The following document was found in the bedroom of teenage boy. It would appear to be a diary.


Schoolies at last. Have packed all the necessaries. Four pairs of boxers (make sure to include the elephant trunk Mitch Dowds), Lynx, shaver (so I don’t shave!), cool new board shorts, cool new T, condoms (several doz should be enough), the pills Tarquin sold me (I’ll clobber him if they turn out to be, like vitamins or some shit), some downloaded porn (just to get into the mood before the real thing), iPhone (make sure to pay for FULL Facebook access), ciggies (so I don’t smoke!), the bottle of scotch I pinched from the old man’s stash (will deal with that later) and a handkerchief. (The old girl also insisted I pack a jumper but no way am I going to wear it. How can I explain to an old person that being cold is cool?)


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Met Benno and Dicko and Millsy and The Freak at the airport. Kicked up a bit of a racket but it didn’t warrant the strip search. Dicko reckons they’re all poofters and lezzos in Customs anyway. Bottle of scotch confiscated and had to talk real fast to keep the Lynx. Something about mid-air explosions. They said I could keep the vitamins. (Am I going to slam that Tarquin!) Uneventful flight. Hosties have no sense of humour. Hey, it’s like a decade since the whole 9/11 thing.

So we arrive and it’s pissing raining. Benno wants to know where all the babes are. “The babes!” says The Freak in that way of his. Anyway we reckon the chicks are inside somewhere putting the last touches to their fake tans. No sun, yeah, but who wants to look orange? Dicko says it doesn’t matter once the lights are out. As if Dicko would know.


Found this pizza place last night after hours walking around in the rain. Thought I saw some guys from Lowbottom. It wasn’t. Everyone looked like they had a starfish clamped to their head so it was hard to tell. Who brings an umbrella to the Gold Coast — wet is cool. (Oh yeah, baby, says Dicko, but really what would he know?)

Back to the flat, which is really like an office; it’s got no furniture or nothing you’d want to sit on. You’d think the owners were afraid we were going to wreck the joint. Saw some chicks who were kind of interested until I showed them the pills. “Thanks a million,” says this sarcastic one, “but I’ve had my B12 today.” Millsy reckons they were sluts anyway. I was thinking about the bulk condoms.

Didn’t even wake up with a hangover this morning since the guy at the bottle shop said Benno’s ID looked like a library card. Turns out it was. We had to scum off some guys who looked about 30 — they were from some private school footy team. Even then we only scored some alcopops cos the footy jocks reckoned they wouldn’t be needing them, if we got their drift. The Freak had to explain to Dicko, who obviously hadn’t. “Dirty bastards,” said Benno.

It’s still raining and the beach has been washed away largely. Stayed in and watched crap TV.


Spent the morning updating profile on the old FB … 283 friends at last count and none of them are up here. Someone heard the weather forecast and everyone decided on Lorne at the last minute. You’d think with 283 constant correspondents one of them would have let us know. Everyone reckons Lorne is really going off.

Used one of the condoms this morning — just not with anyone else. “Hey, Marts, how much longer are you going to be in there?” Dicko, of course. “Hey, guys, Marts is chopping a log. Or having a tug.” Which cruelled it rather.


Had a crisis meeting and decided to go home early. The surcharge on the airfare could just about get us to South America and back but we’ve had a gutful of rain and bad pizza. The Freak kind of shook his head as if to say I coulda told ya. Only he didn’t. All going well we could get in a whole day at Lorne. There might even be some chicks left. (Note: Dicko came onto me after skolling the last of the alcopops. “I love you, mate,” he said. “Yeah, yeah,” I said, “Now! But will you respect me in the morning?” Dicko looked hurt as if he might be serious.)


Red-eye flight from some airport nowhere near Surfers. Mum, God love her, there to pick us all up at about dawn. Later she found the condoms as she was dumping everything in the Whirlpool. “Martin!” At that precise moment, the old man filled the doorway like a golem or something. “About my bottle of scotch … “

As a Crikey subscriber and someone who began working as a journalist in 1957, I am passionate about the importance of independent media like Crikey. I met a lot of Australians from many walks of life during my career and did my best to share their stories honestly and fairly with their fellow citizens.

And I never forgot how important it is to hold politicians to account. Crikey does that – something that is more important now than ever before in Australia.

North Stradbroke Island, QLD

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