I love my Dad, and think he's the best.
He marches every year, in town, for Anzac Day, though this year was only the second time I've been in to see him.
He never makes a big deal of it. For him, it is more of a catch up with his mates, so we (being the rest of the family) have never really bothered to go and watch him. Every year we make a point of watching him march on television, but it really is nicer to go and see him in person.
Dad was placed with the 460 Squadron in WW2, a squadron that was effectively wiped out five times over during the war. Lucky for my Dad, he came in at the tail end of conflict, and managed to be one of the few lucky ones.
There is a fantastic display at the Australian War Memorial in Canberra which gives an idea of what these blokes encountered on their missions. I went there with Dad a few years ago, and if you have any interest in that sort of stuff, it is worth the visit.
Bit of sporran action.
Love this one
Here they come, the 460…
and there's my Dad 🙂
After the march, my entourage wanted to see the war memorial in Hyde Park. There we saw the guys assembled, and some more sporran action.
Scott, bless his cotton socks, met with me after the march to loan me his tilt-shift lens. I'm just seeing what I can do with it…
Toy chopper –
Afternoon found me at that other important Anzac Day institution – two-up at Palmy RSL.
This year I lost.
Financially,
and
perhaps a little in the moderation of consumption of alcohol, but only a little.
This image depicting no loss on any front…
You gotta know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em
HEAD 'EM UP!
Trent makes the all bets off call
Know when to walk away
Know when to run
and EEEEWWWW ladies!
the bathroom is like this every year! What's that about?
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