It was like a blast from the past when Mike “Gibbo” Gibson came in to co-host the Zinc Morning Zoo Breakfast show yesterday.

For those of you who had the misfortune of not growing up with Agro, Crikey the Clown, Ranger Stacey, Teresa, Holly Brisley and Gibbo, he was the rather large man with a shock of curly hair in the white overalls with fluoro paint splattered all over them.

It was so self-indulgent. No wonder I loved every minute.

We told behind-the-scenes stories of the great moments in Cartoon Connection history. From Jill Ray lowering “Ben the black-headed python” down into the darkness of the puppet box I was sitting in, to us dressing skinny Anne Marie up as a Javelin and having Gibbo throw her from one side of the studio to the other, to celebrate the Olympics…

No wonder we were thrown off television.

It takes balls to be in the army

I picked up 10-year-old Jackson from school the other day. He didn’t stop talking from the moment he got into the car until his Bata Scouts set down on the footpath outside our house.

He fired question after question; I was so tempted to say, “Rabbits, they built the great wall to keep the rabbits out.” But I didn’t.

As we passed the cane fields that grace the banks of the Maroochy River, he made a statement that nearly caused me to run off the road into the flooded irrigation ditch.

“Dad,” he said. “Did you know that when you join the army, a doctor puts his hand under your balls and asks you to cough? If he feels something, you don’t get to go to war.”

Maybe I’ll just build an ark

Okay, I give in. I’ve had enough. What are we supposed to do? Build an ark?

My house has been leaking under the doors and through the windows, soaking carpets, and generally taking up every Tupperware container we have.

I know what you’re thinking … call the builder.

But that doesn’t help while it’s happening.

The last straw came when Kym called me to tell me that the gyprock ceiling over the kitchen had filled with water from above and collapsed.

If ever you see my house up for sale in the future, don’t even think of buying it unless you’re into scuba diving or growing rare tropical plants in a damp atmosphere.

Teens with polystyrene brains

If was the call that every father dreads…

“Dad, it’s Josh, I’ve had an accident.”

The roads were slippery and wet, and I don’t know how many times I’ve told him to back off at least 10 kilometres when you drive in the rain.

But you know teenagers, it’s like someone has snuck into their room while they slept and replaced their brain tissue with those little polystyrene balls you get in beanbags.

“I was doing the speed limit,” he offered in his defence.

“That’s my point, son, it’s safer if you do less than that.”

Luckily no-one was hurt, apart from the car. There is another positive for Josh, and that is … at least it wasn’t his car he was driving.

And isn’t that teenagers for you.

Better wed wet than never

You may, or may not, have known that we at the radio station were supposed to marry a couple at the Muster. The only problem being that it was flooded out.

We decided to stand by our commitment to Kylie, the bride, and Darren, the groom, and marry them on The Mary Valley Rattler a week or two later in better weather.

Of course, on the day before the wedding came yet more torrential rain to test the patience of the bride and everyone at the radio station, for that matter.

I’d had enough, and forced the wedding party onto Gympie station at gunpoint and demanded the wedding go ahead.

Which it did.

Even though the red dye in the bridesmaids’ dresses ran into their white pantyhose, and the celebrant came from Underwater World.

Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Glover.

Thank God you’re married.