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In this time of misery and bushfires, I wanted to share a bit of levity. Some months ago, Ellen wrote an article about a young chap who went to stay with his Dad.   The poor lad just about ate himself in to an early death for fear of offending by not eating all that was put in front of him. He saw plates with slow cooked lamb shanks in gravy with mashed spuds and veges; slow cooked corned silverside with all the trimmings, beef stews, soups – you name it.

Well, I want to tell you another tale. About a lad who lives with his Mother and is now holidaying with his Dad. On a camping holiday. With men. Lots of men. White, heterosexual, water skiing, cycling, jet skiing, full blooded men.

Oh yes, there are wives. But the lad is spending most of his time with these creatures called MEN. He is getting up in the morning and swimming, cycling, jet boating and generally having a good time. He is in New Zealand, escaping the fury of the bushfires in Australia and is probably and hopefully blissfully unaware that the Australia he left may not necessarily be the one he comes back to. 

When he is with his Mum, he plays tennis, plays a musical instrument, works hard at school and is very diligent with emails to his family members from throughout the world. He is a good lad.

He is polite, dutiful and respectful.

And he is now spending 3 weeks with his Dad in another country, in a male environment and no one cares if he makes his bed each day or burps, farts or scratches his balls.


His father does not drink or smoke. In fact he is actually quite boring when it comes to being a “ Dad “ Dad. But I am quite confident that he, and his mates, all, without exception, will be burping, farting and scratching their balls.


You see, it does no matter if a bloke is a drinker, a smoker or a scholar of nutritious habits in the Andes, blokes are blokes.

I saw a photo of this young chap today and his hair is in need of a cut; his demeanor has changed – he looks somehow more “ blokey “ – but, most significant of all, he is wearing jandals.  In Australia, that is thongs. In America, flip flops. In New Zealand jandals.

He was standing beside a river, looking very pleased with himself, smiling a broad smile and he had the shrug of a bloke in his stance. This was not a young kid: this was a young man about town: someone who had self confidence.

This was a photo of a young man who knew who he was and was quite happy with what he had become and was becoming.

He had been initiated into a club. The club of blokemanship. He had burped. He had farted and he had scratched his balls. In public.

I am of course surmising. But what I did see was a dramatic change in this young chap. He had a presence. A certain confidence. A swagger if you will.

He looked COMPLETE.

Yes, that was it. He seemed to have found himself and was very happy in that discovery.


Young lads need to have some blokey time and, while I am not much of a fan, I have to be fair: burping, farting and scratching their balls is as important to young men as giggling, plucking eyebrows and not farting is to young women.

Over the planet right now there are kids traumatized by Greta ( now known as Sharon – can you believe that? ) Thunberg who seems to no longer want to be known as who she is….

Kids who have been traumatized by Climate Change Bullshit Artists who have twisted and tormented kids minds for Political ends…

Yet, one mother, in NSW Australia, will have to deal with the “ horror” of her boy coming back to her and seeing her lad scratch his balls.

I suspect that she will be delighted. And she will take him to have his hair cut.  After telling him he must not burp or fart or scratch his balls until his next holiday with his Dad.

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