Some of my best mates are blokes I met when I was in Army Cadets. This means that I've known these folks for nearly 10 years (!).
I've spent weeks in the bush with them, danced with them at Debutante Balls, been drunk around campfires, mucked around in moon buggys, shot rifles, marched and sung with these boys.
Of course, life moves on - it's been a good few years since we were in khaki. But we still catch up every few months to booze up and hang out. It's a bit scary, but comforting at the same time to see how everyone is moving on and growing up. Some are engaged, some are buying houses, all that kind of 'adult' stuff that I never imagined any of us would do.
On Saturday I went to see Patto and Squirrel off. They're heading off for a year-long working holiday in Canada! Everyone came out in fine style, and we painted the town red, starting at Fumo Blue and ending, as always, at the Woolshed (yeah, there goes my street cred).
We'd booked a couple of rooms above the pub, and I ended up crashing out on the floor around 4.30-5am ish. (in perfect Kylie style). We were kicked out by 10am, so we dragged our sorry butts to the Botantic Gardens, where we sat around and enjoyed everything, talking shit and lamenting how much we'd had the night before, laughing at all the stupid shit we'd got up to. (Did you see when he ran across the roof? Oh look, a red shoooooooooeeeeee, etc).
All in all, a bloody good night, followed, as ever by a promise to catch up more often. In fact, we are! Next weekend we're roadtrippin' it to Maitland, where I fully intend to stay up the whole weekend and do nothing but enjoy the company of good old mates.
