It was free-form radio. I’d arrive at about ten minutes to showtime and just hold on while Doug would riff on everything that came to mind. He loved, in order, his wife and producer “Miss Lizzie”, who was his North Star in everything he did, his children, radio, the Manly Sea Eagles and life itself. He lived huge: enjoying his wealth, his houses, the lunches and dinners that never ended. Despite all of that, he remained an intensely private man, and never really played the publicity game. He was hugely loyal to his wide circle of friends that became ever wider as the years passed.

From close observation, his singular ability as a broadcaster was to get right to the very edge of saying something that would have him taken off the air, and never blinking. He pretty much always knew where the line was, and was quite comfortable riffing while staring over the abyss. In my time I reckon he went over that line once or twice but was instantly forgiven by audience and regulators alike: he was Doug Mulray! Breaking the rules was what he was meant to do and besides which, he never had an ounce of malice in him and everything was delivered with great humour.

After a year, Doug had taken the ratings from 2.1 to the high 7s on 2SM, and we went to 2WS. Alas, what had been free-form radio, making it up as we went along, was jammed into a highly regulated corporate environment with a playlist that came from Los Angeles, and it just didn’t work, though the show was significant for pioneering the idea that radio could be multi-platformed, on the internet.

I went my way, and he went his, but we kept in light touch.

A few years after our radio stint he worked hosting Beauty and The Beast, hired by programmer Brian Walsh – who died last week – after Brian had sacked the previous host, Stan Zemanek. But, as observed by my wife Lisa Wilkinson who was a panellist, the fit just never worked for one simple reason. Doug was a feminist through and through. He mostly agreed with all the women and just couldn’t fake it. I think it went to the heart of his ability as a broadcaster. He couldn’t be anything but authentic, and the audience knew it.

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The last few years have been hard, dogged by illness. He went out much less but when I did see him I was always struck by just how happy he was. He didn’t mourn the glory days long gone. He just loved life and everything in it, starting and ending with Miss Lizzie.

Vale, Uncle Doug. It was a privilege to work with you and know you. You will be remembered as one of Sydney’s greatest broadcasters and one of our most beloved identities. You broke the mould. You were one of ours, an Australian original.

My personal condolences to you, Miss Lizzie, and Doug’s children, James, Rosie and Tommie.