In kindergarten, a cousin in a higher grade gave me a King Rat jelly lolly. I wasn't supposed to eat them because Mum said they were too big and would make me ill. When I vomited on the rug in the middle of a story, Mrs B. drove me home in her blue Volkswagen Beetle.
Experiencing snow for the first time - at the age of 30 - in Queenstown, New Zealand, where I went "tramping" in the early morning. There wasn't another soul around as I made a snowball, threw it at a tree and shattered the silence with my laughter.
Dad taking me to see "Star Wars" for my fifth b-day. I hadn't a clue what it was - or what an impact it would have on my life. Afterwards, we ate a dessert called gelato that was as alien as blue milk.
Countless games of "D&D" during my teenage years with JH, DP, MD, WD, BP, DP2, JL, MG and the rest. Eventually, the urge for real adventure would overwhelm us and we'd abandon the books and dice to swim at "The Island", climb the water tower hill, or fight with peashooters or long cardboard tubes or sticks. I found a piece of driftwood that resembled a staff topped with a ram's skull.
Drunken nights at The Globe (RIP). Groups of friends combining as happily as vodka and cranberry. Being part of a "lock-in" with my #1 female drinking buddy, the barman letting us out into the half-light via a service elevator.
A crazy bastard from my childhood who showed me an orange flower you could pick and suck a drop of nectar from for a cordial-like hit. Nothing crazy about that, but this kid would also do stuff like stand next to a busy highway and urinate at cars that were packed too closely and moving too quickly to stop.
WD writing a program on his older bro's Commodore PET to try to fool me into thinking he was hacking into a bank. The jig was up when it crashed midway through and gave an error message.
Beer in one hand, communal joint in the other. Asian Dub Foundation on the stage. Feeling like the banter was aimed directly at me. Not a care in the world.
In junior high, away with the cross-country running team, a girl from the year below getting saucy with me and a pal. I remember she was a lot more critical about the flatness of his tracksuit pants than the bulge in mine (hence no initials).
Realising on Monday, six weeks into my course on Egyptian hieroglyphs - correct term: "medu netjer" - that I was finally deciphering a sequence without any reference to our notes.
Tea? Coffee? Embarrasment? Must have been about 18 when an aunt and uncle turned up and everyone else in the family was absent. They accepted my offer of a hot beverage, which I soon discovered I had only the vaguest idea how to prepare. I'd literally never touched tea or coffee at that point. Managed somehow.
Skipping computer science lectures to lie on a grassy slope and devour the urban fantasy yarns of Charles De Lint... "Moonheart", "Yarrow", "Greenmantle"... Snoozing in the sunshine with a head full of wonders. Any wonder I flunked that degree!
Heckled by a stand-up comedian because I was sitting at a table with two attractive women. "Look at you, mate - you're living the dream!" It's all gone wrong since then, that's for sure.
Buying Kmart skateboards, sanding them back with an electric sander, painting or drawing designs on them, then applying the stickers of the brands we couldn't afford. The trucks, wheels and bearings were still shit, though.
The period where my musical tastes and those of my sister AC overlapped and we'd pore over "NME" and "Melody Maker", and stay up late watching "Rage" on Fridays and Saturdays. Bad luck if one of your favourite songs appeared, the other person's videotape was in the machine and they didn't wanna record it.
Sister EM asking for help choosing a poem to read out in class. Combing an anthology and ultimately recommending a work whose title escapes me but which ended with the line, "I piss in the sink with a feeling of eternity." Next day... "Did you read the poem?" "Yes." "Did the teacher like it?" "No."
Indoor rock climbing with sister AK, who'd scored a double pass to the climbing centre. We completed a few basic routes, but had insufficient finger strength for the intermediate ones. The advanced routes were a joke - as in, they required jumping between handholds.
Boycotting a company Christmas party to attend a rebel gathering at Harry's Singapore Chilli Crab Restaurant. The exact reason why I did this is lost to history.
Seeing "Die Hard 2" in a fleapit cinema with JH and MG, in hysterics as we shook the entire rickety row of seats and made engine noises during the plane crash scene.
JS's bucks' do - formal dress, house set up like an old-timey gambling den (we each got a stack of casino chips), role-playing as the fine gentlemen we weren't. Hell, there was even antique porn.
