Where did those years go? That carefree young man confronted by a headstrong gal with a twinkle in her eye in the summer of '60. Pig Iron Bob ruling in a benign dictatorship at home. Camelot in its infancy across the waters. Sputniks whizzing overhead. Information coming in telegrams, not electrical impulses. My, how time passes.
Where did those years go? They were svelte of figure, horizons stretching into the mists. Emboldened by dreams and aspirations. Planning the great European coming-of-age holiday before taking up a job offer with that solid establishment firm in Bridge Street. Negotiating a favourable price for a dilapidated Californian bungalow set back from the Rose Bay waterfront, with the help of the folks. Time passes.
Grandchildren and weary children bluster through a house littered with e-gadgets bringing love and decibels. All is now quiet and calm. So, here they go blundering into another year. Together.