It’s that time as the year draws to an end when our thoughts are all about self improvement and how can we make better versions of ourselves by repairing the damage of the past twelve months our heads become awash in self doubt and disappointment in the image we see reflected back in the mirror then if by magic on January 1st all over the world people are setting goals for themselves, promises of losing weight, exercising more, joining a gym and the daddy of them all trying to quit smoking. These resolutions we make are all set with good intentions, sometimes sadly they are made while still under the influence of the previous nights celebrations but deep down in our heart of hearts we know it’s only a matter of time before the wheels will fall off our wagon. Somehow logic goes out the window and we start to believe the propaganda that we have been bombarded with throughout the year thanks to the internet, ridiculous promises of ‘how to lose 10 kilos in 10 days without exercise’ and the classic ‘I lost half my body weight while I slept’, all I can say is it must have been a miracle or someone crept into their bedroom and removed a limb with a hacksaw while they were in the land of nod dreaming of having the perfect TikTok body. The question is why do we believe such nonsense, is it guilt? Are we desperately trying to repair the damage we have bestowed on our bodies over the past twelve months with an empty promise which deep down we know will fail, but we can justify our decision with ‘well I gave it a go’ then carry on down our slippery slide to failure. I have found a solution to this problem and it’s working for me and I am happy to share my success with you dear reader, I won’t be asking you to join a subscription membership and eat my specially prepared dietary cuisine or count your calories while living off a lettuce leaf. I won’t ask you to strap a piece of technology to your wrist and count the steps you take each day and I definitely will not be asking you to purchase an over priced gym membership which may or may not still be open for the extent of your contract. Todays modern resolution maker has to walk a minefield to compete with and more importantly to be seen by those that matter (which is everybody) for we are constantly on view, our pictures are displayed across social networks whether taken as selfies and posted by ourselves or captured from outside sources and posted without consent. Therefore leisure wear that doesn’t make your bum look big, trainers that cost the equivalent of a third worlds economy have to be purchased before you dare step foot into the outside world, the days of wearing a daggy old pair of ‘tracky dacks’ and going for a jog are long gone it’s spandex all the way or you will never make it as an Influencer. But if like me the only person you want to influence is yourself or your nearest and dearest then take my advice turn off your phone lock away your iPad and follow my instructions and ask yourself what is it you truly want to achieve and for who’s benefit are you doing it ? If the answer is me then do what I have done and I can tell you it will change your life as it has mine, I am now in better shape than I have been in years both mentally and physically, I have increased my circle of friends and I haven’t jogged, kicked a ball, eaten like a rabbit or spent a kings ransom dressing up like a walnut in a condom. I believe I have become a more caring human being, more compassionate and definitely a far less selfish man. I have taken on the responsibilities of caring for and supporting the welfare of a dog a beautiful loving animal that thinks I am the best thing since sliced bread, he doesn’t judge me, he doesn’t care if my waistline is expanding or if I’m wearing Kmart sneakers he’s not worried about my appearance his only concern is that I offer him my love and support. Daily walks in the park, balls to chase and a meaty bone to chew on and in return he offers me companionship a reason to leave the house each day and unquestionable love but more importantly he offers me all this without judgment. I can now look in that mirror and smile at the person looking back at me. So dear reader if you are thinking of making a New Years Resolution my advice to you is get a dog and if you can’t afford to buy one then borrow a friends or better still get a rescue dog from the pound I promise you it will be the best decision you will ever make and one resolution were the wheels definitely will stay on.
