The genius of 'Game of Thrones' is that in this rich imagining of a world redolent of the medieval, the rules of a Middle Ages morality play have been so thoroughly discarded.

I first felt the addictive power of 'Game of Thrones' when I was prime minister, living in a world where power was also pursued relentlessly, albeit far less colourfully. Certainly, the characters of my world were nowhere near as good looking or exotically dressed.

In fragile and conflict-affected states, education can insulate children from chaos and insecurity and better prepare them to bring about future stability.

As prime minister, I was conscious of walking in Whitlam's footsteps as our government set about creating a companion to Medicare, the National Disability Insurance Scheme.

My earliest political memory is of attending, in 1975, a tub-thumping campaign rally with my father in Adelaide.

Whether or not you welcome it, moving house requires you to make choices about the past as you move into the future. What of all of your bits of stuff is truly valued? What should be left behind?

One thing 'Game of Thrones' has taught us all is to guard against too much emotional investment.

'Game of Thrones' has never much concerned itself with shining a torch on the powerless. Their hunger and suffering in a land ravaged by war is of little concern to the story's most powerful characters, whose antics bring so much pain to the people.

Developing countries need to commit additional resources and have the political will to improve education.

Investing in better-quality education outcomes - especially in maths and science - more than pays for itself.