It's usually great seeing old friends. You don't have to plan what to say, watch your words, suffer awkward silences, or try to guide and manipulate the conversation to where you want it to go as you might with a client or a workmate or even, frankly, a partner when there are chores to be allocated or holiday destinations decided.

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With old friends, you just turn up, crap on and see who can make the other laugh first. If you say something that comes out wrong, they're not going to judge you.

Surprisingly, I'd discovered this holds true even when the old friend happens to be dying. This was the seventh time in the last six months I'd driven the 3.5 hours along the boring Hume Highway from Sydney to Canberra to see Jum and, despite the pain he was in and the terror he was facing, we'd had some great times.

Chat, coffee, laughs, chook and rolls and coleslaw, reminiscing about the past, analysing the present, trying to avoid the future, nice walks through leafy, suburban Canberra, even if each was at a slower pace and for a shorter distance than the previous one.

READ MORE: James O'Loghlin and his campaign with dying mate Jum

It had been more fun than grim. For me, anyway. Who knew what was really going on inside Jum's head, but he had done a good job of at least pretending he was enjoying himself.

This visit, however, was different because it would probably be my last. I'd never........

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