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The legend of Backdoor Billy
In the true tradition of folk hero’s Backdoor Billy deserves to stand alongside legends such as The Scarlet Pimpernel, Dick Turpin and Casanova. His escapades are second to none and it’s only through the telling of his adventures shall he take his rightful place amongst the worlds most infamous characters. It was his nocturnal exploits that first brought Billy to prominence and made him a household name in the City of Churches. His reputation spread like syphilis through a brothel and soon he became the centre of attention in more ways than one. The strange thing is Billy is not your average folk hero, he isn’t tall or indeed good looking by any stretch of the imagination in fact he is rather on the short side, no more than 5’5” on tip toes and rather puny. A mass of grey hair like snow on a mountain adorns this rather drawn and wrinkled man who looks every bit of his 50+ years (no-one actually knows his real age). So what is it about this migrant from the emerald isle that makes people adore or intensely hate him with such vigour that he is the topic of everyone’s dinner table conversations within a hundred miles? True he has all the charm that you associate with the Irish and he has obviously been blessed with the sweet melodic tones of the blarney and in true Gaelic tradition could charm the birds from the trees. So how and what has occurred to turn this leprechaun replica into South Australia’s most revered resident and place him deep in local folk lore? After all South Australia has a rather tainted reputation and in no way would a lack of dinner table conversation be an issue, sadly over the years South Australian dinner debates had been fuelled by such cases as the missing Beaumont children, Truro and more recently the Snowtown murders. Although Billy’s misgivings were not as traumatic as those senseless serial killings it still resonated with the local population, sure it never ended with the loss of life but it did reach deep into the psyche of many members of the Adelaide community. After all juicy gossip is fascinating as long as it’s about someone else, we all crave titilation and can’t resist hearing about other peoples misfortunes. Backdoor Billy’s story did change the lives of so many, a story that leaves in its wake broken homes, wrecked marriages and shattered reputations. Amazingly in the aftermath and through the ashes of this disaster a legend was created and this story is about one such hero, a true enigma and a man that the ‘bastards’ of the world admire and look up to, a true ‘Son of a Bitch’ a man that makes mother nature nervous and yes a man that would shag the ‘crack of dawn’ if he had half a chance. I first met Billy by accident in the summer of 98 on a rather barmy Friday evening after finally leaving my office and the worries of work behind me. I had been strolling along the banks of the River Torrens heading north towards my apartment were I found myself preoccupied watching the Swans as they settled gracefully on the glistening water and thinking how lucky I was to be living in such a beautiful City. As I looked back over my shoulder I could see the City of Adelaide bathed in the early evening haze and the lights of the famous Adelaide Cricket Oval which I thought were quite impressive stretching skyward like four fingers pointing to the heavens as if giving the bird to the city that surrounds them, could they be making a statement to all the doubters I thought to myself especially after all the controversy they caused when being erected and how people were up in arms saying they would ruin the skyline of the city, maybe this was the cricket Gods way of having the last laugh? As I continued my walk towards my apartment on this perfect evening I approached the gates of the Zoo and that’s when I first set eyes on Billy, there he was larger than life trying to wave down a taxi without success. He was obviously agitated and as I neared I could hear him talking to himself “Wankers” he muttered as our paths crossed and another taxi ignored his pleas, “beautiful evening” I said as I acknowledged him with a nod not wanting to agitate him further. “Taxi drivers, they are all Wankers” he responded angrily “should be bloody shot the lot of them,” I just gave a wry smile as if to confirm in the positive and continued on with my journey leaving him in my wake still shouting abuse to no-one in particular and as I turned the corner to cross the university playing fields making my way to the pub his rantings faded into the distance and all was peaceful once more. A nice cold beer was my reward for walking home from my office in the city and was my way of thanking myself from making the wise decision not to take the bus, after all I definitely could do with the exercise and to be honest it took away the guilt of enjoying a few cold refreshing beverages, and with that thought in my head I swiftly ordered another pint of nectar after the first one had disappeared down my throat without touching the sides. No sooner had I taken a sip of my second pint when in through the door walked my outraged Gaelic acquaintance I had met earlier looking totally bedraggled, dripping in sweat and I swear his red face looked as if it was ready to explode, “Fucking Taxi drivers” he yelled in a thick northern Irish accent as he made his way to the bar. Apparently as I found out later he had left the Irish club in the city a little worse for wear and tried to flag down a Taxi but none would stop and pick him up due to his rather unsteady and wavering gait believing he was drunk, which in all honesty was blatantly clear. So I decided to offer to buy him a drink and sat him down before any of the bar staff could see what condition he was in and once settled I introduced myself and it was then that I learned his name, “Billy” he said offering his hand for me to shake “nice to meet you mate” he continued while apologising for his behaviour, he then began to off load the details of his experience to me. To be honest he was more angry than drunk as the long walk from the club had sobered him up slightly, and he was just thankful he had someone he could whinge to about his ordeal. We chatted for ages discussing a