Scabbing a lift with a dude I met in a strip club, who was headed in the same direction. The black BMW was cool. The lying phone call to his wife, and the detour so he could point out the apartment block of someone he was suing and rant about them...not so much.
In Year 8, handing in a 77-page assignment on Ancient Egypt. By Year 12, you'd be doing well to get seven pages out of me - and if it didn't count towards the HSC, you were almost guaranteed to receive nada.
Growing up, whenever I ran into Uncle T., I'd always ask if he needed anything from the corner shop, knowing he'd let me spend the change on myself. I recall his faves including Coke, Chicken Twisties, Polly Waffles (RIP) and - on the rare occasion they were available - Fry's Peppermint Cream bars.
Waiting for fish'n'chips with AG and AP in Tighes Hill in the mid-'90s, I dropped a coin in a vending machine and was rewarded with a silver ring that wrapped around your finger like a snake. They thought it was lame, but I genuinely dug it. Wore it for a week or two until the "metal" began peeling off, exposing the white plastic underneath.
Was labelled an "idiot" by sci-fi author Tom Maddox in a Usenet newsgroup exchange. To prove I was the bigger man, I purchased his cyberpunk novel "Halo".
Took AZ to a Ronn Moss concert at a far-flung RSL. It was hilarious.
A toughnut karate instructor whose medical advice for any injury, whether it be a kick in the balls or a bloody nose, was, "Go and have a drink of water."
In the NSL era, witnessing my Newcastle United draw 1-1 with CM's Northern Spirit at North Sydney Oval. Travelling to Newie together for the return leg...which finished in an identical scoreline. That train trip was the first time I tried biltong.
Dad collecting me from infants school and doubling me home on the crossbar of his Repco 10-speeder at what felt like a million miles an hour. Modern-day Addster, lacking the implicit trust of a young child, would probably be terrified.
Going through a paranoid phase where I constantly carried an old pocket knife of my grandpa's. When I got into clubbing, where you'd often be scanned by bouncers with metal detectors, the blade was consigned to a drawer where it's lain ever since.
Auditioning successfully for a spot in a choir to accompany a nun with a guitar at a special church service. Neither my voice or Noah Taylor's had broken at this stage.
Reviewing the most obscure progressive rock CDs imaginable for PG's mail-order record store, e.g. "Sacred Baboon" by Yezda Urfa. He'd generally let me keep the disc as payment, though I'd give an album back if I disliked it.
Having to disembark from the last bus in the middle of nowhere because I had mindlessly consumed cola, chicken'n'corn soup and an Oak milkshake on my way to catching it - and my bladder was near to bursting. Peed behind a tree with immense relief, then walked to a caravan park and called Mum from a payphone, begging her to drive there and get me. She wasn't best pleased.
A creative writing group at uni that was lots of fun. Apart from when a chick I sort of knew randomly hijacked one of the meetings to share her saga of futuristic romance. It contained a ballad. Which she sang. The following week, a disgruntled group member summarised the hour-long tale as, "A woman has sex with a robot."
Filming stop-motion animation with BP and his brothers.
When there was a council clean-up a decade or so ago, ignoring a pile of "RuneQuest" manuals plonked on top of somebody's scrap heap. Yes, I was in a hurry to reach the office, but was mere punctuality worth betraying my teenage self who'd have considered them a gift from the Gloranthan gods?
Being trained in the art of subediting by a bloke who would become one of my closest Sydney friends - DL. I recollect, early on, suggesting a nitpicky change to a wrestling article (something about DDP), hoping to impress with my insider knowledge. Little did I realise I was talking to a legit expert on the subject.
After-hours multiplayer gaming at the ISP where BS was employed, conveniently situated across the road from a Macca's. There'd be at least half a dozen of us. As FPS-ing tends to render me motion sick, I'd stick to sniper characters. And as in actual war, they were hated.
Our pet cat, Diesel, who was so tame a complete stranger could pick her up and pet her and she wouldn't complain. For a joke, I used to drape her over my shoulders like a stole. She'd just calmly wait to be put down on the ground again.
An irrational dread of the hearts'n'gizzards soup a friend's duck-shooting father would cook in a large pot on their stove.
SC telling me: "Nostalgic recitations are your stock in trade."
