Around the time of the first moon landing, a guy called Russell Morris sang on our little mono transistor radio about The Real Thing. Being a little kid, I had no idea what it was about, but still thought it was brilliant:
“There’s a meaning there,
doesn’t really mean a thing
Come and see the real thing,
come and see the real thing,
The Real Thing written by Johnny Young 1969
My oldest brother had already left home and hitch hiked across Australia a couple of times and was about to enter the life-and-death lottery that was potential conscription to a war in Vietnam. He had cut down a Malibu board and reglassed it under our old wooden house and regaled us with stories of this surf place Up North.
Somehow he convinced our folks into taking all eight of us there. It would be our last holiday together as an entire family. But it would be the start of my infatuation with surfing, cameras and a certain national park.
I once thought that I’d get to an age where I
would lose interest in surfing and photography, but I was wrong. These days, I use whatever suits the conditions – quad or log, digital or film, I don’t care so long as
I’m wet and stoked.
I'm sitting in the kitchen chewing my breakfast cereal. Chewing over the last couple of weeks where "work" has overtaken "...
And thank all our lucky stars you never lost interest, sir! x
ReplyDeleteCheers Doctor
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