myriad of topics from football to whether Australia should become a republic but there was one topic we kept reverting back to or should I be more precise a topic he kept wanting to revisit. With the enthusiasm of a pubescent teenager his eyes lit up with the mention of women and sex in particular, he seemed a little obsessed as he constantly glanced around the room while displaying a rather unhealthy interest in his sexual fantasies about what he would like to do with the women who were in the pub. “I’d like to give her one” he whispered to me gesturing towards a rather pretty but extremely young lady sitting alone reading a magazine which made me feel very uncomfortable so I decided it was time to offer my excuses, shake his hand and explain unfortunately I had to leave and hopefully we will catch up again sometime, what a strange man I thought to myself as I made my way home leaving him to scrutinise the female clientele and ponder over his devious thoughts. The following Friday I again called in to my local pub for a serving of my usual liquid refreshment following a hard week at the office, and as it was the end of the month and there had been the dreaded end of month meeting to sit through my throat now needed clearing of all the bull dust it had swallowed. So while being served by my favourite barmaid Sophie who began her usual exchange of professional pleasantries as she skilfully deposited the perfect head to the top of my delightfully chilled beer. “How has your day been” she enquired as I emptied half that delicious beverage down my throat, licking my lips before responding with “you don’t want to know” and continued to drain the rest of the glass “another” she asked with a wry smile and without waiting for an answer proceeded to skilfully fill another perfect pint of amber fluid and resting it on a beermat in front of my approving eyes. Sophie has all the skills needed to be employed in the hospitality industry, she always has a welcome smile on her face, will acknowledge you with a glance even when serving another customer and will always try to engage in conversation no matter how brief whether she is interested in your topic or not, she is the epitome of a good customer service. She is amazingly mature for someone so young and couldn’t be more than 25 years old, a very pretty young lady slim with jet black shoulder length hair who portrays a zest for life. I admire her tenacity and professionalism and I have to admit she does brighten up what can only be described as a dull and boring day, when suddenly and discreetly she leaned across the bar and quietly whispered “who was that Irish chap you were in here with last week?“ Explaining that I had just made his acquaintance that afternoon and all I knew about him was his name, well, that dirty bugger made a pass at me she informed me and he’s old enough to be my Dad, no Grandad she continued and I had to call the night manager after he moved on to pester other ladies who were in the bar and eventually he was asked to leave and escorted off the premises before any serious trouble began when one of the ladies boyfriends came back from the toilet to witness him slouching across the table trying to chat her up whispering in her ear with one arm draped across her shoulder and as you can imagine he was understandably upset and looked like he was about to knock the living shit out of him. What could I say apart from how sorry I was that he harassed you and caused such chaos, but please understand he is not a friend of mine and now I’m intrigued to discover more about this Irish Casanova and I think I know were to start my search? I recall the first time I met Billy when he told me he had been trying to hail a cab from the Irish club and how they refused to pick him up because he had been slightly worse for wear after his usual Friday afternoon session. So with this in mind I decided if I was going to uncover what makes this emerald green Romeo tick then the best place to start would have to be the Irish club in the city. I decided I would visit the club next Friday after work and hopefully run into him there or at the very least speak to someone who can fill me in on what drives his obvious over reactive and chaotic libido. Was it just a one off occurrence at my local brought on by alcohol or was he a serial womaniser, these questions intrigued me and I was now obsessed with knowing the answer. So the following Friday I finished work early hoping to extend my weekend if only by a few hours, after all any extension to the weekend is a welcome one and precisely at 12 noon I left my office and headed towards Victoria Square and proceeded to head down Carrington Street in search of my destination which I found without hesitation as the clubs orange, white and green flag fluttered and waved as if beckoning all to it’s door. Once inside I headed to the bar, ordered a pint of Guinness and while I waited for my glass to settle with it’s half filled black gold I casually asked the barman if he knew of a chap called Billy, I knew it was a long shot and he looked a little puzzled as he continued to pour the remainder of my beer and while he expertly drew a harp with the nozzle of the tap into it's creamy white head he looked up at me and said do you mean backdoor Billy? As I explained that I didn’t know his full name I proceeded to described what he looked like and about how old I thought he was and how I first met him “Oh that’s backdoor Billy all right, the dirty little bugger is notorious around here, there are some folk that would swing for him” he told me before moving along to serve another customer. I took my pint and made my way to a vacant table to sit and ponder over what the barman had just said and also to finally wrap my lips around this majestic pint of pure black smooth Irish gold. As I neared the bottom of my glass with the thought of a refill in mind and before I could raise myself from my chair a rather large middle aged gentleman sat himself down opposite to me and stretched out his hand for me to shake, he introduced himself as Michael “but everyone calls me Mick” he continued “I believe you have been asking after backdoor Billy” he said with a stern look on his face “you a friend of his” he enquired and after