take me back
Melting hard paraffin wax over a burning newspaper.
Buying salad rolls for lunch at Cooper’s delicatessen.
Drinking on the Astra footpath.
Catching a bus to the beach.
Saying g’day to Scott Dillon and scoring a wink.
Counting how many times the handball players said FUCK after playing a bad shot in the handball court behind the change room in the pavilion.
Learning how punishing Adler canvas board-shorts were on an essential piece of male equipment when you weren’t wearing sluggos.
Finding an overnight spot for your board in the old shed.
Pinball wins.
Lime and lemonade at Valises.
Brontë girls.
Copping a spray from Bluey Mayes and Dutchy after paddling around McKenzies for a better wave at Tamarama.
Trying to explain a mid-week sunburn to a suspicious father during a school term.
Not feeling guilty about trying to win your best mate’s girlfriend.
Gawping at crazy Bea Miles when she came down for a swim.
Looking Aub Laidlaw in the eye, then not,
Never considering joining a surf club.
Amphetismeans .. this is 1961, so what am in for, and do I have the spelling right?
Eight to a car and heading for Manly when the wind swung south.
Thousands out there.
Avalon, and I’m from Bondi, so why don’t they love me?
The Newport Alms: stale piss, bad service, burnt food and dealing with Tim Bristow.
Heading north, thinking that a spell in a slaughterhouse might add value to a young life misspent.
Finding it.
petebowes.com 