Coming from south-east London, an Arsenal supporter and reader of the Daily Mirror as a boy, I thought The Manchester Guardian was a security firm for City and United.
My first job was working for the Vestey Group at Smithfield Market; Lord Vestey’s son interviewed me: “There could be a future position for you in Argentina or Australia”; I was impressed. A year later in my lunch break I walked past Australia House. “We need young men” the sign read, Wow! A short cut! Six months later in 1964, at age 17, I was Australia-bound. I didn’t work on a Vestey cattle station, but on a private station with 12,000 sheep.
In 2017 on my 71st birthday, my daughter bought me the Guardian Weekly; cheapskate, I thought. “It will lower your blood pressure; there are interesting articles and cartoons about Donald Trump”. Donald is one day older than me, and I know I should respect my elders, but he makes it very difficult. The Guardian Weekly is a treasure, spilling gems: I’m hooked. 27 July edition: Sir Les Patterson to make a comeback. Please! A debate between Patterson and Trump, I’d like to see that.
Here is a photo of my better half; my grandfather said, “Have polished shoes and trousers with cuffs, which hang properly”, not recommended for sheep stations but they have served me well elsewhere. Is there an app that can judge a man by his legs, feet and socks?
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