I've never been one for keeping diaries or journals but three decades ago, I kept a record of my travels and trials in Australia. There's no specific entry dated 15th May 1991. However, due to the 9-hour time difference with the UK, an account from 14th May (which I specifically timed at 8.30pm), would have been written at the equivalent of 5.30am on 15th May at home, so that's good enough for me.
At this point, I'd rocked up at Coffs Harbour, a small coastal city a little over half way between Sydney and Brisbane. After wandering along the shoreline and on the beach, reading, drawing and taking in the sights, I was catching up with some writing when an old guy with a zimmer frame and a dog on a lead sat next to me. This was Jack Witts and a memorable few hours ensued.
We got talking and, small world that it is, I found that he had been born in Swindon and emigrated to Australia four decades ago. After chatting for a while, I accepted a lift to his local pub-cum-betting shop for a few lagers and more stories. Jack had lived an interesting life: stationed and fought in North Africa during World War II, adventures working on the railroads in Australia and misadventures on the road, travelling the vast continent. All fascinating to hear and the hours flew by...
...to the extent that I thought nothing of accepting when Jack offered a lift back to his place for some moonshine. As an older, more risk-adverse adult, I still wonder why I thought getting in a car with an old guy that I'd only met a few hours previously, heading to goodness knows where in the middle of nowhere, with the promise of some homemade hooch and a place to crash for the night was a good idea. But I did it.
Jack lived at the Koala Caravan Park, just off of the Pacific Highway, and it was almost exactly as I'd imagined: a ramshackle caravan with a sheet metal 'extension' and a flower bed border; one light in working order; ornaments fighting for space with the TV; an antique oven unit and a bucket to piss in.
After a few more drinks and many more expletive-riddled stories, I decided it was time to leave. I was about 6km from Coffs Harbour and the hostel I was staying in, so it was going to be a push to get back there before midnight. My last sight of Jack was his head poking out of the caravan door, muttering to himself.
Of course, as soon as I hit the highway, it began to rain...and rain...and rain and Jack's offer of a place to crash didn't seem like such a bad idea after all. In another serendipitous moment, a passing car pulled over and the driver asked where I was going. "Hop in the back" he said and, in record time, I was back at the hostel to a warm shower and dry clothes. I only had dry bread and tea to try to soak up the hooch. I had the mother of all hangovers the following day, to the extent that I failed to book a seat on the next Greyhound and spent an extra couple of days in Coffs Harbour. A hell of a day, though.
On 15th May 2002, I was in Mauritius, walking along another beautiful beach, having just exchanged vows with Mrs. K. It was another momentous occasion and I'm still pinching myself that, two decades later, we get to share time and adventures together and create our own stories. As a aside/nod to Jack Witts, my nearest concession to homemade hooch is making Sloe Gin in the early years of our marriage.
We weren't alone on that beach walk as, a few steps behind us, a Mauritian wedding band gleefully doled out unique takes on some popular songs. The choices were somewhat limited - no chance of The The's This Is The Day or Billy Idol's White Wedding, for example - and "our" song was, depending on whether you ask me or Mrs. K, was a classic by The Troggs, at a push R.E.M. and definitely not ever by Wet Wet Wet.
The trio also didn't have You're The Best Thing by The Style Council in their limited repertoire, but I really wish they had as it's one of the finest pop/love songs ever written and recorded.
You're The Best Thing was released as a double A-side single in the UK, titled Groovin', on 26th May 1984, the day after Paul Weller's 26th birthday. I'm now twice that age and can still only dream of writing such a beautiful and resonant song.
This isn't "our song", Mrs. K isn't even particularly a fan of The Style Council or Paul Weller's music in general, but You're The Best Thing perfectly sums up how I feel about Mrs. K today.
I could be discontent and chase the rainbows end
I might win much more but lose all that is mine
I could be a lot but I know I'm not
I'm content just with the riches that you bring
I might win much more but lose all that is mine
I could be a lot but I know I'm not
I'm content just with the riches that you bring
I might shoot to win and commit the sin
Of wanting more than I've already got
I could runaway but I'd rather stay
In the warmth of your smile lighting up my day, the one that makes me say
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You're the best thing that ever happened, so don't go away
I might be a king and steal my people's things
But I don't go for that power crazy way
All that I could rule I don't check for fools
All that I need is to be left to live my way, listen what I say
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You're the best thing that ever happened, so don't go away
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You're the best thing that ever happened, so don't go away
I could chase around, nothing to be found
But why look for something that is never there
I may get it wrong sometimes but I come back in style
For I realise your love means more than anything
So not makes me say
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You're the best thing that ever happened, so don't go away
'Cause you're the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You're the best thing that ever happened,
now don't go, I say don't go, no no, don't go away