BOZ....ONE IN A BILLION

Boris Fuller (Boz) 2004 - 1/08/2011

Cats are spoilt self centred egotists who only do what they do whenever they feel like doing it. All the love and affection that emanates from them is wholly for their own gratification. A canine bends over backwards to please his or her male and female companions and after only basic training will obey requests and commands from them, where as a feline will either completely ignore you, or say,
"E-Mail me, I'm busy."

Back in the 1950's and into the 60's I was blessed to be the master of what was the smartest dog I have ever known, the legendary Tojo. During the 70's there was the devoted labrador Casey. For most of my life I have always been a lover of animals and since marrying my good wife Gabi during 1972 pussy cats have taken over as the favoured pet. Throughout the years there have been more than several furry felines who were part of our family and were loved, despite their tendency to be quite self centred most of the time.

However, during January 2008 we saved from certain death a black and white bitza tom cat and adopted him as a member of the family. It did not take Gabi and I long to realise he was unlike any other cat and behaved in a manner that would or could not be regarded as typical or normal for an average feline.


Flea ridden, undernourished with cat flu and a broken leg.

He would have been born towards the end of 2004 and Gabi and I assumed he must have been a kiddies Xmas present. Cats are only cute kittens for a relatively short period of time and even before he reached his first birthday he was cast out onto the streets to fend for himself.
When he was around 10 months old he was confronted by our fluffy golden boy Fritz who objected to him eying off our tan and white neutered female Jink. It was a standoff that ended with no fisticuffs, but lots of name calling. When Fritz, who was always a troublemaker, was given to a couple several houses away and we purchased Dinah to keep Jink company, our street urchin began regular visits to keep in touch with both girls. It became obvious that all he desired was company and the girls appeared to more than just tolerate him.

For almost three years his visits became quite regular and any other tom that made an appearance had the living tripe belted out of him. Most of his days were spent hanging out with and sleeping with the girls and during the evenings he was out and about defending his territory. In the latter half of 2007 Gabi began feeding him and named him Boris. She set up a soft bed for him in my workshop and he began to sleep there more often than not. He still would not allow Gabi or me to approach him as he simply did not trust anyone, God only knows what he had been subjected to during those three lonely years.


His one true love. The beautiful goddess Jink.


Still are little unsure, but adapting to the domestic life.

The summer of 07-08 was a stinker. During January 2008 the temperature was in the 40's and Boris the tom had been snoozing under the shadeclothed arbour in our backyard. The heat had got to him, he left his chair and flopped onto the concrete that was so hot you could fry an egg on it. He was panting and crying for relief and for the first time he approached Gabi and I wanting to be picked up. I still believe he was only minutes away from certain death. Gabi picked him up and carried him into the house where the Air-Con and some water and milk revived him within a very short time. We began feeding him on the back landing with the door open and after only two days he entered the house to check everything out. Although this was his first excursion inside, he found the two kitty litter trays in the laundry and made a deposit in one of them without spilling one grain of litter onto the floor. He decided everything was to his liking and fell asleep at Gabi's feet before moving in permanently. He awoke right on teatime and joined the girls in the laundry for dinner. Our two females outwardly appeared to accept him as a family member.

As for Boris, he fell head over heels in love with his goddess Jink.
The only hiccup in our relationship with him was when we took him to the Vet for a complete checkup and had him nicked and popped, so to speak. When we picked him up after the dirty deed had been done, the look on his face said it all,
"What the f... have you done to me?"
After two days of non stop sleeping, all was forgiven and he was ready and rearing to commence his new found life of luxury.

All those years of hard knocks had hardened him, he stank to high heaven, his cheeks were ticket punched with bite and scratch marks, his fur felt like steel wool, his breath was horrendous and he had no idea what playing was. Every now and then Jink would give his face a few love taps then run sideways away from him, hoping he would chase her, but at first he did not understand, but after noticing our young Dinah behaving like a demented whirling dervish while playing with Jink and/or her toys, memories of his childhood must have been recalled. Within two months of being spoilt rotten, he had regained his self respect and he transformed himself into a spotlessly clean, sweet smelling and extremely well groomed gentleman. For the first time since infancy he remembered that there was more to life than fighting and he began to behave almost like a kitten........Ah! at last, Nirvana.

At times one could be forgiven for thinking he was a dog, as quite often when told to do something, he obviously understood and would do it immediately.......very un-catlike. I am convinced he realised how fortunate he was to be rescued from his hard and lonely former life and how much he was loved by Gabi and I and in appreciation at every opportunity, he returned that love with no strings attached while at the same time never failing to make us laugh out loud at his antics.


