Terrified Byron Hippy Sitting On A $25m Beach Shack Has No Fucken Idea What His Next Move Is

CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT

Old man Spider Nucholls had forged himself a life where he was never going to have to make another difficult decision again.

This comes after a fairly traumatic youth, that saw him called up for Vietnam but medically discharged before they even left Australian soil.

After escaping rural misery in the timber lopping towns along the Manning river, Spider couldn't tell if it was a gift or a curse that some other halfwit conscript accidentally fired an SLR round into the back of his shoulder during training drills at Puckapunyal.

He grew to be thankful for this accident in the years that followed, when he eventually reconnected with some of the blokes that did get sent over there.

After a decade or so living on the wrong side of the law, growing hooter and occasionally relieving truckies of their freight in the Orara Valley, this former Boystown resident eventually found honest work on the old Woodburn birdge.

From there, he followed a few of his old army mates to Byron Bay - where they found paradise.

He has not left town since. He popped out a few tin lids with a local girl - but they never got married - and they've really been 'together'.

His kids have done well and moved to the big smoke. They come back for Easter and Christmas with the grandkids.

He's seen the town change. He's seen the Bluesfest crowd get replaced by millionaires, who are now being replaced by billionaires. But it's not something he's thought about too much.

Between surfing and listening to old Led Zeppelin records, this semi-retired roofer has no reason to even visit the main street of town unless there's a good band playing at the Northern.

This is how and where he wants to die. He's never had any want for money. He's doing just fine.

But some pervert wearing Italian loafers and too much cologne came and visited him the other day with some very frustrating news.

"Twenty five fucken rocks they reckon" he tells his mates at the Serviceman's Club.

"For my fucking shit hole"

His mates aren't surprised either. Half of them have sold up. Spider hasn't ever thought about it. He's never even checked what he's sitting on.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with 25 million bucks? That's the type of money that could kill me"

Old man Spider is now doing his best to not think too much about whether or not his kids are expecting this money, and if that's why they're so good at keeping in touch.

He's also terrified. In a state of paralysis. He could sell up and move to somewhere the yuppies haven't found like Ballina or Evans Head... But that just means he's gonna be the richest bloke in town. He's never wanted to be that.

But Spider's a true hippy. That kind of money makes his eyes water - but it won't change him.

"Fuck em" says Spider, after thinking about it for 15 minutes.

"I'm writing up a will today"

"When I die, the place becomes a women's shelter"

He takes a sip of his Stone and Wood, satisfied with this decision he has given less than 24 hours formulating.

"Might wanna give it a lick of paint"