At the season launch for the 1987 Sheffield Shield, the South Australian captain, David Hookes, was seated next to Don Bradman.  After the usual preliminaries, the Crow-Eaters’ conditioning coach made a special presentation, outlining his high-tech regime for getting the squad match-fit.  Hookes turned to The Don and asked him what he had done for pre-season exercise in the 1930s. “Well, son”, the great man replied, “I got fit by running between the wickets”.

While not claiming to be Bradmanesque, I look at writing the same way.  It helps me to stay mentally fit.  Physically, at age 53, I’m shot to pieces, especially when compared to the gym work and triathlons of my 20s.  Sure, I walk the dog every day and try to avoid sweet food, but I lack the discipline to be Carresque: obsessed with Romanian dead-lifts and activated almonds.  The best I can do is keep my brain in good shape.  Barely a day passes when I don’t feel the urge to tap something into the computer: for my weekly Australian Financial Review column; in writing for the Bluebloods thoroughbred magazine; as the unofficial historian for our local public school; and in meeting special requests from the Sydney Morning Herald and various Schwartz Media publications.

Recently my old punting pal from the Australian, Hedley Thomas, told me to get a job but realistically, I don’t have time.  I’m too busy writing.  It’s become the abiding vocation of my post-parliamentary years.  As with most good things in life, it was totally unforeseen. When I entered the House of Representatives in 1994, my writing style was abysmal – a problem reflected in my über-dense book, Civilising Global Capital (1998). Thereafter, I’ve been self-taught.

The Canberra press gallery doyen, Malcolm Farr, did me a lasting favour in late 1998 when he asked me to write a column for the Daily Telegraph – forcing me to simplify my style, with shorter sentences and punchier grammar.

In the lead up to the 2007 Federal election, the AFR’s editor Glenn Burge commissioned me to write a series of feature articles for the paper, which then led to a regular column.  He dragged me off the scrapheap of Australian politics and introduced me to a new career, something for which I have always been grateful.  We remain good mates today, co-owning racehorses that are bound to be champions (as they say).

The other breakthrough was when Tom Switzer recruited me to this magazine, penning Latham’s Law in 2010-12.  Warming to the Speccie’s quirky, irreverent style, I found a knack for satire, something I’ve tried to carry into my Relativities column at the Fin.  So thank you, Tom. And it’s good to be back.

Like many authors, I don’t always enjoy the process of writing but I love having written.  There are few things more gratifying than putting together a coherent public policy argument or, if I’m in the mood for mischief, a chortling text about a misfiring journalist.

Speaking of which, I have struck gold with the Australian’s Media Editor, Sharri Markson.  She first entered my orbit in November 2007 when she sat voyeur-style in front of my house all day, purportedly writing a story for the Sunday Telegraph.  It was more like a scene from Fatal Attraction, as she chronicled events in the Latham family swimming pool and the painting of our front boundary fence.  She’s a big thinker on top of the big national issues.  Luckily, I had already locked up the kids’ bunnies.

More recently, Markson has earned the sobriquet ‘Hansard’ for her recycling of editor Chris Mitchell’s views at the Oz.  After writing a send-up in the AFR, I spoke to Markson and she said she was “proud” of her association with Mitchell and her fawning articles about him.  “He’s the most inspirational man I have ever worked for”, she swooned, oblivious as to how others in the media are belly-laughing at her hagiography.This is the kind of callow, delusional nonsense on which satirists thrive.  The Mark/Markson contact started with her stalking me.  Now I can’t get enough of the girl.  It’s a modern media version of the Stockholm Syndrome.

In the gratification department, I’m chuffed by the release of my new book, The Political Bubble – a 300-page analysis of the tribalisation of Australian politics.  I spent last week talking about it on a promotional tour organised by the very efficient Jace Armstrong from Pan Macmillan: 10 radio interviews, working the TV-talk circuit, public events in Melbourne and Brisbane and some handy coverage in the Fairfax press.

In a crowded political book market, I’m not expecting to out-sell my advance.  Rather, I’ve written a serious book on an issue of bipartisan concern: the loss of public trust in parliamentary democracy.  As James Carlton from Radio National was kind enough to comment: “It’s a great read. The Latham Diaries (was) the definitive explanation of the modern ALP caucus/machine. Now the public has a comprehensive explanation of the broader political class as a compendium.”

In explaining the rush of book launches in July/August – involving, among others, Greg Combet, Wayne Swan, Joe Hockey, Bob Brown, Tony Windsor and Andrew Leigh – one needs to turn to game theory.  The publishing houses have all had the same idea: bringing forward their releases to avoid Julia Gillard’s blockbuster memoirs in September.  Instead of Big Red cutting our throats in terms of publicity, we have been busy cutting each other’s.