explaining my story yet again he accepted my reasons for being there, he then began to pour his heart out to me as if he was at church in the confessional box and talking to his priest, he went on to explain that Billy had ruined his marriage which caused him considerable ongoing health problems. “That little shit totally messed up my life”. He went on to explain that he is a shift worker at Holdens Elizabeth plant and apparently the little Irish Casanova would lay in wait as he left the house to head to work Billy would nip round to the back door and let himself in, he later found out that this had been going on for years and he was not only having an affair with Mick’s wife but he found out later she was just one of many, the exact number is still not know to this day but those of which came to light were all wives of Holden workers and all with the same MO, hubby leaves through front door to go on night shift and Billy enters via the backdoor. The rumours that circulated throughout the factory were there was more than twenty but nobody really knows the true extent of this nocturnal philanderer and how much damage he has caused to families of so many, but it seems everyone who works at Holdens Elizabeth knows someone who’s wife or partner has been or still is being seduced by this Gaelic Casanova. Mick eventually finished his beer after pouring out his deepest dark secrets and left me alone to try and make sense of what I had just heard, surely if everyone knows who Backdoor Billy is and the damage he has caused amongst the workers of Holdens then why hasn’t someone done something about it? After all I found it easy to locate him and if it was my wife he was servicing behind my back I would lay in wait and break his fucking legs. While in deep thought and now well into my third pint I couldn't believe my eyes for who came walking in and up to the bar was the man himself, Backdoor Billy and as he glanced around the room while ordering a pint he spotted me “I’ll be right over” he said and sure enough within a couple of minutes he was over to my table with a pint in hand and declaring “good to see you again, cheers” while proceeding to sit himself down next to me. I explained to him that as I left work early I decided I would visit the Irish club after hearing the stories you told me about how good it is and hopefully catch up with you as you did say you always called in every Friday. We continued to swap small talk between us before I picked up the courage to bring up my earlier conversation with Mick and the shock I felt from what he had told me and as I went on to explain the real reason why I was visiting the club, he just sat there rubbing his hand up and down the outside of his glass while staring down deep into his beer like a naughty boy who was being told off by his mother as I passed on what Sophie had told me. He just sat there for a few minutes in silence obviously reflecting on what I had just told him when he raised his head, looked me straight in the eye and said “yes I have a high libido, yes I’ve slept with hundreds of women and yes I made them all happy”. He continued on to tell me and how the word had gotten around between all these frustrated ladies who’s partners were not satisfying them and that he was willing to service them on a needs basis and as his employment with Holdens was a 9 to 5 office job which therefore allowed him plenty of scope for fulfilling his nocturnal duties. He went on to say he has no regrets and he is still visiting his liaisons via the backdoor of the nightshift workers of Holdens and will continue to do so while there is a need. I've never been approached by anyone to stop, no husband or partner has ever confronted me and I still get propositioned every day by new, lets call them clients. Yes I have made mistakes he continued and yes he regrets upsetting the regulars of my local pub but his last words to me before he finished his pint and disappeared out of the club were “don’t blame me for ruining peoples lives, I'm not the problem just think of me as a tradesman someone who is there only to service a need, remember if there is wasn't a need then there would be no service” and with that he was gone. I never saw him again after that afternoon and in hindsight and the passing of time I grew to actually like him and never again thought of him as a womaniser of philanderer, to me he will always be remembered as a bloody good tradesman and we all know how hard they are to find.
By Roy Travers4 years ago in Fiction
I Never Chose the Easy Path; I Always Chose Hardship
From the earliest memories I can recall, life presented me with two roads. One was smooth, inviting, and well-trodden—a path that promised comfort, approval, and ease. The other was rough, rocky, and uncertain—a path of struggle, obstacles, and lessons that demanded effort, patience, and resilience. I never chose the smooth road. I never took shortcuts. Not because I was fearless, but because something deep inside refused to let me live a life that wasn’t earned. The easy path whispered promises of fleeting satisfaction, fleeting success, and fleeting recognition. It was tempting. Many around me chose it, and I often wondered if I was foolish for ignoring it. But I learned early that true growth is rarely convenient. The easiest choice often leads to emptiness, to regret, to a quiet knowing that you could have been more than you allowed yourself to be. Hardship became my teacher long before success ever noticed me. The lessons it offered were harsh, uncompromising, and often lonely. There were days when choosing the hard path felt like choosing isolation. While others were celebrated for small accomplishments, supported by friends and family, I walked in silence, with doubt as my companion. Progress was invisible to the world. Failures were frequent and relentless. Many nights, I returned home tired, my heart heavy, my mind questioning why I even bothered. Yet even in that silence, I was being shaped. I was learning the value of persistence, of dedication, and of refusing to give up on myself. The hard path forced honesty. It refused to allow excuses. It stripped away illusions and pretenses. I was left face-to-face with my limits, my fears, and my own humanity. On this path, I