Guy Parsons is 60

Lindsay Tuffin

But Burnie is Burnie. This is a close town. They boyz did not get away with it. A day or two later there was a knock on the door, the declaration of disorderly house and a final warning …
YOU CANNOT comprehend what an honour it is to talk about Guy Parsons … a man I have known for one year shy of 40 years.

Yes believe it or not… tho’ I may appear to be a mere stripling perhaps in mid 30s, I am in fact not that far short of the old bugger. And it is with some delight that I see he has finally seen the light and adopted the trimmed down, athletic non-hirsuite look favoured by men in search of a good mid-life crisis.

And I have many stories to tell of him.

They begin those some four decades ago in a house in Mount St, Burnie declared disorderly by the local constabulary in the prime Bible belt town of Burnie … a house occupied by Mr Parsons, Mr Cedric Tuffin, and Mr Kevin Maclaine.

It was a house which earned it’s declaration of disorderly with some ease.

There are many legendary incidents from those times… one told to me just days ago by beloved brother. It seems on some bender or other my brother stole Guysy’s flagon of fine wine, loosely referred to in those days as a leg-opener … whatever that means.

Guysy, non-plussed that his aphrodisiac would vanish down Cedder’s gullet attempted to retrieve it. Cedders had by this stage acquired the taste for fine early 70s vintage flagon red.

He resisted. Guysy lunged… Cedders fled… around the lounge, out the door, up the street and down the main road to Burnie. He chose the middle of the road… Guysy, a tad more athletic, began to gain ground as the precious liquid spilled from the flagon. Suddenly lights appeared over the hill. Blue lights bearing directly down on them.

They heard sirens. Non-plussed Cedders went left, Guysy went right. Somehow they doubled their speed. Each in his own desperate way found a little hidey hole in which to cower as the frustrated pursuers hunted in vain.

Eventually each emerged from their rabbit hole and like SAS soliders on patrol … zigzagged back to Mount St.

But Burnie is Burnie. This is a close town. They boyz did not get away with it. A day or two later there was a knock on the door, the declaration of disorderly house and a final warning …

There are many other stories of this wonderful man… stories which could fill not one but several books.

There would be chapters on his capacity for generosity and friendship … of which I can give a myriad of accounts. The almost open-house nature of the social relationships that Guy and Nola and their lovely kids have built up.

The wonderful meals, the marvellous cellar, the endless games of pool, Rolling Stones, Doors and inevitably Moody Blues leading most often in my case to extinction beneath the table or a furtive, staggering attempt to escape to other adventures.

And there is the good Guy.

The man who each Christmas stands guard over a truckload of Christmas puddings stacked on his desk at the Mercury … from which he each year ambushes his co-workers, co-ercing them into sometimes reluctant purchase.

For the puds are for his great compassionate love: The support of Legacy. This man I admire enormously. His selfless acts of compassion and commitment to war widows goes back decades. I have been a guest at the Tuesday lunches he helps organize at Legacy House; an exemplar of the human being who truly believes that no man or woman is an island. We all contribute to one another.

Then, as I wish to keep this brief … in fact I have been ordered to by my dear wife who fears a repeat of the rambling, f-word laden tributes to the Tuffin children at their 21sts … there is Guy the journo.

This man can truly write.

How do I know this so well?: I log on every morning to www.oldtt.pixelkey.biz … and there – most likely written between 3am and 5am – will be an erudite, consummately beautiful piece of prose on some subject raised by in Paul Lennon’s supportive words, that fuckin’ useless website.

His next tangential turn I believe should be to quit the Mercury and take up his keyboard full time.

Mind you the keyboard will have to be shared with the garden. For no-one has better Greenfingers than this man. His garden is simply a garden of delight. Among his greatest pleasures a stubby of Goopers sparkling ale in one hand, a pair of secateurs in the other.

You can say in all honesty …. He leads a balanced life.

Friends … it’s his 60th. We love him…

Happy birthday Guysy….

A little tribute to a much-loved mate, on his 60th, Peppermint Bay, May 18