The smell of the kitchen.
Wood stove, blackberry pie or a roast in the oven, green tomato pickles or preserves burbling on the top, fresh kero/wax polish on the lino.
Way better than the smell of plucking a chook or gutting a sheep.
21st July 1969 - streets deserted like an abandoned town, everything stopped and silent - every living soul gathered around the nearest black and white telly with halted breath, to see man set foot on the moon.
Bringing more back from the tip than you took there.
Taking 10 minutes to pick up the newspaper and the rest of the morning to get home (talking to everyone else picking up the paper)
Trying to give away chokos or lemons .
Mulberry fights, (or lillypilly fights) and trying to get out the stains before you got home.
Night Drifting (donuts) at the quarry in Kingswoods and Falcons shooting fireworks at each other out the windows.
Lobbing rows of tom thumbs over the wall of the open air theatre, or sneaking onto the roof of the projectionists hut for a free show (or dousing with the fire hose if you were caught)
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