Boys have done it forever. Often progressing through the decades from road trips as teens, to football trips in their twenties, to golf trips forever after. But any old banner will do to justify a boys’ trip. The institution is deeply rooted in our culture. It’s even got its own code. Most of which I’m not privy to, though the overarching dictate that, “What Happens On The Trip Stays On The Trip”, has spread into general society.
There are many trailblazing female trippers, but in terms of cultural centrality the girls’ trip has some way to go by comparison. One type of girls’ trip that is clearly on the ascendant though, is the mothers’ trip.
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A twelve-hour round trip is a fair distance for a weekend in the country, but there are few things you won’t do for good friends when they get married.
And that includes the threat of a locust plague.
It was a stifling thirty-something degrees across the New South Wales’s Central West last weekend.
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