The summers of my youth were long and slow. The seven weeks between break-up and the new school year drifted slowly with the heat. When I was a teenager, my parents didn’t have the money for a holiday away – let alone a meal out with a movie.
There was nothing particularly impoverished about our family. We lived on a public housing estate in inner Melbourne and I knew of no other kid who went away for the summer season. We spent most of our time on the banks of the Birrarung (Yarra) River, swimming, smoking and revelling in the enjoyment of lazily doing nothing. While days were for the water, our nights were spent on the rooftop of our block of flats. It was where we came to understand that we mattered.
