THIS LITTLE "SNIPPET' REALLY SHOULD BE IN "THE NAUGHTY PAGE", TOO LATE. Here's my tribute to Doug. Trevor Fuller.  THE  FAT  MAN ..........GOD  BLESS  HIM                                                He was born and christened Douglas Gordon Wells, but to all of us he was simply known as Kegs...or sometimes Guts...occasionally Doberman and quite often as the Fat Man.  He was a Wharf labourer, but preferred to be called a Cargo'ologist. Kegs was not your typical iconic bronzed Aussie surf life saver, six foot two inches tall, nut brown complexion and a taut well defined body that bullets would bounce off.  On the contrary, some unkind people were heard to say that if you shoved a greased stick up his bum and spun him around he would resemble a large oversize globe of the world. If anyone in the club had a secret that they were too embarrassed to reveal openly, all one had to do was to tell Kegs and it would no longer be a secret, the whole club would know.  He was known to enjoy the odd ice cold beer on the odd occasion, usually 17 schooners every third day at one sitting. He also had a nasty habit of becoming quite aggressive after downing quantities of amber fluid capable of sinking the QE2 in under an hour. Whenever Kegs began laughing in a manner that only he could, it was a wise move to give him a wide berth. It sounded similar to a cud chewing Bactrian camel attempting to clear the phlegm from its throat by blowing it out its arsehole. Whenever he started using his weather balloon sized stomach to bump people backwards, it was time to make oneself scarce...and fast. One of Keg's fingers had been amputated just below the knuckle joint and this became the terror of the women and girls who attended club functions and the Sunday drink sessions known as QY's.  Many a female, after giving out a loud squeak, was seen to pop up suddenly like a lawn sprinkler rising from the turf, then direct a torrent of abuse at you know who. Kegs never seem to be offended and simply went into his camel phlegm clearing impersonation. The girls refused to have anything whatsoever to do with him and regarded him as a disgusting predator. He seemed to regard this as being totally acceptable and once again never appeared to take offence. I recall vividly the first time I took my fiance Gabi to the beach and club house. She never packed a change of clothing, other than a micro mini beach skirt. After the days surfing and sunbaking we adjourned to QY's to get wet on the inside as well. Gabi had showered and slipped on the extremely short beach skirt over a tight fitting pair of paisley patterned polyester briefs. She was seated on a small round stool at the bar chatting with the staff, when eagle eyed Kegs zeroed in on her multi coloured posterior. "Well I'll be f....d, look at that," he cried, through a mouth almost dribbling with saliva and he immediately launched himself towards the bar, his evil eyes glinting and sucking his probing stubby. "Oh shit! I exclaimed and flew over to warn Gabi of the impending rear guard assault about to be launched upon her smooth and well rounded polyestered butt. Too late.  I arrived behind the bar just in time to hear her squeak and to see her height momentarily increase several inches. Kegs waited for the abuse he was sure would follow, but became puzzled by Gabi's attitude and demeanour.  "Oh, you must be Kegs," she enquired, "Trevor's told me all about you and your little pinkie winkie." She then added, "Come on, buy me a beer and let's go have a chat." To this day I have no idea what they were rabbiting on about, but Kegs couldn't believe his luck. For at least the next hour or so, the two of them were constantly laughing and joking whilst ensuring that more space was becoming available in the beer fridge. Around two hours after Gabi's little squeak, Kegs pulled me aside and asked me where in Heavens name had I met her. I informed him that we met at work and after only a few weeks made the commitment to get knotted...oops sorry, I meant to tie the knot. He was then forthcoming with some advice, "Whatever you do Pogo, don't lose her, she's one in a million, fantastic personality and a f.....ng good sort to boot." Seeing how that was 37 years ago and I'm still using her to correct my many spelling mistakes, I suppose I must have deemed that advice to be worthwhile. For the oversized lump that he was, Kegs had what could be referred to as a rather weak stomach. Whenever there was a barbecue at the back of the club, he would always attempt to barge his way to the front of the queue and grab the first steak, chop or sausage. He got his cum-uppance when a strategically placed dog turd sandwich was pilfered, bitten into, then regurgitated all over the BBQ hotplate. A similar event took place one evening when at least two kilos of witchetty grubs were on the menu. The bulk of these creatures were thrown onto the hot plate while some of the living ones were placed on a sandwich uncooked. You guessed it, after bowling over his fellow members and friends , Kegs arrived at the prime position up front ahead of all the bodies lying prone on the ground behind him and grabbed the nearest sandwich. Guess which one? Once again the hose was required to remove the multi coloured liquid laugh off the food preparation area. When one of the surf clubs senior members sadly passed away, his remains were to be taken out in the surf boat and deposited in the surf directly off the club house. Kegs was invited to be one the crew members and was honoured to be selected. The urn containing the ashes was held aloft by Brian Sproule the sweep, whilst the rowers held the oars upright.  