I can't believe Callan's dead

We used to watch him religiously every week when we first lived here in Albany 35 years ago. This is what his death made me remember:
Changing into long, wrap-around Indian skirts and tight little tops after work (trackies hadn't been invented).
Thinking prawn cocktails were sophisticated.
Learning how to cook spaghetti bolognese and veal cordon bleu (very flash) from the Women's Weekly Cookbok.
Being given a waterbed by a friend. It was awful - always damp.
Building bookcases out of bricks and planks.
Being terrified of the bats in the garage under the house.
Smoking a joint while we were waiting for Monty Python, Callan and New Scotland Yard to come on the telly (yes, all on the same night).
Ditto, but listening to Poco's Crazy Eyes.
Being persona non grata with the old couple next door because we were living in sin.
My now husband buying a wedding ring with my first (and only) dole cheque. You could buy a band of 9 carat gold for $22 in 1974.
Becoming friendly with the couple next door after the nuptials. She showed me her doll collection and he told me he was so short because a tree fell on his head.
Taping council meetings (which were broadcast on the radio) for my husband, who was a reporter on the local paper. The only councillor I remember is Herb Wanke, for obvious reasons.
Watching The Winners on the ABC on Sunday nights and deciding I'd follow Carlton because they had the best uniforms.
Having a cat called Snooks whose tail later fell off due to an abscess.
Eating a liver and bacon counter lunch at the Premier hotel once a week (it was THE best).
Going to the Sunday session at the London Hotel and listening to Dot (I think that was her name) play the piano.
Above all, I remember feeling very happy and carefree.
We can only hope Callan's feeling the same way now he's shuffled off this mortal coil and is equipped with a halo as well as a gun.