For my beloved brother Pete. From the womb to the tomb, I had never known a time on this earth without him until now. From mind-numbingly stupid stunts to those first awkward encounters with the opposite sex, this book could be described as Three Stooges meets Puberty Blues. But, more than anything, it's a story of family and friendships that have spanned a lifetime. It is a tribute to my twin brother and what he meant to me growing up. This book was presented at Pete's funeral to his family and friends. Significantly it was a living eulogy share with Pete before his death, so he knew what he meant to me.…mehr
For my beloved brother Pete. From the womb to the tomb, I had never known a time on this earth without him until now. From mind-numbingly stupid stunts to those first awkward encounters with the opposite sex, this book could be described as Three Stooges meets Puberty Blues. But, more than anything, it's a story of family and friendships that have spanned a lifetime. It is a tribute to my twin brother and what he meant to me growing up. This book was presented at Pete's funeral to his family and friends. Significantly it was a living eulogy share with Pete before his death, so he knew what he meant to me.
An extract from the book, The joy of jumping in puddles. The tales of a middle-aged grump, standing in the backyard, howling at the moon, lamenting the good old days of his youth compared to the kids of today. Glenn writes of his childhood growing up in 1970s Australia. It was a time when cooking oil was an acceptable sunscreen. The 'alien' nut allergy and gluten intolerance invasion we know today had yet to reach our planet. For children back then, entertainment was reliant mainly on imagination alone, as the internet had yet to rule our lives and parental involvement was non-existent. With that imagination and a lack of foresight to danger that boys possess, moronic misadventures were commonplace. Glenn recounts many well-trodden stories that sound hilarious now but could have ended his short life countless times. These include shootings a brother down from a tree with a slug gun or getting hit by a train whilst playing on the tracks, revelling in the lethal pleasures of the annual Cracker Night. At a time when any yobbo, including kids, could buy war surplus quantities of explosives over the milk bar counter, no questions asked...what could possibly go wrong?
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