They say, in life, you can count your true friends on one hand, and Westy earned his place there right from the get go.

We met at Beenleigh High School, grade 11, 1988. I was the new kid, the scrawny kid, with the thick coke bottle glasses, second hand uniforms. Leigh was the big muscly kid, with second hand uniforms and a speech impediment. When we met, I’m sure he didn’t notice my glasses, and I waited patiently for him to introduce himself. It was immediately apparent that despite our seperate deficiencies, we were hilarious, and together we were unstoppable.

It was the start of an enormous friendship. If one of us was in a fight, both of us were in a fight. Ask Derek Wooten. It was me and Leigh Vs the world, and I couldn’t have been happier.

That time in my life was hard; I’d lost my Mum, moved in with Dad and the evil stepmother, moved interstate. Leigh had lost his dad at the same age, and faced his own challenges. We needed each other at that time. Despite our problems, we were both able to see the bright side and have a good laugh, and support each other when we couldn’t.

Things were rough at home, and sometimes I’d jump out of my bedroom window at night, walk over the hill to Leigh’s place, where we’d talk shit all night until 5am, when I’d run back home, jump back through my window, throw on my school uniform and head to school. That’s some kind of friend, that’ll be there for you all night. As huge as he was, his biggest muscle has always been his heart.

Not long after, Leigh’s mum. Pat went to Tasmania for a while, and left Leigh living by himself. I’d decided things at home had been bad enough for long enough, and asked if I could move in. Pat was happy about that, so early one morning I woke up, chucked some stuff in a bag, slung it over my shoulder and walked across town to my new home.

Really, it was a partnership like no other, and represents one of the best times in my life. We learned how to cook, clean, brew beer. We’d write each other notes for Mrs Waldron, if we took days off school. We’d go shopping after school, and catch a taxi home. Best time ever.

One day, we were sunbaking on the driveway and drinking home brew, as you do. A tall tree began to cast a shadow over us, so we’d grab another couple of bottles, reposition ourselves a little further down the driveway, and keep talking shit until, again, the shadow reached us. More beer, move further down, talk more shit. Turn up the music in the house. By the end of the day we found ourselves literally in the gutter outside, almost unable to walk, empty bottles beside us, music blaring from the house. We began laughing and couldn’t stop. Seemingly unable to move, we laughed so hard that we simultaneously pissed ourselves. I looked to my left, as I watched the gutter we were laying in doing it’s job, and then looked to the right, as I saw a cop car drive slowly by and come to a stop.

Two police officers stepped out, and asked us how old we were. 18, we lied. They surveyed the situation, and told us that we were drinking in a public place, and asked that we move inside and turn down the music. Phew.

There are so many stories about Leigh, and they’re all good, so they’ll make a chapter of their own. I’m really thankful to have had him as my best mate, at the worst time. It made it the best time.

My blog stalled when it came time to write this post, years ago. I just found it hard to write about. As for the picture accompanying this post, if you know Leigh, you know. May you be resting in peace old mate.