I say no to autobiography, oh alright maybe a little

I was having coffee with a girlfriend recently, discussing turning 40 (I will dock at this number next month) and reflecting on days gone by. As one does...apparently.

She is quite firm in her belief, as are a number of my close friends, that I should write about my life.

It always surprises me when this comes up- how I can have no interest whatsoever in doing such a thing, and they can be so passionate for the affirmative. I pride myself on being able to understand the perspective of others but this viewpoint leaves me...well...clueless.

My reason is twofold.
One: I am bored bored bored by myself. I can think of no more boring way to spend time than grinding out a novella about events I have already lived. Others are infinitely more interesting and that is why I interview people for a living.
Two: Have you visited a book store recently? (I hope so!) Have you seen the discount bin? What is in there? Autobiographies people!

So to appease those of you who think that the retelling of my life thus far would be entertaining I offer you a small story. But be warned, one story that is marginally quaint does not...NOT make a series of these stories strung together any more tiresome than I imagine them to be.

When I was 6 we stayed in a caravan park in Lakes Entrance. Many Gippsland families did and still do the same. Having the Gippsland Lakes on your door step is a marvellous thing, and the region buzzes with activity during the summer months.

One balmy night another family visited our camp or came to stay I am not sure which, but a party of sorts ensued. This meant that there was a BBQ and beer and laughter. The adults slowly got toasted and the jokes grew bawdier and the supervision of children became more relaxed.

This was my moment. I was a crafty child.

I taught myself to pick basic padlocks so I could get to my sisters stash of Femme and Joy Patou perfume. I regularly went AWOL at night, sleeping on top of the giant cement water tank out the back of our house so I could watch the stars, or in the boat that was parked in the paddock, always returning before sunrise with parents none the wiser. I made a 'bug' that tuned into an AM radio frequency, put it in the house somewhere and listened to conversations I was never meant to hear. I would gently remove a corner of the wrapping paper of presents to see what was inside and replaced it exactly as I had found it. I was a spy, doing the unthinkable underneath the noses of the ignorant. And I never...NEVER got caught.

I began to clear up the dishes, swiping abandoned glasses that had the last few warm gulps of beer and plates filled with discarded chop bones. 'What a good child', the visiting parents said.

While the adults were laughing heartily at some 'Rodney Rude' joke I gulped greedily. Right under their noses I drank every last drop of warm foamy beer from the glasses I collected that night.

Later that evening getting ready for bed mum took me to the bathroom block so I could brush my teeth and go to the toilet. I was quite excitable, more so than my usual mum thought. In fact she was finding it hard to control me as I darted back and forth along the corridor having a running race with myself, interspersed with the retelling of the naughty jokes I had overheard earlier that night to any unsuspecting woman who entered.

Mum was horrified.

In desperation she pushed me into a cubicle and turned the shower on. Although I was a quiet shy child when not tanked to my eyeballs, I had quite a set of lungs. I could sing and be heard for quite a distance.

As the cold water fell over me, at the top of my voice I sang

I met him on a Monday and my heart stood still
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron
Somebody told me that his name was Bill
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron
Yeah, my heart stood still, 
Yes, his name was Bill,
And when he walked me home,
Da do ron-ron-ro, da do ron-ron

In subsequent years we camped at Storm Point, a lonely promontory jutting into Lake Victoria geographically opposed to Loch Sport. No toilets, no running water and no other campers, really only easily accessible back then by water.

Just bush and a few echidnas who apparently don't have an opinion either way on parenting.