my parents hammered home have been my key tools, from my first junior job, through to senior management in media and charitable organisations. My working life has been an eventful and interesting journey to date with more than a few hefty bumps along the way. But I am happy with me.

However, I often wonder what is happening to social disciplines, courtesies and etiquette. There are so many things that annoy the hell out of me. Take mobile phones - they can be the rudest intrusion. I have had people make an appointment to see me in my office and then carry out a conversation on their wretched phone while I sit patiently and twiddle my thumbs. I am just waiting for someone to carry on a phone conversation at a function when I am the guest speaker. They will wish they hadn't.

What ever happened to punctuality? Why must some people always be late, short of an unexpected problem. Poor planning I say. Worse still, why make an appointment and not turn up? Or RSVP to a function and then not bother to front. Only, last week I saw a business friend highly embarrassed by the lack of attendees at a carefully planned function and a whole stack of unclaimed name tags at the door. Apparently, something more interesting popped up. I cringed at the wasted expense.

Personally, I am severely allergic to the social set - those painful people pre-occupied with what label one is wearing. You know, the kind whose eyes rudely dart around the rest of the room while talking to you. Socialite - it's an awful handle - but for some people it's a tag to die for. For my mind it sits about 2 out of 10 on the ladder of intelligence and respect.

Today, more than ever, the simple things are important to me. Relaxing at home, genuine friendships, caring phone calls, hand-written notes, funny faxes, honesty, laughter, lively conversation, sharing a meal, finding time for a lonely aged friend or giving a small gift for no particular reason. Just recently I was given two jars of scrummy homemade jam - mandarin from an old work mate Violet Rose (my name for her) and a strawberry delight from Saline and Jubs. Now, that's what a girl raised in the country appreciates. I am also grateful for discovering the wonderful world of IRC - it has been a delight this far - thanks everyone.