Boris attached himself to Gabi and followed her everywhere like a drover's dog, as for me, he still was not convinced. As you can see this did not last for too long and for the first time in my life I had a cat who had grown to adore me and who I was able to bond with. He was the first cat to love me as much as he loved Gabi.


Boris could not believe his luck when his goddess would snuggle up with him for a nap.

Like most cats he quickly learnt how to pose, so as to look his cutest.


"Mum's up, quick, all spread out before she gets back."


It's all go.
"We're busy doing nothing, working the whole day through,
Trying to find lots of things not to do."


The end result. Complete and utter contentment.
"I'm busy going nowhere, isn't it just a crime,
I'd like to be unhappy but,
I never do have the time."

For just under 4 years we were overjoyed with his presence. Never in our wildest dreams did we ever imagine a common moggie could affect us the way he did. Maybe it was because of the hard life during those early years, maybe it was the way he appeared to be all the time grateful for everything, or it could have been the way he adapted to the comforts of domestic life when adopted. Whatever it was, Gabi and I saw to it that,what turned out to be his last 4 years, were all he ever could have imagined. All he ever wanted was to be part of a family and to be loved.

His wish came true, he found his loving family, complete with two spoilt females and for the first time in his life, a place of safety, where he ended up being spoilt rotten. Despite this, not once did he ever take a single solitary thing for granted, he was grateful for every little thing that came his way and we loved him for it and he returned that love with compound interest. There was nothing insincere or patronising about his affection for Gabi and I, or his two girlfriends, he idolised us all. He would hardly ever cease talking to the two of us in squeaks and chirrups and quite often would sing love songs to Jinkie. The average cat simply does not behave in this manner and this is what made him so unique, loving and special.

Sunday evening he was playing with his toys and swinging on his cat scratcher, showing off as usual, life was pretty good. At bedtime Gabi was joined by all three moggies and when I arose at 5:30 am there they were all snuggled up together....what a life. Along with the two girls he was fed his breakfast by Gabi at 5:45 am Monday 1st. August. He entered the living room at 6:00am, gave me a rub and meowed a greeting, commenced to take up his position in front of the gas heater, then suddenly collapsed onto the rug and died instantly. He was only 2 months or so short of his 7th birthday.

What caused this to happen? Who knows, at least he went quickly in an instant,with no trauma preceding the tragedy, or knowledge of what was about to transpire.

He's gone and as I type the tears are streaming down my cheeks and although they will eventually cease, the memories of him will never be forgotten.

Thank you Boz, it was a delight and indeed an honour to have known you for the all too short period of your life and to be held in such high esteem by you.

God bless you little mate, you were truly one in a billion.

Pogo's World Tour of Avalon

Throughout the years Scottish comedian Billy Connolly has appeared in many first class and top rating travelogues and documentaries. He has taken his viewers around the globe and has shown what a wonderful and sometimes wacky world we live in.

In his World Tour of Scotland he included what he regarded as a highlight and important part of his colorful and busy life, that involved visiting many of the worlds nations as a comedian and travel guide. This highlight, that he was able to recall with remarkable clarity, involved horizontal folk dancing, or putting it simply, was when he lost his innocence with a local lassie.

If my memory is correct, I think it took at least 3 one hour programs before he finally reached the exact spot where he hit the jackpot and when doing so, although extremely excited, he was also disappointed that the original landmarks were no longer present. However it seemed to him that the actual site should be declared heritage listed.

Whilst not contributing as much to my fellow man as the highly talented Mr. Connolly has done and although not leading such an eventful life as he has been blessed with leading, nevertheless I had my moments when life became more than just something special. Please, do not for a moment think that what follows, involves gratuitous sex and the like, because it simply doesn't, but back in late 1960 or possibly early 1961, a fairly shy and highly inexperienced 17 year old male virgin who had been rejected, suddenly and unexpectedly experienced the highlight of his life.

I may not have the ability to entertain large or small audiences, but I have been able to retain a strong and accurate memory of what took place all those years ago and I can assure you that I regard the significance and importance of what transpired just as highly as Billy Connolly did with his teenage experience.



Surveying the beach and surf from the club's upper deck, I noticed a blonde girl who I had never seen before with some of the local girls. After making inquiries I was told she was out of my class and to simply avoid her as she would eat me for breakfast. I was later informed by one of the younger members that she was the daughter of a local millionaire and wouldn't have anything to do with the likes of me.
Around 11 am. I returned to shore on my surf ski and was informed by young Denise that there was someone who was dying to meet me. Much to my surprise it was my mystery girl, whose name I am ashamed to admit I forgot over 45 years ago. She was sun baking with several of the local fillies clad in what I recall to be a Mitchell blue colored one piece cozzie. Introductions were forthcoming and for the next 30 minutes or so this gorgeous creature and my good self rabbited on and on. It was obvious she had a low regard of the beach at Avalon and more so in regard to the surf club members. I had never met a girl like her, she frightened me as she was extremely street wise and appeared to be much, much more sophisticated and experienced than I was ever going to be. Eventually I said my goodbyes and left, visibly shakened.

