My chance encounter over the weekend with my ‘Sweet Sixteen’ boyfriend took me back to my teenage years where I was reminded of a chap, who was nothing like my sweet sixteen boyfriend, we named PT.
I grew up as the second oldest of five girls in a very lovely suburb where nothing ever happened and the only crime to report would be the vandalising of the flowers of the Agapanthus plants that many residents grew along the fence-lines of their properties. They would wake up in the morning to find all the blue flower heads had been snapped off in the night. Another horrendous crime was when my father hired a mini-skip bin and it was delivered to the nature strip. Before dad had a chance to fill it someone had dumped their broken-down dryer in it. The audacity! Who would do such a thing? The neighbours talked about that for weeks.