1979 was a good, good year (thanks Good Charlotte) … Dad took his long service leave and the four of us piled into the front of the F100 ute and took off up into the middle of Queensland for three months. My little brother and I were young and slight, but it was still a squeeze to get us all on the bench seat…legs were strategically placed to avoid being kneecapped with gear changes, and we were a captive audience for hours of Slim Dusty, Johnny Cash and Tammy Wynette. By the time we stopped for any length of time I remember loading up my pockets and dashing into the bush to explore and to write and draw. Solitude.

From memory I did more writing than drawing in those days. I was going to be a novelist. The romance of the artistic life had me firmly in it’s grip.

It’s funny what comes back to you in those delicious moments when you’re not quite awake and not quite asleep. Curious how the passion of my youth was buried for years and years and all of a sudden pops back up, and that now I start to remember.

Strangely satisfying.