A good sheep station ruined

Abstract

The quip that Canberra is 'a good sheep station ruined' has been repeated since at least the early 1960s. But it may have entered the local vernacular decades earlier; perhaps coined by an old farmer annoyed by the burgeoning beige of the young city's concrete brutalism. These days, the jibe lives on as part of the smorgasbord of wit indulged by an ever-lengthening queue of Canberra bashers. If the capital is not being criticised as a blight on the landscape or the source of the nation's political woes, it is bagged for its sleepy ways by detractors too hip for a quieter pace. What is certain is that Canberra will never win itself a popular image as long it remains the seat of government. It may or may not be true to say that our politicians and administrations since 1913 have disappointed us and, therefore, 'ruined' this good sheep paddock, but the first part of the aphorism is certainly fact. Indeed, the Limestone Plains had world-class sheep stations. At times its fleeces secured world-record prices.