Russell on the left, Wayne in the middle. No recollection of who took the photo, perhaps it was Wayne’s sister, Danielle. Danielle. She who never showed an interest in the fifteen year-old boy gazing at the camera so intently.
Russell was the big kid every group of small boys needed when they disturbed another group’s turf, like South Bondi, where we eventually prevailed, or the Maroubra Stomp where the sport was to wait for Wayne to pick a girl to dance (?) with then move in on him.
We climbed down and back every accessible cliff between the Gap and the North Bondi sewer pipe, spearfished from Watsons Bay to Little Bay, dug and crawled our way into deserted WW2 defensive harbour tunnels in Camp Cove, fished from piers, jetties, rocks and rowboats. Then there were the countless days we surfed together.
Wayne reckons there’s a book in it, I’m just hoping his memory for those far off days is better then mine, though I do remember the names of all his girlfriends.
I just have to keep on hassling Russell Crowe. I can feel him coming on side. It is hard work, harder then writing a screenplay.