Dad was a subcontractor cladding houses with imitation brick and he took us sometimes to help him work, and stuff.
When Chris was about fifteen, we were out in the country doing a job. I think it was near the town of Stawell, which is a couple of hundred kilometres from Melbourne.
Chris and Dad had a falling out because he thought Dad short-changed him, so Chris got dirty on him and took off to a train station to get back to Melbourne.
But he didn’t realise country trains don’t come very often. One a day maybe. Two perhaps. Nothing was happening. So he stole a horse and rode for Melbourne.
It was too far, of course, so after a couple of hours he dumped it.
I do remember that. Ha ha ha ha ha.
I took it from a big paddock where the local horse-riding school put their horses. I just jumped on a horse with no bridle or nothing, just fucking bareback like Tarzan or something, like an Injun. And just rode off.