We are now in our sixth house, yes I am only 9 going on 10, it is 1975. We had a fairly large back garden. So brother dear decides to get the lawn mower petrol and pour a trail on the ground and get me to light it. Even though I had ( and still have) a scar on my stomach from where a match was put on my skin to teach me not to play with fire, I still proceeded to light the petrol, causing a little explosion that nearly included me in it. Oh boy I wish I had been a lot more aware back then! So failed attempt five came and went.

The next attempt occured back in England in 1977. We had found a frame from an old pram, so the plan was to use it as a go kart. The only flaw in this plan was all we had was the frame, so there was nothing but the frame to sit on. As usual I was the first crash test dummy. The hill we lived on was relatively steep and so the momentum gained going down this hill was quite a lot. Sitting on the frame of a pram, no steering, no breaks and no idea wasn’t a recipe for anything but carnage. So with a firm push I was sent hurtling on my way to doom. Whether by fortune, fate or just dumbass luck, my journey came to a crashing halt a third of the way down. I crashed into the curb, a few summersaults and up I got, dusting myself off, with little more than a bump here and there, or so I thought. Later that night when we had a bath, my brother pointed out a pinch injury on my bum cheek that was still bleeding. So relatively unscathed from attempt number six.

The next attempt didn’t occur until six years later, though there could have been plans before then, opportunity may have got in the way. So fast forward six years and a few more house moves, back to Australia, both left school and working. I worked in a bank and my brother was a policeman down south in Western Australia. Every once in a while I would drive on down to stay for the weekend. One weekend he decided to teach me how to ride a motorbike. So here I was on his motorback in his back garden sans helmet, sans any idea of what I was doing and little instruction given. Heading towards the back fence I turned the handlebars forcing the throttle on full and smacked into the fence. Over the handlebars I went and headbutted the fence. That was the first of four concussions in two years, yes it is an excuse for why I talk this way! Anyway off he went to do some things, leaving me at home to continually throw up and feel rather unwell. But again fortunately his dastardly plan for my demise was unsuccessful.

The eighth and final attempt came in 1985, this was partly my doing but I couldn’t help it. I suggested we go watch a movie, now it isn’t my fault the movie was such a snoozefest I fell asleep, and then he missed out on calling his girlfriend (who incidentally became his first wife). In case you were wondering the movie was Fletch. So in a rage we went home on his Kawasaki 900R turbo,no back rest and little to hold on to. Every acceleration on the 20 km journey was a grip of death ordeal, me barely hanging on. Twice I nearly tipped off the back at speed on to the road and certain death.Not long after I left for the air force and only returned twenty three years later, we see very little of my brother, not sure if it is because his plans failed, but more than likely life has taken over and time is too limited.

A little disclaimer here, whilst these events did really happen and put together it could be construed as me being a target, I don’t for one second believe it was the case, though I could be wrong ;).