My days of reminiscing are over. I have lost some of my intrigue when it comes to Bendigo. I was brought up here and there are a lot of cool spots that I would consider my teenage haunts. When I left Bendigo I would make regular trips to the places I used to live and the schools I went to. They hold good memories, but once I’m there I wonder what I am to do with that place of interest. Nothing. It does nothing for me. It’s the whole idea of romanticising certain locations. I used to visit my old mates but, like most people my age, they are mostly married and have children. If I go by Facebook, everybody seems to have the perfect life. If I were to believe that completely it would tear me up — but anyone can create a profile that highlights only their better times.

There was one mate I’d hoped to catch up with on my last visit, but it wasn’t worth the effort for me. Far too much time has passed between us. We message on Bookface now and then, yet the old spark just isn’t there anymore. People change and evolve — he’s got four kids and a girlfriend, and I have myself… thank God for that.

Another issue is that visiting Bendigo tempts me to drink. I no longer drink, but the town remains a definite trigger. Much of my younger life was spent drinking and smoking, and I suppose I carried those habits forward for a long time, even to the point of drinking alone in my motel room. It’s a bit sad, Dave. So no — I won’t go back. I have little to no ties there anymore. Every time I used to visit I would drive up to my old house on that large piece of land. The dirt roads and the house itself have changed a great deal. Once I’m done there, I go home to Frankston, which is where my real home is now.