Sime says

I was on a 'boys' cycling weekend in Thredbo and bunked in with another lycra lad for three nights. You couldn't swing a cat in the room and after one night there was enough purring going on to have me climbing the walls. Sleeping beside a bloke who snores does pose the question "what's up your nose?" In this case, I think there was a lot. It was torture. My regulation eight hours of heavenly slumber dragged into what felt like 24 hours of blackness. Seconds became minutes, minutes turned into hours and the hours were infinite. The sun was my only saviour. Things did get off to a sombre start. All was quiet until the reverberations started. A mozzie can be met head on with a can of Mortein but a freight train driven by a snorer can't be derailed. After about five minutes I heard the train in the distance. Heavy breathing. At low decibels the sound was almost melodic. But before long I found a steam locomotive was lying at the opposite platform....

Waiting for my 18-year-old friend to arrive and witness his rite of passage from school to university life, I found myself morphing into a 54-year-old 'fresher' checking back into college.   Sitting on a bench in the open courtyard I couldn't stop smiling. Music thumped through an amplifier, students bounced about and greeted new arrivals with glee. There was plenty of love drifting about in the dry Canberra air. With the emergence from my chrysalis almost complete, Oscar appeared, a second-year senior resident with one arm in a sling and the other cradling a glass of water. He'd obviously been keeping a watchful eye on Dustin Dean looking for Mrs Robinson. Handing me the refreshment, I thanked him and enquired about his injury. To which this strapping blond surfy type from the south coast mentioned rugby as the cause. He was a smooth talker and a rugby player – both viewed as majors at university. My friend soon arrived with his father and appeared visibl...