Michael Briody
‘Two Peas in a Podcast.’
Chalk and Cheese: A Fabrication
by Ross Fitzgerald & Ian McFadyen
Hybrid, 2 025, 262 pages,$24.99

Ross Fitzgerald and Ian McFadyen’s powerful new novel, Chalk and Cheese: A Fabrication (Hybrid, Melbourne, $24.99), features two octogenarian former rival radio stars, Bill and Ben, who detest each other—until they find themselves in the same nursing home.

The plot centres around these two men in the twilight of their lives who refuse, as Dylan Thomas wrote, to “go gentle into that good night”. The novel sets the scene for the flood of baby boomers who will boost nursing home occupancy, followed by a golden era eagerly anticipated by funeral directors.

Though laced with humour, Chalk and Cheese is a serious exploration of ageing. With the help of their tech-savvy grandchildren, Lily and Carl, the irascible Bill and recalcitrant Ben form an unlikely alliance to champion the rights of the elderly. Together, they launch a national podcast aimed at exposing systemic failures in aged care—an initiative that makes this a more important book than Fitzgerald and McFadyen’s Grafton Everest politico/sexual satires.

Bill Bradley, a conservative with populist leanings, enters the Elysian Waters nursing home in northern NSW after a stroke. His first impression—feeling “like a refrigerator that had just been delivered”—sets the tone for his reluctant transition. In contrast, Ben Curran is a lifelong socialist with a history of student radicalism and a Communist grandfather. Now struggling with emphysema after decades of smoking, Ben relies on snorting oxygen rather than the illicit substances of his youth.

Their paths cross during weekly visits from their grandchildren. When they learn of a woman denied her age pension by bureaucracy, they decide to act. Guided by Lily and Carl, they assume reptilian avatars
2 / 4
and launch The Lizards of Oz podcast. To their surprise, it’s a hit—garnering hundreds of likes and five-star ratings.
As they tackle topics such as elder financial abuse, their mutual disdain begins to thaw. But when nursing home staff forcibly sedate Ben with Seroquel, Bill is outraged. He records a video of Ben’s condition and, with all the intrigue of an espionage thriller, hatches a plan—codenamed Benevac—to escape. With help from Carl, Lily, and Sophia (a Ukrainian nurse wrongfully dismissed for refusing to overmedicate Ben), the duo relocates to a remote cabin.

Two lawsuits follow: one for Sophia’s unfair dismissal, and another for Ben’s mistreatment. When Ben testifies, the court is stunned by the contrast between his lucid testimony and the video showing his sedated state.

The narrative that follows—a national geriatric rebellion—is a literary tour de force. Former foes, Bill and Ben unite to challenge Australia’s aged care system with wit, courage, and the power of modern communication. Their experiences highlight not only the injustices facing the elderly but also the vitality of their generation.

Christmas at the nursing home evokes both nostalgia and intimations of mortality. Preparations for a second podcast, on the taxation of superannuation schemes, resonate with their peers. A third podcast addressing the HECC’s student debt scheme expands their audience, drawing attention from newspapers and parliaments alike.

Emboldened, they declare D-Day (Decaffeination Day), urging baristas to strike on a Monday morning—a provocative yet effective protest against low wages for casuals. The idea spreads internationally.

The novel also captures the complexity of aged care management—highlighting the difficulty of retaining staff amid cost-cutting directives from corporate bean-counters. Even so, it never loses sight of its main concern: preserving dignity and purpose in old age.

Helen, a retired teacher with severe short-term memory loss, becomes a mouthpiece for the authors’ critique of modern pedagogy.
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Meanwhile, Bill is haunted by the death of his wife from cancer, and shocked by unpleasant secrets uncovered in her old correspondence which require him to reassess his life and re-examine that past relationship. This brings him to reminisce about a writer friend with a country retreat who spent weekends with paramours, “but it was not the typewriter he was pounding there”. Pleasingly, although almost 81, Bill discovers with Sophia the most fulfilling sexual intimacy of his life. The novel ends as unexpectedly as the friendship it depicts, with both men finding peace despite their different paths.

Though they begin as opposites—chalk and cheese—Bill and Ben become two peas in a pod(cast). The book is dedicated to “elder Australians who are joining forces to improve the quality and circumstances of their lives,” but its insights make it essential reading for adult children of nursing home residents and those contemplating aged care.

Fitzgerald, emeritus professor of History and Politics at Griffith University, is the author or co-author of 46 books, including Fifty Years Sober: An Alcoholic’s Journey and the Grafton Everest satires. McFadyen, a veteran TV writer and creator of The Comedy Company, is his long-time collaborator.
As befits their calibre, the writing is superb. The dialogue sparkles, and the descriptions—of the nursing home and the rural hideaway—are vivid without being overwrought. The novel’s filmic quality begs for adaptation, with roles that would suit seasoned actors such as Sam Neill or Geoffrey Rush (as Bill), and Kim Gyngell or John Howard (as Ben).

Inner monologues are used as vehicles for social commentary—often satirical, sometimes nostalgic—reminding readers of the dramatic cultural shifts of recent decades. The humour is sympathetic, not mocking, and the characters are rendered with warmth and dignity. Younger readers may need guidance with some historical references, such as the ALP-DLP split of the 1950s. But the novel also embraces contemporary themes. Drones deliver supplies, AI features in their podcast plans, and apps play a role in their escape. Meanwhile, Carl and Lily are mystified by the landline telephone in the hideaway—just one of many generational reversals the novel handles with gentle wit.

As a comic novel with serious intent, Chalk and Cheese is a rare gem—an intricate fabrication that is profoundly human. It is, without question, the best novel I have read this year.

Dr Michael Briody is a critic and criminologist based in Brisbane.

Quadrant July/August 2025, pp 115-117