discovered strengths I never knew I had: patience I had never cultivated, resilience I had doubted, and self-respect that grew every time I stood up instead of walking away. These were not lessons that could be taught in comfort. They were only learned in struggle, in challenge, and in the quiet persistence of refusing to quit when no one was watching. I remember one time vividly. I had a goal that seemed impossible—one that required me to sacrifice comfort, leisure, and social approval. The easy path was right there: a way to avoid the challenge, to be “okay,” to follow what others had done before me. Many advised me to take it. “It’s safer,” they said. “It’s simpler,” they said. But I could feel, deep inside, that taking the easy way would leave me empty. I chose the hard path. The journey was grueling. Every step felt like pushing against gravity. But with each challenge, I gained more than I ever would have on the easy road. I gained endurance, confidence, and an understanding that real achievement is never handed—it is earned. Strength, I realized, isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It grows quietly, in the moments no one sees—the early mornings, the long nights, the repeated failures, the times you push forward when giving up would be understandable. Resilience is not simply surviving; it is deliberately choosing to continue, to stand again, to pursue the path that tests you the most. It is knowing that walking away is easier but will never lead to the person you are capable of becoming. I have walked many hard roads in life. Each one was different, yet the lessons were the same: comfort cannot teach endurance, shortcuts cannot teach discipline, and fleeting success cannot teach respect. Every struggle, no matter how small, adds to your character. Every failure is a mirror that shows you who you really are. And every choice to face hardship instead of fleeing builds a foundation that lasts long after temporary victories fade. There were times when I felt truly alone. People around me often misunderstood my choices. Friends, family, colleagues—they all questioned why I refused the easy way, why I worked harder, why I pushed myself beyond what seemed necessary. They didn’t see the growth happening quietly inside me. They didn’t see the small victories, the lessons learned, the resilience being forged. But eventually, the results spoke for themselves—not in a loud announcement, but in the quiet confidence and self-respect that I had built from the inside out. Life, I have learned, rewards those who endure hardship. Not always immediately. Not always visibly. But it rewards those who persist, who face struggle head-on, and who refuse to settle for anything less than becoming their fullest selves. Success that comes without effort is temporary; strength and self-respect are eternal. Hardship tests us, but it also teaches us. It shows us the depth of our own courage, the strength of our will, and the power of refusing to surrender. The lessons of the hard path are subtle, often invisible, and always lasting. I learned that failing is not shameful; failing is a necessary step toward mastery. I learned that enduring pain, even when no one notices, builds a type of strength that comfort never can. I learned that the more difficult the path, the deeper the reward—not measured in wealth or fame, but in character, wisdom, and self-respect. Every choice to embrace struggle instead of avoiding it shaped me. Every sacrifice, every extra hour, every moment of doubt faced instead of ignored, added to the foundation of the person I am today. My life was not easy. It was messy, unpredictable, and often overwhelming. But it was authentic. It was mine. And through hardship, I became resilient. I became someone who can face challenges without fear because I have faced them before. I became someone who respects themselves because I have honored my own effort. I became someone capable of growth because I refused to choose comfort over character. I often reflect on the people around me who chose the easy path. Many of them achieved quick victories, immediate recognition, and temporary peace. But over time, I noticed something important: the victories were shallow, the peace fleeting, and the growth minimal. They lacked the depth of resilience, the quiet power of self-respect, and the profound satisfaction that comes from knowing you endured, you learned, and you became someone stronger. Choosing hardship is not glamorous. It is not celebrated in real-time. It is often lonely, exhausting, and demanding. But it is transformative. It shapes your mind, your heart, and your spirit in ways comfort never can. It teaches discipline, patience, humility, and courage. It makes failure meaningful, effort valuable, and success earned. The hard path is where true people are made—people who understand that life’s challenges are not punishments, but opportunities. Opportunities to become better, stronger, wiser, and more capable. I never chose the easy path. I always chose the harder road, the one that tested me, the one that demanded effort, and the one that required me to face myself honestly. I walked through fear, doubt, exhaustion, and setbacks. I fell, and I got up. I failed, and I tried again. I cried, I questioned, I endured. And through it all, I became someone I could respect, someone who knew the value of persistence, someone who understood that hardship is not the enemy—it is the greatest teacher. Today, I measure success differently. I do not measure it by comfort, convenience, or ease. I measure it by growth, resilience, and the depth of self-respect I have cultivated. I measure it by how I faced challenges I could not ignore, how I embraced struggles that seemed unbearable, and how I refused to take shortcuts at the cost of my own becoming. I never chose the easy path. I chose the one that made me resilient. I chose the one that taught me self-respect. I chose the one that allowed me to become the person I am today. And if I had the choice again, I would choose the hard path every single time. Because the road of struggle is not only a journey—it is the making of a human being.writing...
By Ihtisham Ulhaq2 days ago in Motivation
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