Around 2pm. that afternoon I was chatting with a surf club mate in front of the clubhouse. Jim was still training for his bronze medallion and as I was passing on to him what I believed to be useful information, Denise and one of her attractive female companions arrived and struck up a conversation. It appears I had made a huge impression on my mystery girl and was invited by her to attend a party she was throwing at her house that evening. As her parents were overseas in New York, this party was expected to be something out of the ordinary. Jim showed an interest in attending, so the two of us spruced up and later on that day, we arrived at the venue around 7:30pm.

Upon arrival, our hostess greeted me with a big hug and sloppy kiss on the lips and when introduced to Jim, she shook his hand. After being introduced to many of those present and conveniently forgetting their names within seconds of the introduction, I became fascinated with the house and those within it. I had never been inside such a state of the art dwelling and the 50 or so people there were a complete cross section of society and were definitely not the class of people I felt at ease mixing with. Despite being much more sophisticated than my feral self, some of these well to do and highly educated folk saw to it that a strip poker game got underway in one of the sitting rooms. This enabled me, from time to time, to keep abreast (what a suitable and appropriate word) of the latest fashions in female underwear and lingerie........Phew!!

Jim and our hostess disappeared early in the evening and when I found them outside on the patio, it was obvious they did not want to be disturbed. I was given the brush off on at least two more occasions and soon after wards Jim insisted he had not asked for what had happened and offered to back off if I wanted him too. Even though I was more than mildly cheesed off with the situation, I outwardly put on a brave front and told Jim to go for it. I did not want to be any ones second choice. I decided to drink up all her liquor, or at least put a huge dent in her supply, whilst paying close attention to the poker game that was now in full swing......Triple Phew!!!

When the mystery girl's cat entered the room, Jim reacted by uncontrollably coughing and violently sneezing.......he was allergic to cats and their fur. Puss was thrown outside and the party goers were advised under penalty of death not to let it in again. There was however one despicable creature who, on at least 4 occasions insisted on letting it in unobserved. Poor Jimbo was forced to leave the party before 11pm. with me openly attempting to ease his sorrow......talk about hypocritical. No sooner had he departed, I started making not so subtle moves on our shattered hostess, but my presence was not appreciated and it was made clear to me that any interest in me had completely evaporated. For the following 45 minutes or so, she vanished and no one had the foggiest idea what had become of her. Some however, including myself, believed she may have been visiting Jim down at the surf club.

Strolling down a corridor chatting to two young couples, I noticed a door that was ajar off to my left. There was a light on in the room, so I pushed open the door and entered. It was a large bedroom with a huge king sized bed flanked by bedside tables with both lamps alight. Sitting upright in the middle of the bed wearing an absolutely beautiful and extremely sexy white negligee was our missing goddess reading a paperback novel. The five of us sat around the edge of the bed and began inquiring why was she in bed etc.

She made it quite clear that our presence was not appreciated and there was an immediate rush for the door, but she asked me to wait a moment. When the others had left, she told me to close the door and insisted that none of what she had said was directed at me. She apologized for her outburst and informed me that she had lost interest in the party and wanted me to hustle everyone out of the house as soon as possible. She wanted me to inform the party goers that she was ill and forced to go to bed and suggested some of her close friends should be able to assist me in emptying out the house. By 12:45am. the ragers had all gone. I re entered the bedroom to inform her of such and was congratulated and thanked by her for my efforts.

She then wanted me to be, in her words, a real darling and turn off all the house lights and make us both a mug of hot chocolate and bring them into the bedroom.
After this was accomplished, I sat on the end of the large bed and the two of us began chatting away about God only knows what, with her sitting upright in the middle of the bed. Never at any time was there the slightest hint that an invitation to stay the night was going to be forthcoming. My heart and another important part of my body sank when, around 2am. she suggested I head for the surf club for a good nights sleep. Once again I was forced to put on a brave front and attempted to make light of the situation by stating that she had used me to do her dirty work and now she was turfing me out. Her reply was that no one was being turfed out and if I was to get a good nights sleep, the surf club would be by far the best place for that. She then added that if I stayed the night, I would not be getting a single solitary wink of sleep.
Dear, sweet and innocent little thing that I was, I asked her, "What did you have in mind?" She pushed down the sheets, moved to the side of the bed, sat with her feet on the floor and patted the bottom sheet next to her side, making it crystal clear where she wanted me to be.
That aforementioned important part of me suddenly rose to the occasion almost immediately in anticipation of what was hopefully about to transpire. At the same time, I must admit I was also terrified.

