It started out like any other summer’s day in Adelaide. The sun was baking the sidewalks and aside from a few lazy thermal whirlys the air barely stirred. It was mid morning on that scorcher when my mate, Timmy Mac, piped up with, ‘Hey Roub One’ (Roub One = Me), ‘we should go for a snorkel at Noarlunga reef, or what Bruss?’
Mac, like me, had picked up a bad habit of throwing ‘Or what Bruss?’ on the end of most sentences from our mate Goodge. It had started as a bit of a joke, but like most noxious weeds, it quickly took root.
I was lying on the cold bathroom tiles in my jocks watching a line of ants march past me. As I pondered what on earth the ants had found to eat in our barren pantry, it occurred to me that a swim mightn’t be such a bad idea. Continue reading