Kids and Kombi capers
Many years ago I bought a crappy old 1964 Volkswagen Kombi Van. My idea was that my son Joshua and his grandfather could work on it over the years, thereby creating not only Joshua’s first car but a special bond between the two of them.

Yes, you’re right, I’m a hopeless romantic. They got together twice in three years, and I was lucky enough to find a place at Noosa, called The Kombi Shop, to bring it up to scratch.

Now all Joshua has to do is deliver 14,325 pizzas in his new job to be able to afford to pay me back, because he’s not getting the keys to the “chick magnet” until he does.

What do you think?
I was at the IGA supermarket the other day when this young bloke drove round the corner and into the handicapped park. Admittedly, parks were scarce but I was in two minds about it.

I didn’t know whether to bring it to his attention or just let it go. Am I turning into a grumpy old man with nothing better to do than tell people they’re parking in the wrong spot?

What do you do when you see someone do that? Is it worth the angst, or are you a pathetic, spineless “I should have said something” pussy-foot like me?

Gone bonkers
I know the secret of why the shop Gone Bonkers is actually called Gone Bonkers.

A frequent visitor to both the Coolum and Pacific Paradise shops, I walked into the one next to Bi Lo to pick up a cheap canvas for Jackson’s project, which was of course due the next day, only to hear the lady behind the counter, who shall remain nameless ... Michelle …on the phone complaining about the dreaded green vacuum cleaner.

“It’s not working,” she complained. “It just won’t vacuum and I’ve had enough of the damn thing!” I looked at her and suddenly it hit me. Michelle had actually “Gone Bonkers”!

Our Anzac Day
Anzac Day is undoubtedly becoming more and more significant as the years go by.

All of my children are well aware what this day means to Australians, and although I didn’t attend a dawn service, I still took time to talk with my kids about war, the Anzacs and the whole thing.

The holiday we get isn’t like the other holidays I take; there’s no “let’s go away for the day”.

It’s a day tempered with a feeling of reflection and respect, from my whole family, for the servicemen and women who did so much for our country.

Discipline’s a downer
I was discussing discipline with fellow fathers Ian Calder and filthy Phil the mechanic. We decided that it’s very difficult to discipline teenagers and, in fact, it may damage your health.

Phil has 13-year-old twin girls who’ve just discovered boys. He grounds them, only to find his wife reprieves them. This is what happens in my house.

If I say to Stella, “No movies for two weeks”, quite often I get home and ask “Where’s Stella”, and Kym will reply “Oh, she’s gone to the movies at the plaza”, completely usurping and undermining my authority.

Ian Calder, on the other hand, has two teenage boys. He fears for his personal safety when simply asking them to close the fridge door.

A devil denied
My wife, Kym, was out picking up children until 6.15 the other night. Not only did I set a beautiful dinner table, with iced water and all, I also cooked a fantastic meal that was served and waiting at 6.14 and 30 seconds.

As she walked through the door, I went to her with a cup of calming chai tea ... her favourite. After dinner I cleared the table, cleaned up the kitchen and headed upstairs with the two younger children to get them in their pyjamas and make sure they brushed their teeth.

I then had a shower, brushed my teeth and doused myself with some exotic oil, called Pure Fiji, that I found in the cupboard. I walked into the darkened room, my wife already feigning sleep.

Believe me, I smelled of pure coconut. I climbed into bed and rested my head on the pillow. Breaking the silence, Kym said only two words … “No, Jamie”.