From this point on, many authors would describe in vivid detail what transpired, but for me to do so could and would be perceived to be simply vain bragging and boasting. It was midnight on Sydney Harbor New Years Eve for the next few hours, with more than just fireworks exploding. I merely did what I was told and at times was inspired to be almost as creative as she was. Suffice to say I was taken to heights never before attained and the only thing that was not a part of this trip to Nirvana was sleep, who needed it?
I was on patrol that Sunday morning and I was forced to tear myself away, after she told me she would meet me on the beach between 12 noon and 1pm. Although physically exhausted, life never seemed so worth while and never had any morning felt anywhere near as exhilarating or satisfying as the one I was now experiencing as I jogged towards the beach.

On patrol that morning, Jim noticed me and inquired where had I slept that evening. I asked him,"Why do you want to know?"
He answered,"You never slept in the club or on the beach,did you?"
"No," I answered,"I spent the night somewhere else." The broad smile on my face had to be the giveaway.
"Tell me you didn't Pogo," he almost sobbed. "Tell me you didn't."
"I'm afraid I did," I truthfully informed him.
"That should have been me you know," he said.
I agreed with him by saying,"I know, but you had to leave early and someone had to fill in for you." What a loyal and unselfish human being I was.
When I was asked what was she like, I could not think of adequate words to describe the effect she had on me, the only word that came to mind was, "Sensational."
As he began to wander off to commence his Bronze training he frowned and said,"You bastard Pogo, you bastard,"
I've often wondered how he would have reacted if ever he discovered who the despicable creature was who kept on letting the cat in ..........All's fair in love and war and my lips are sealed.

My dream girl and/or personal trainer never turned up that day, nor on the following weekend, but during the Sunday of the next weekend she appeared on the beach with all the local girls and we had what was a rather uneasy conversation as I was with another of the local females who that day ended up becoming my partner for the following 18 months. My girlfriend to be seemed almost shocked to learn that this exceptional stunner from the well to do side of town and I knew each other. The two of them were evidently great mates, something that I was not aware of up until this point in time. Michelle never reacted or inquired when my dream girl asked of me,"Have you fully recovered from your workout yet?" Some of the other girls present did however, with knowing looks and the odd giggle aimed in my direction. I do believe the penny may have finally dropped when she found out I had attended that party two weeks previous.

Michelle and I left the beach to begin what evolved into a relationship and as for my gorgeous dream girl in Mitchell blue, she eventually disappeared from my sight and sadly was never ever seen again, but the memories of her have remained clear and constant and even though many decades have literally flown by, I am completely and utterly convinced these exceptional memories will never fade.

If only I could remember her bloody name.

PAINTINGS BY GABI FULLER

Circe the Sorceress who made captive the Greek hero Odysseus on his voyage home from the sacking of Ilion (Troy), is a work currently underway for one of Gabi's clients.


Artist at work in her studio.


The Red Cap. After Frederick Sandys. Highly Commended.

Not that many years ago I eventually got around to asking Gabi what she wanted to be in regard to her painting. She simply replied that she would like to become a good artist. What follows is a small selection of her work, that I believe confirms she has indeed achieved that goal.

Since moving to our present location in Blackalls Park, she has had at her disposal a first rate studio, complete with Aircon and this has been responsible for what was once only a hobby, to become an extremely important part of her life. In actual fact it has become a way of life.

She has been successful at many of the local and regional art exhibitions and generally finishes consistently in the top 5 to 10 percent place getters.

Her favorite paintings and exhibitions are those which promote the work of many of the past masters and other gifted artists from here and overseas. Although she would more than likely not admit to it, she is a romantic when it comes to painting and derives great pleasure and satisfaction reproducing the works of her favorite Pre-Raphaelite artists. One of the better run exhibitions is the Fabulous Fakes held each year at the Diggers Club at the Entrance and Gabi has more than made a name for herself at this Competition.


Peoples Prize at the Fab Fakes, The Entrance.

Throughout the previous several years Gabi has been extremely consistent producing top quality efforts that have gained the plaudits of the competition judges, staff and the viewing public.
She has deservedly earned 2 Highly Commendeds, 1 Commended, The Hangers Prize, The Peoples Prize and an Encouragement Award from one of the local Galleries. On one of the opening nights when leaving, we forgot to cast our vote for the Peoples Prize and discovered later on that Gabi was pipped by one vote.


