Living with Denis

I was lucky enough to share a house with Denis for a year or two in the early '90s and it was a hilarious and always entertaining experience. One night, we threw a pretty big party and the evening was in full swing when Denis approached me, looking a little concerned.

"Everyone's calling us the odd couple," Denis confided in a whisper. I had to laugh - it was an apt description. At the time I was a beer-swilling, unkempt, slovenly surf magazine editor and he was the well-groomed, diligant lawyer and all-round perfect citizen. But Denis seemed worried. "Which one am I?" he asked me. "I think you're the tidy one," I told him, and he seemed satisfied with that.

As if to underscore the point, one day Denis arrived home with a small plastic device for hanging out what ladies' delicately call their "smalls" on the washing line. It was basically one large plastic hook with a series of small pegs hanging from a circular frame at the bottom. Denis looked as delighted with himself as if he'd just invented the wheel and proudly demonstrated how handy it was for hanging out one's socks and undies. I couldn't believe it. In the entire history of all-male share houses I bet Denis is the only man to ever purchase such a device. I think it appealed to his sense of order.

Now that my house is a family home rather than a grubby surfer share house, we still have this device and it is always referred to affectionately as "the Denis." My wife thinks it is tremendous. "Babe, have you seen the Denis?" she'll ask.

My favourite memory of Denis is one day Burleigh, when Rabbit and I had met for coffee at the Bluff Cafe. Denis came whirling by like the mini-tornado of nervous energy we all know and love. He was getting ready to go to Hawaii the next day and was in a flap trying to get everything done before his departure - picking up boards, packing, attending to work. But he was as excited as a little boy at Christmas, barely unable to contain his glee. He would have loved to sit down and chat and was full of apologies for the fact that he had to keep moving - all wild hand gestures and stuttered, excited babble, like the white rabbit in Alice In Wonderland. And then he was gone. Rab and I looked at each other. "Now, that's the way to go to Hawaii," Rab declared. We'd both seen too many bored pro surfers traipse off to Hawaii as if it was some onerous chore. Rab appreciated that Denis knew how precious a trip to Hawaii really was.

I think maybe that was Denis's greatest quality - he really knew the value of the important things. Friends, family, doing what you love, helping others. All precious and cherished to Denis. Just like he was to us.