Millennium - A Memoir: The Vince Osbourne Series, #2

By Peri Hoskins

"... a genial well-observed book that insinuates itself into the affections." - Christopher Moore, New Zealand Listener, 2 August 2014

"... Hoskins has created a sensitively and very well written piece of work that strips away the surface layers of this microcosm of the world, simultaneously revealing both the gritty underbelly and, the raw promise of humanity as a whole. Hoskins holds no punches and it is this, combined with a style reminiscent of Steinbeck's, that leaves me eagerly awaiting his next offering." - Kate Pill

It’s December 1999, the cusp of a new millennium. The tiny Pacific Kingdom of Tonga will be first nation in the world to usher it in.

Vince Osbourne takes us there to see the sun set on the old and the dawn rise on the new. We discover much more.

In a time and place of old customs we see the gentle advance of the new. This Pacific paradise is home to a diverse group of human beings at this unique time. Our journey through many human exchanges – quirky, funny, and sad – accompanied by quotes from Hindu scripture echoes through the millennia and asks us what it is to be human in these dark times.

This book constantly entertains and delves beneath a fascinating surface to examine the quality of our age.

'Millennium—A Memoir' is a novella-sized slice of life travelogue that evokes the work of Ernest Hemingway.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tane Kaha Publications
• Release date: Aug 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9780473251307

Book preview

Chapter 1

Flammarion Universum

… Time assumes diverse shapes. It has neither beginning nor end. It is Time which produces all creatures and again devours them … Time is the origin of all creatures; Time is that which makes them grow; Time is that which is their destroyer; and lastly it is Time that is their ruler …

The Mahabharata, Book 12 Section CCXXXVIII

The material modes — goodness, passion and ignorance — whose permutations are observed within a person’s mind, are set into motion by the power of Time.

When there is a predominance of cheating, lying, sloth, sleepiness, violence, depression, lamentation, bewilderment, fear and poverty, that age is Kali, the age of the mode of ignorance.

Srimad Bhagavatam, Cantos 12.3.26 and 12.3.30

Summer of 1994. I close my eyes and see Sykes standing on the concrete driveway at the front of his house. He is waving goodbye, a smile on his face. I drove home in my big white car. Well, my parents’ home; the only place I could call home, then. He lived near the coast and so did they. Coast of different oceans. The wide continent of Australia was in between. It was a long drive. And I need to finish writing that story.

There is something comforting about the persistent hum of propellers at night. The hum keeping me airborne. I want to be in this black sky moving forward. May the hum only stop when I’m on the ground, safely.

Summer of ’94 was five years ago. I must have seen Sykes since then. Tired mental cogs move slowly. Something missing – have to wait for it to come.

I turn the reading light on and take my journal out of the seat pocket in front. My fingers feel for the ballpoint pen inside my plastic travel wallet. There it is, wedged against my passport. I take it out, open the journal to a clean page, and start writing.

Left Adelaide airport at two-fifteen yesterday afternoon. Got off the plane in Fiji. Delayed several hours. Ate cold transit-lounge sandwiches for dinner.

Those cold roast beef sandwiches in Fiji reminded me of that other lonely dinner. The night she lost me.

I put the pen down on the journal. That night, six months ago, while eating the chips – salty, with the faint taste and smell of the cardboard container they came in – I decided, I’ve had enough, I’m leaving her. I’d already eaten the burger, double-beef with an egg and onion. I’m sure of that. And the plastic tray the chips and burger came on was deep brown.

I pick up the pen.

A smaller propeller plane with fewer souls takes me from Fiji to Tonga. Propelled into the new millennium by old technology. I have come to see my old friend Sykes and spend 22 days in the first place in the world to see the new millennium: the Kingdom of Tonga. My Maori ancestors came from the islands of the Pacific. This is my first journey back …

And my first journey since breaking up with Angelina, leaving my job at the big law firm and starting out on my own. Without any money. Angelina’s face comes into mind. And I get that cut-off and bleeding feeling, again.

No point putting all that in. I might sell this piece to a ‘feel good’ travel magazine. They don’t want to know about lonely lunches in the office eating tuna fish out of the can.