Studio and Workshop at Blackalls


Gabi's Studio.


The big board.

This will be required for two of Gabi's commissions that will be over 130 cm long.



'Lamia.' After John Watehouse. Highly Commended.


'Lady Agnew of Locknaw.' After John Singer Sargent. Peoples prize.


'La Petite Fille.' After Bouguereau.


Sarah Jane Fuller.


Tart Fairy No. 1


Tart Fairy No. 2. Move over Tinker Bell


Goth Fairy.


Renae Lea Fuller meets Elmo.


'Candytuft Fairy.' After Cicely M. Barker. Gabi's first commission


'Madonna and Child.' After Marianne P. Stokes. Hangers prize & Encouragement Award.


'Soul of a Rose.' After John Waterhouse. Commended.


Gabi loves Pussy Cats.


I told you........She loves Pussies.

Well, there you go. When she sets her mind to it Gabi is capable of anything. These are only a small selection of her work, but are typical of what she loves to do. Quite a few of her paintings are now taking pride of place in various homes and the odd one has been presented as a gift to some of our relloes who have nothing but admiration for the talent that Gabi possesses.

It is pleasing to note that some of our cousins and nieces etc. have demonstrated that they too have been gifted and blessed with talent, at not just painting, but sculpting as well. Caitlin has produced beautiful pieces of work that demonstrate her undoubted talent, while the twins Zoe and Jessica are leaning towards painting and their overworked mum Shauna was considering a return to art school. Some of the photographs taken by Sarah more than indicate an artistic gift, while Margo works full time at home creating advertising and ticket writing masterpieces professionally. It's good to know that long after Gabi and I have gone toes up, that other members of our family will carry on the tradition of creating something skillful and full of beauty for others to admire.

VIEWS FROM A WINDOW

Obviously my highly talented better half Gabi had very little to do one day and decided to take a handful of shots through our casement windows. One can only assume the caffeine in the coffee she's been consuming lately was responsible for this unexpected flowing of her creative juices..............Any wonder, take a butchers at her coffee mug.


View from the computer room



The back gate through the main bedroom window.


Not so much through the window, but from it.


Laundry door.


Third bedroom window, looking north west.


Pam's front steps and Col's rumpus room.


Kitchen window, looking north east.


Living room window, looking due north.

Not exactly magnificent vistas and panoramas on offer, but at least it's home sweet home. My younger memories are of inner city smog with views of factories belching smoke and the sounds of both heavy and light industry all around. Being under the Mascot fly path didn't help much either and even though back then it was never a major problem at the time, I know where I would prefer to be today.

NOW THAT'S A FLATHEAD!!

This is what I have been spending a considerable amount of time chasing all over Lake Macquarie. Haven't caught one this big yet, but I can be be a pretty stubborn bastard. In all honesty though, if ever I did land one like this beauty, I would more than likely release it as it would be a female capable of producing thousands of more little lizards throughout the lake during its remaining lifetime.

As mentioned below, I have just sold the boat to someone who I feel sure will put it to better use than me. As soon as my legs improve I am certain that something a wee bit smaller will be purchased and the never ending search for a decent feed will continue.

The Tinnie (I've just flogged it......Jan. 13th.)

The Merewether Baths

As close to the surf as I dare to go

Gone are the days when one could scream across the face of a Dee Why Point barrel on ones malibu, or a left hander at North Avalon. Even my body surfing days appear to be behind me as the blood has way too many obstacles in my tired and aching legs to find its way through. At least twice a week Gabi and I drive to the Merewether Baths, which takes around 25 minutes and spend around an hour or so swimming and wading in the brisk ocean water, then leave for home at 7pm or close to it and arrive home before 7:30 pm. We both prefer the salt water than the chlorinated pools that are much nearer to home.

What is comforting however is the fact that the missus and I are indeed living in Paradise and I suppose more importantly simply living. Not having to contend with the horrendous Sydney traffic is most certainly a bonus and blessing. Everything we required and desired in Sydney is available where we are now and our standard of living has vastly improved. I am so pleased that my late parents made the right decision to sell up and move to Wangi as their last several years were in many ways, the best in their lives, as they both kept on saying, almost ad nauseum. They too were convinced that they were indeed living in Paradise.

You only live once and I most certainly have done that. The brakes are now on and speeding through life has turned into a slow crawl. The good and the bad years are all in the past, thankfully most of them were good. Regrets remain to haunt ones conscience regarding some of the stupid,almost insane acts committed all those years ago, but thankfully memories of the odd worthwhile contribution to my fellow man enables one to achieve peace and satisfaction with what is left of ones life.

