March 19, 2015. A Tinker's Cuss – French Tourists and Christchurch

The French tourists in Koh Samui walk around with a sense of superiority and socialist fumes, two selfie sticks in their back pockets.

My French teacher at Otago Boys' High School was Monsieur Evans. He had hairy nostrils and used a cane and thought France was superior to Britain and New Zealand. But the Flying Nun explosion started in his classroom. I think about that.

Peter Sharp taught at Linwood High in Christchurch. He was blonde and athletic and played Canterbury cricket and fast-bowled chalk at inattentive students.

I moved to Christchurch at thirteen or fourteen after my brother died. I met Mike Jones there, who became my best mate, like a brother. His mum owned a dairy on Wilson's Road. My dad worked at Stainless Castings in Woolston. My mum worked at Melhuish's pickle factory.

In 1968, when I was sixteen, I hired the Mount Pleasant Community Centre and ran dances. We'd get 600 to 800 people and ten bouncers. The Epitaph Riders bike gang provided security. We ate late-night steaks at the Silver Grille.

'Dr Death' the bouncer later became a screw at Paparua Prison when I was incarcerated for drug offences. Dougal Johnson from the Epitaph Riders was my best mate in jail.

Mike Jones became a junkie and went to jail for manufacturing heroin in the 1980s. A man called Griff tried to cut Mike's finger off with scissors to get his Morphine. Mike said go ahead. He kept his fingers and his Morphine.

Mike died about six years ago of liver cancer after Interferon treatment for Hepatitis C. I hear his voice and his bass playing every day.

Keep the Faith,
Jim Wilson