The ‘Fasten seatbelts’ sign lights up. The Royal Tongan Airlines hostess walks past towards the cockpit. Her tired eyes glance left and right. I put journal and pen back in the seat pocket.

That nagging half-memory flowers. I have seen Sykes since then. He dropped by over summer about a year ago. He was with the new girl; a short redhead. Her name was … Judith. And she’s there now, with him in Tonga.

I fasten my seatbelt and chuckle. Sykes had told me about his new venture as we walked down the beach. The backpackers’ hostel in Tonga.

I’m not gonna get all the chicks who stay. But I’ll get a percentage.

He sure is the son of a valuer. And a numbers man with women, as he kept telling me.

The plane in descent gives me that floating feeling in my intestines.

Sykes always had money at primary school. I had little or none. Aged eight, he was a regular at the school shop, run by the retarded class. He would order six glasses of cordial at a time.

I remember that smile. The long and amused smile on the young retarded shopkeeper’s face as he poured out the cordial from glass jugs. Sykes sat and watched as coloured liquid filled the line of glasses.

They had brighter colours then, those sweet drinks. Fizzy or still, there were bright liquid yellows, reds, oranges and greens. And each flavour had a colour, distinct and bright. Yellow was pineapple, green was lime, red was raspberry and orange was orange.

Sykes would drink four glasses one after the other, some fast, some slow and deliberate. He’d give the last two away. Maybe I’d get one – if we were getting on.

Word got back to our teacher.

Standing in the playground, Sykes met her maternal gaze. Her looking down, him looking up.

Yes, my parents know I’m spending this money. They give it to me.

Were those colours really brighter back then? Maybe my eyes, not filtered through the adult lens of known things, saw more vividly.

My ears hurt. I pinch my nose between thumb and forefinger and blow.

After high school we all started university. I decided to study law and the humanities. John Richards wanted to be an engineer. Sykes would study dentistry up north.

As we moved to big cities to start new lives, Sykes changed his mind. He would study accounting at my university, not dentistry up north.

In the week before lectures started he somehow landed a room at the old student hostel down the road, where Richards already had a room. Those rooms were hard to get.

I put it down to his lucky streak. Even at primary school he always seemed to hold the winning raffle ticket. I was happy with my hostel. It was newer and took students with higher grades.

With Sykes and Richards at the hostel down the road, some of the old first-year high school gang was back together again. Sykes and Richards were part of our gang for that first year before Sykes left for the private school in the big city. Yes, we called him Richards. At our all-boys school, the teachers called us by our surnames. And we boys carried that on. If you had a common first name, being called by your surname was likely to stick.

In my mind’s eye I see Richards’ lank, oily hair. His strong-featured, pretty face heavily studded with acne. Some time after we’d settled into our hostel rooms, Richards filled me in on Sykes’ good luck.

Sykes didn’t make it into our hostel.

He flicked back his lank forelock with a sweep of his head.

His father made a donation. That’s how he got in. He bought his way in.

One afternoon after my Twentieth Century Literature class, I walked up the worn dusty carpet on the old stone stairs to Sykes’ room. He was stretched out on his stomach, asleep in bed, clothes

Reviews for Millennium - A Memoir

[Carmen Pitsch · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Every year I search for good books to read on holiday.  Because I know author, Peri Hoskins, from Twitter I thought.... why not read his book, 'Millennium – A Memoir'?

It was a great decision. ‘Millennium' is an entertaining story about the protagonist, Vince, who travels to Tonga to usher in the new millennium with his old school friend, Sykes, who lives there.  The calm, sunny, party and holiday atmosphere is shadowed by daily real life situations that are sometimes unpleasant and embarrassing such as when strangers first meet.  Vince adds his associations as events unfold on the island.  This is real life and Vince’s associations, memories and fantasies are at times sad, frightened, and funny.  

Written with short precise sentences, Hoskins' style is very visual and I could imagine the places, situations and atmospheres very well. He gets straight to the point and tells it like it is.

This book reminds me that time never stops, the past is always present and thoughts influence situations. And even if you're partying on the other side of the world under palm trees to usher in the new millennium, the next day will always be sobering. 

I recommend Millennium as your next #must read.