not that awfully long ago, when this news

would have been greeted with genuine relief in some quarters, not least in the Defence Department. But there

will be regret and sadness among those who found his computer columns in this newspaper compulsory and compelling reading. Not to mention sadness around

Canberra's restaurants. I've been known for enjoying lunching out in my time, but was ever an amateur besides David.

He was a great journalist, though his way of practising it put grey hairs on any number of editors, including myself and Crispin Hull. He had little concept of the laws of libel and only a hazy understanding of the difference

between ''knowing'' something and being able to prove it, if needs be, in court. David knew a lot, and was deeply interested in the fields he wrote. He had an amazing

collection of friends, informants and snouts. He was always very keen on sharing the inside information he gathered with readers, in a very chatty and commenty

style, but alas all too often had to be restrained for fear that, this time about, he might bankrupt the

paper. That was a prospect that never greatly daunted him, but, though he was a great mate and a real knockabout, there was ever a tension whenever one had to summons him into the office. It meant that we would be squabbling over his copy, or haggling over his expenses, particularly over the alcohol component of the

lunch bill.

In an ideal world, all journalists will be completely loyal company men and women, of exemplary manners, willing to work for a pittance, and never creating any trouble, least of all attracting writs. But most of the best journalists have more than a little of the ratbag about them, and the best editors will forgive a lot from

people whose ratbaggery and persistence leads them to break stories, to set public agendas and to make things happen. The mild mannered might not make waves

or make trouble, but in many cases it is because their material is so bland that it is neither news nor anything which matters much. David Ives stretched the envelope on things that mattered things indeed he had made matter in a field in which he was a pioneer.

Some readers loved him. Others feared him. Others hated him. But almost everyone working in Canberra's IT industry had to read him, and his reportage had an important impact on public procurement policies and the way government departments acquired computer systems in the 1980s and 1990s. His targets, such as those responsible for the Defence Departments Desine system, IBM and Microsoft, would quail at his criticism, and often launched internal inquiries to discover his moles. Senators at estimates committees, including Bronwyn Bishop, would have his articles before them as they cross-examined unhappy and sweating

bureaucrats.

Little of his copy appeared in the front part of the paper though one of his great scoops, about Mt Stromlo research into dark matter, was, as it soon was on

front pages around the world. Most of his reports were in the computer pages, which he edited for 11 years from 1987.

He came to us from a host of different careers, almost different lives. Born into a Navy family in Manchester in 1935, he was pushed by his father into studying

chemistry, eventually earning a doctorate in organic chemistry. He always said he never had any interest in the field, and soon after getting his doctorate, he enrolled in a drama school and became a professional actor for many years, at one stage having a role in

Coronation Street. He was also a useful middle distance runner, at one stage holding the British junior record

for the mile. He told of running the mile, at 18, in 4min 3sec only a month before Roger Bannister did the four-minute mile in 1954. In those amateur days, David said,

the most he ever won was an alabaster adjustable calendar and a set of fish forks.

From acting he went in radio production and journalism at the BBC, and later, after he emigrated with his wife Phyllida (they hitchhiked through Europe, the Middle East and India to Malaya, then caught a boat) in 1973, at the

ABC. There he became part of a team of ratbags, geniuses and ABC internal exiles who conceived Radio 2JJ and were soon scandalising Sydney, infuriating commercial radio stations and the Festival of Light as well acquiring an army of young fans. 2JJ ultimately

became the Triple J network and a new generation audience for the ABC.

Apart from the fun, and the anarchy, he was also doing some serious journalism, in Aboriginal affairs as well as Sydney development scandals, but in 1981, he resigned to go sailing about Queensland and some casual acting. In 1983 he bought his first home computer; within two years he was writing a computer column for the Australian, and from 1987, when The Canberra Times responded to the developing technology by starting a weekly section, he came here to edit it.

Retiring in 1997, he was back to acting, appearing in plays such as Arsenic and Old Lace, Endgame and the Brighton Beach Memoirs. He was a natural, and passionate actor, particularly good at playing

Mr Innocent.

He once complained in a column that I had no great interest in his computer pages, and rarely read his copy, unless there were some legal question. I saw it on the

page proof all by myself at about 11pm, shortly before the paper was to go to bed, and thought first of sending the pages electronically back to his home to have him

personally excise this teasing lie. Then I thought of inserting a note: Oh yes I do. Editor. It would

have been a nice counter mischief, but I behaved responsibly and just subbed it out. Vale David.