He lives on a farm in the Mallee in Victoria at a place called Yaapeet. This place is the centre of Victoria, according to Bill, and the rest of the place is just scattered around it.

He loves all animals and they love him. On his farm there are lots of rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs, horses, cattle, ferrets, pigs, chooks, goats, geese, turkeys, wild ducks and his son Gene.

Bill claims that he never tells lies. This is his first lie.

If he does not lie, my idea of the truth is wrong.

Bill can think of some tall tale about almost anything that happens. You have to be careful not to use describing words when Bill is around.

If I need some tall stories to tell, I simply spend some time with my brother Bill.

If you say ‘BIG’ he’ll tell you about the yabbies the size of a St Bernard dog, or trees that are so big you can drive a semi-trailer along them. He might even tell you about the snake he slept on one night, because he thought it was a log.

The word ‘SMART’ gets him going about his sheepdog that got too old to work but lectures at a university in New South Wales, or about fish, so cunning, they steal the bait out of a fisherman’s bucket.

Sometimes he gets yakking about the Mallee being so dry that the cows get so skinny they have to stand three times to throw a shadow. Or that the crows fly around backwards to keep the dust out of their eyes. Or about the time it was so dry that the trees used to follow the dogs around, just in case.

Bill always tells the truth, his truth.

He claims that he never talks ‘funnel talk’. (Local name for lies, tall stories and mad talk.)

Bill’s tales are tall tales and should not be taken too seriously.

I sometimes get him going around a campfire so that I can have new stories to tell.

I must do that again soon.