I was born in Tacketts Valley, on the farm, in the same bed where Bill and Joanne had come into the world. That's just about where the likeness stops. I was always the odd one out in the family. All the others — and that includes Ma and the Old Man — are skinny and energetic and smart. They're into sport and stuff like that and they were good at school. I'm the opposite. I've been wearing glasses since I was nine and I've always been . . . well, not real fat . . . but heavy enough to get the Fat Boy tag. I think if the Old Man hadn't known from managing his flock that even the best breeding programme throws out a dud now and again, he would have asked himself seriously where I came from. But seeing me as a fact of life didn't mean he had to put up with me. Pretty early on he made up his mind that, useless as I was, he was going to get some good out of me. For the most part this meant beating it into me. I guess I got the flat of his belt on average about once a month. It didn't make any difference — I still took twice as long to do any job as the others and I still did it half as well.
