Sime says

I peed on him when I was young. He was 20. I was a babe in arms who whizzed upwards, spraying Harry in a golden shower of youth. Since the baptism by urine we have been friends for five decades. I lost a brother but I gained one in Harry. The absence of a common umbilical chord is supplanted by a family tie to the land that spans generations. Nowadays, when Harry meets Simon, I don't always feel an urge to cock my leg in his direction but that does not stop him recounting the story to everyone within earshot. From an incontinent infant I transited through life's early stages: a cosseted city kid and spotty lad with soft hands to carefree student and hardened bachelor boy. Every holiday I chomped at the bit to get to Harry's place, a farm, six-hours' drive northwest from Sydney. He's seen me rise and fall through life, and on a horse. Tuned to his wireless and the ABC,  Australia All Over  with Macca has nothing on Harry. But it should. He'll tip h...

A fastidious farming friend invited an enquiring mind and my traditional self to enjoy a 'boys weekend' on his property. Wives and girlfriend were otherwise engaged, so we locked in the opportunity to enjoy some male bonding time. Add water to this all-bloke recipe for mateship and you'd leave  Farmer Wants a Wife  in the shade. There might be a scarcity of H20 in the bush but this did little to dampen our spirits. A menu plan of toast on tap, cereal for dinner and mini magnums at midnight was supplemented by a barbecue of sizzling sausages and a visit to a pub nearby. Four chooks with streamlined cloacas kept us in eggs and a verdant vege garden on site provided a health dose of greens.   For two days and nights we sliced, diced and iced a plethora of issues both current and past. The genuine interest in one another's lives and cerebral interplay of viewpoints was as stimulating as it was insightful. Here we were, mid 50s, balding, greying, flossing, fartin...