Just found out that a former surf club captain is still riding a malibu at age 70+, bloody hell it makes me feel old and decrepit.....Come to think of it, I AM old and decrepit. Both my parents have passed on leaving a large gap in both my life and Gabi's, but life must go on and watching the twinnies Sarah and Renae growing up makes that life worthwhile.

It did not seem the same celebrating the Festive season without the folks and immediate family this year, but, at least it was quiet and uneventful. The best part was stumbling across several of my former friends from the Avalon club who are still SLSA proficient and who are showing me up by still being able to be embraced by the sacred surf......bloody show offs. Queensland's gain and I suppose Avalon's loss.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. My only contribution is at the occasional special event frying the onions on the boat shed barbie and pointing out to surf club management that tea cakes and coffee after the AGM are a bit rich. As I made known at the last meeting I attended,

"What no beer? Oh my God! Things have really changed since I was here last." Sigh!!!

DOUGLAS GORDON WELLS

A tribute to an absent friend

He was born and christened Douglas Gordon Wells, but to all of us he was simply known as Kegs......or sometimes Guts......occasionally Doberman and quite often as The Fat Man. He was a wharf labourer, but preferred to be called a Cargo'ologist.

Kegs was not your typical iconic bronzed Aussie surf lifesaver, six foot two inches tall, tanned nut brown complexion and a taut well defined body that bullets would bounce off. On the contrary, some unkind people were known to say that if you shoved a greased stick up his bum and spun him around, he would resemble a large oversize globe of the world.

If anyone in the club had a secret they were too embarrassed to reveal openly, all they had to do was tell Kegs and it would no longer be a secret, the whole club would know. He was known to enjoy the odd ice cold beer on the odd occasion, usually 17 schooners every third day at one sitting. He also had a nasty habit of becoming quite aggressive after downing quantities of amber liquid capable of sinking the QE2 in under an hour. Whenever Kegs began laughing and snorting in a manner that only he could, it was a wise move to give him a wide berth. His snorting laughter sounded like a cud chewing Bactrian camel attempting to clear the phlegm from its throat by blowing it out its arsehole. Whenever he started using his weather balloon sized stomach to bump people backwards, it was time to make oneself scarce......and fast.

One of Kegs fingers had been amputated just below the joint and this became the terror of the women and girls who attended club functions and the Sunday arvo drink sessions known as QY's. Many a female after giving out a loud squeak, was seen to rise and pop up suddenly like a jack in a box, then direct a torrent of abuse at you know who. Kegs never seemed to be offended and simply went into his camel phlegm clearing impersonation. The girls refused to have anything whatsoever to do with him and regarded him as a disgusting predator. He seemed to regard this as understandable and totally acceptable and once again never seemed to take offence.

I recall quite vividly the first time I took my more than attractive fiance Gabi to the beach and club house. She never packed a change of clothing other than a micro mini length beach skirt and a pair of briefs. After the days surfing and sunbaking we adjourned to the QY's to get wet on the inside as well. Gabi had showered and slipped on the extremely short skirt over the tight fitting pair of paisley patterned polyester briefs.......Ah! Memories. She was seated on on a small round stool at the bar chatting with the staff, when eagle eyed Kegs zeroed in on her multi coloured posterior.

"Well I'll be f....d, look at that," he cried, through a mouth almost dribbling with saliva and immediately launched himself towards the bar, his evil eyes glinting whilst sucking his probing stubby.

"Oh shit," I exclaimed and flew over to warn Gabi of the impending assault about to be launched upon her smooth, tight and well rounded polyestered butt. Too late. I arrived behind the bar just in time to hear her give out a loud squeak and to see her height momentarily increase several inches. Kegs waited for the abuse he was certain would follow, but became puzzled by Gabi's attitude and demeaner. "Oh you must be Kegs," she said ever so sweetly, "Trevor's told me all about you and your little pinkie winkie." She then added, "Come on big boy, buy me a beer and let's go have a chat."

To this day I have no idea what they were rabbiting on about, but Kegs couldn't believe his luck. For at least the next hour or so the two of them were constantly laughing and joking, whilst ensuring that more space was becoming available in the beer fridge.

Around two hours after Gabi's surprised squeak, Kegs pulled me aside and asked me where in Heaven's name had I met her. I informed him that Gabi and I had met at work and after only a few short months made the commitment to get knotted, or should I say tie the knot. He was then forthcoming with some advice, "Whatever you do Pogo, don't lose her, she's one in a million, fantastic personality and a f....ng good sort to boot." Seeing how that was over 37 years ago and I am still using her to correct my many spelling mistakes, I suppose I must have deemed that advice to be worthwhile.