As the ashes were being committed to the sea, a sudden gust of wind blew them in the direction of Kegs. It would be fair to say that not one grain of ash missed him. One of the boat crew comedians commented that Kegs resembled a grossly overweight Al Jolson and insisted he sing ‘Mammy.' When the boat returned to shore the crew were ankle deep in what looked like a mixed vegie pack floating in snot. One of the Honour Guard on the beach noticed the green, yellow and orange slush and threw up immediately. Kegs witnessed this and decided he had to have another one in sympathy. The breeze happened to be blowing on shore, so there weren't too many who hung around any longer than they had too. One could write a novel greater than ‘War and Peace' about the amusing and outrageous antics of  DGW, but there was another side to this unique person. Doug loved body surfing and every Sunday morning he would join the hung over clubbies off the rocks at the southern end of the beach. The rock bottom underneath ensured that the waves kept breaking consistently in the same area. Every now and then a loud shout would be given as a warning and everyone would start swimming frantically out the back to avoid the big sets that Huey would send in unexpectedly to keep us on our toes. Kegs could body surf with the best of them and would be seen screaming down the front of many waves in excess of 10 feet.  He took me under his wing and was responsible for me learning the ropes so to speak. Up until this period in time, body surfing to me was standing in waist deep water and pushing forward onto a small breaking wave no more than 4 feet high. Everything I learnt about body surfing I owe to him. He even suggested I try using a hand board and after doing so I've never been without one. When it came to competition, Kegs was almost unbeatable at Pillow Fighting.  He took over from Avalon's Australian Champion, Allan Granquist {Pogo Senior} and became a living legend. He even featured in the classic Bruce Brown surfing movie ‘The Endless Summer.' During the 60's whenever there was any work needed to be done in or around the club, many members would suddenly go missing in action. It always seemed to be left to the same 12 to 14 members to get the work done. Kegs was always one of them. He would pitch in and take on anything that required attention. On one clean up day he entered the men's toilet and saw me on my hands and knees cleaning the urinal. He cried out, "Jesus Pogo, how the hell can you do that?" He burped, then retched and proceeded to cover my spotlessly clean floor with snotty mixed vegies.  On the many other clean up days that he attended, he was only permitted to enter the toilet during a call of nature and even then only under strict supervision. The most difficult of all trophies to win was the Patrol Proficiency Pennant. It was later renamed the Patrol Efficiency Pennant. To be awarded this prize required a member to complete all his rostered patrols throughout the season. One was also required not to be even one minute late when signing on. On one occasion I became only the second member in the clubs history to be awarded the elusive pennant.  The other member was none other than Douglas Gordon Wells, but for him this was not a one off occurrence as it was for yours truly. Kegs never had a season go by without winning this award. The year I happened to win mine turned out to be the pennants final year, but this did not end Doug's perfect run. He maintained his perfect score up until he opted for active reserve membership. Doug's serious side never arose in general conversation, nor did he ever brag about his many achievements. Quite often he would be the butt of many over the top practical jokes, but I can assure you he most certainly gave as good as he got. I believe it was in 1990 Doug suffered a massive stroke that was responsible for him being confined in a wheel chair for the following 3 years.  He sadly passed away during 1993 aged 64 and was sorely missed by his many mates. He may have worked hard during his life, but oh boy, he most certainly played hard. If ever he runs into those cheeky Philadelphia Cream Cheese eating angels, they better be sitting down with their backs firmly pressed up against the wall. Mmmmh.............I wonder if angels squeak?