For the oversize lump that he was, Kegs had what could be referred to as a rather weak stomach. Whenever there was a barbecue at the rear of the clubhouse, he would always attempt to barge his way to the front of the queue and grab the first steak, chop or sausage. He got his comeuppance when a strategically placed dog turd sandwich was pilfered, bitten into, then regurgitated all over the barbecue hot plate.

A similar event took place one evening when at least two kilos of witchetty grubs were on the menu. The bulk of these creatures were thrown onto the hot plate while some of the live ones were placed on a sandwich uncooked. You guessed it, after trampling everyone down in the queue, Kegs arrived at the prime position up front and grabbed the first sandwich.....Guess which one?

Once again the hose was required to remove the multi coloured liquid laugh from the food preparation area.

When one of the surf clubs senior members sadly passed away, his remains were to be taken out to sea in the Avalon surf boat and deposited in the surf directly off the clubhouse. Kegs was invited to be one of the crew members and was honoured to be selected. The urn containing the ashes was held aloft by Brian Sproule the sweep, whilst the rowers held the oars upright. As the ashes were being committed to the sea, a sudden gust of wind blew them in the direction of crew member Kegs. It would be fair to say that not one grain of ash missed him. One of the boat crew comedians commented that Kegs resembled a fat Al Jolson and insisted he sing 'Mammy.' When Kegs realised what had enveloped him a massive technicolour yawn was forthcoming. When the boat returned to shore the crew were ankle deep in what resembled a mixed vegie pack floating in snot. One of the shore based Honour Guard noticed the foul smelling green, yellow and orange coloured lumpy slush and threw up immediately. Kegs witnessed this and could not prevent himself from having another one in sympathy. The breeze happened to be blowing on shore, so there were not too many who hung around any longer than they had to.

On a more than disgusting note, one of our well known senior mischief makers would entertain those present at many of the club's bucks nights by demonstrating how more than two dozen copper pennies could fit inside his foreskin. At the end of the performance, the pennies would spray all over the floor and on one occasion when a witness to this unique occurence picked up a coin off the floor and dropped it in Keg's beer.......' Kerplonk!' Those present were forced to promptly scatter in all directions to avoid being covered from head to toe with the colorful contents of his well rounded stomach. Ahh! what a refined, cultured lot we all were in those days.

Many of Kegs close personal friends would be able to tell many tall tales about their dubious adventures with him. The end result would be a novel greater than 'War and Peace.' However there was another side to Dougie Wells.

Kegs loved body surfing and every Sunday morning he would join the hung over clubbies off the rocks at the southern end of the beach. The rock bottom underneath ensured that the waves kept breaking consistently in the same area. Every now and then a loud shout would be given as a warning and everyone would start swimming frantically out the back to avoid the big sets that Huey would send in unexpectedly to keep us on our toes.

Kegs could body surf with the best of them and would be seen screaming down the front of many waves in excess of 8 feet. He took me under his wing and was responsible for me learning the ropes so to speak. Up until this period in time, body surfing to me was standing in waist deep water and pushing forward on a broken wave no more than 3 feet high. Everything I learned about body surfing I owe to him. He suggested I try using a hand board and after doing so I've never been without one. While on patrol with him, he saw to it that the first aid knowledge obtained during Bronze Medallion training remained fresh and not forgotten.

When it came to competition, Kegs was almost unbeatable at Pillow Fighting. He took over from Allan Granquist (Pogo Senior) and became a living legend. He even featured in the classic Bruce Brown surfing movie 'The Endless Summer.' Keg's secret at Pillow Fighting was to wind the pillow into a tight ball and strike his opponent with the ball of the hand. Some competitors would spin around the pole twice before landing unconscious onto the sand.

During the 1960's whenever there was any work needed to be done in or around the clubhouse, many members would suddenly go missing in action and reappear after the work was completed. It always appeared to be left to the same dozen or so members to get the work done. Kegs was always one of them. He would pitch in and take on just about anything that required attention. Please note that I said just about anything.

On one clean up day he entered the mens toilet and saw me on my hands and knees cleaning the urinal. He cried out, "Jesus Pogo, how the f'..k can you do that?" He burped then retched and proceeded to cover my spotlessly clean floor with snotty mixed vegies. On the many other clean up days he attended, he was only permitted to enter the toilet during a call of nature and even then only under strict supervision.

Back then the most difficult of all trophies to win was the Patrol Proficiency Pennant. It was later renamed the Patrol Efficiency Pennant. To be awarded this prize required a member to complete all his rostered patrols throughout the season. One was also required not to be even one minute late when signing on. On one occasion I became one of two members to win this award. The other member was Douglas Gordon Wells, but for him it was not a one off occurrence as it was for yours truly. Kegs never had a season go by without winning this award. The year I won mine turned out to be the pennants final year, but this did not mean Keg's perfect run would end. His patrol attendance remained at 100% up until he opted for Active Reserve membership many years later.

Doug's serious side never arose in general conversation, nor did he brag about his many achievements. Most of the time he would be the butt of many over the top practical jokes, but I can assure you he gave as good as he got.

I believe it was in 1990 Doug suffered a massive stroke that was responsible for him being confined in a wheel chair for the following 3 years. He sadly passed away during 1993 aged 64 and was sorely missed by his many mates in and out of the surf club.

Throughout his life he was a hard worker, but oh boy, he made up for that by playing just as hard.

If ever he runs into those cheeky Philadelphia Cream Cheese eating angels, they better be sitting down with their backs firmly pressed up against the wall.

Hmmm! .............I wonder if angels squeak?

A Way of Life.

Groundswell.

A series of photos, all taken from the Web, that fully explain the infatuation one has for the sun, the sand and the surf. Sadly the years have taken their toll on my ageing rotund body, leaving only memories and wishful thinking. The one and only ability that remains is to sink the odd ice cold ale or lager after a hard day, that today means simply getting out of bed and typing tripe on this stupid computer.

Undoubtably the greatest beverage ever invented and/or created by man or beast. A considerable quantity was consumed throughout the 1960's and 70's. Beer was an essential ingredient that played an important role throughout the whole of the Surf Lifesaving movement. It was consumed in large quantities by all and sundry as it was a dinkum Aussie's drink of choice, unlike the various rocket fuels and effeminate un Australian alcopops the young and dumb are destroying themselves on today, along with their completely unnecessary foul and disgusting drugs.  Even the missus was partial to the odd schooner or three, or five etc., when my raging days drew to an end.  I got the impression the raging was not restricted to only me, as she quite often matched me drink for drink. 

Surfing in it's purest form..... Body Surfing.  Every Sunday morning from 7 am. onwards, at least 30% of the club would be seen treading water off the rock pool at the southern end of the beach at Avalon waiting for Huey to send in another big one. Doug, or should I say Kegs taught me what to do and how to do it. Even today,when I have the odd body wave, I'm never without my handboard and flippers, the latter being essential for my survival in the surf. Yonks ago, one avoided getting caught in a rip, however today, one requires a rip to make it out the back without drowning.

These blokes did not duck when the large rocks were thrown at them.  Typical Boaties. These are the Burnie boys, who I am sure would have undergone the same selection process as most other crews in Tassie and on the mainland.

For me, this was the most exhilarating form of surfing.....Riding the 0ld Malibu. Only someone who has surfed would fully comprehend and be able to describe the feeling.

The modern short board. Sorry, I'm way too old....Pity!

The Boogie Board.  Not as easy as it looks.

The Double Surf Ski.  Not too many of them left today.

The Wave Ski, or Goat Boat......Great fun.

Aah! Memories....and that's all that's left, Memories, Sigh!! In actual fact, even back in those days of raging, this was all a figment of ones imagination most of the time........ but every once in a while.......Nah! You can read about it elsewhere. 

More memories.  This time of young Paula/Polly. A highly skilled and extremely pretty Wahine. I have not seen her for 45 years....Long gone, but not forgotten. I miss her sister Lesley/Lulu just as much. Two exceptional girls. Great times.

The view from in front of the clubhouse.  Three reasons why I hardly missed a weekend. There was very rarely a time when we did not have something worthwhile to feast our lustful eyes upon. This was what the schoolgirls looked like before they matured......WOW!  Two years later......Triple WOW!!!  Cheeky things.

Another common scene frequently seen on the beach. One of the duties required of us guys was the application of coconut oil on the backs of the local Wahines. The girls would hand you the oil, roll over onto their stomachs, undo the bra top and then tell you to do your worst. After the stimulating and exciting service was provided and accomplished, one would then be forced to wait 10 to 15 minutes for an important part of ones anatomy to return to normal before wandering off to pursue other activities......It was indeed a busy time in ones life for a young red blooded teenage lad. 

I suppose I should not complain about my current physical disabilities. At least in the past I got to do things with people I loved and was blessed to have done so. Good mates, good sorts, good surf, good weather, brilliant way of life, along with providing a worthwhile public service free of charge. You only live once and I've had my turn. I have never been overseas as there was no need or reason to do so, more than everything I required was here and still is...... Australia! You bloody beauty!