Pico.

His flatmates called him Pico, because they were Dukes of Hazzard fans, and his real name was Ross. Get it? Heh... one flatmate thought Roscoe P Cotrane was actually Roscoe Pico Train.

So anyway... Pico... I met him when I was in my first job - buying & importing mining machinery. Pico was a psychology student from Otago, working in the summer break. He was specialising in alcohol & drug abuse... quite enthusiastically.

He was a colourful character, resembling no-one so much as the young Dave Dobbyn. He had a host of cool friends, and dozens of ex & unrequited loves. We hit it off & many were the mornings we were still completely trashed from the night before. Ah... youth.

Our manager was an eccentric fellow, and recognising an intellectual when he saw one, he gave Pico, the student temp, the job of formulating a major review of the procuring office. In entirely predictable fashion, Pico began his report on the morning of his last day with us, and had not quite finished it by the time lunchtime & his farewell celebration came around. Shortly before 5pm Pico staggered back into the office, added "I am drunk, and I am leaving..." in a sloping scrawl at the bottom of the page.

Delighted, the following monday, our manager submitted the unchanged report to the typing pool, who dutifully typed it out, and coming to the last line, skewed the page by 45 degrees & typed Pico's parting message verbatim.

Pico's family were also quite colourful. His parents had separated some years before & so he seemed able to play each of them against each other in order to extract cash to continue his research into his specialist subject. His mother was a hugely amusing & dry scot. I never met his father. I didn't meet his sister for a few years, she was in Australia for a while. I did see her photograph in a magazine though, which Pico showed me, she had surprised the family (I'm not sure what they thought her line of work was) by appearing as the headline act in an article about female mud wrestling in King's Cross, in a major Australian magazine. When I finally did meet her, I had to admit, she was not the type you'd have picked for that line of work (aside from being buxom & blonde).

Pico returned to our office for the three or four years he was studying in Otago. In the interim, news of his illustrious progress did filter back from the deep South.

Pico was actually Otago's top psychology student in his final year. His success & notoriety had worked wonders for his romantic life. The night before his capping parade & ball, he'd managed to get a woman he had lusted after for years to come to dinner with him, and promise to accompany him to the capping ball.

They chose a well known chinese restaurant, drank far too much, and decided to do a traditional dine & dash. So far, so good.

The next day, as the capping parade marched past the cheering throngs, an elderly Chinese woman, accompanied by two police officers, stepped out beside the marching students, pointed at Pico, and said "That's him!". Pico was extracted from the parade & arrested in front of his proud parents.

He was out though, in time for the capping ball that night, which he attended with his prized date. To the student community, he was a hero. A legend. Feted by his teachers & peers.

He got really wasted.

Towards the end of the evening, his date was attempting to communicate. Through a thick fog, it dawned on Pico, that he was probably going to vomit. Afraid to speak, he clenched his teeth together & tried to ride the wave of nausea out.

Eye witnesses report that two jets of vomit shot from Pico's nostrils leaving slimey yellow streaks across his date's ballgown. I'm not entirely sure, but that may be the last time he ever saw her.

Later, Pico's friends took him drinking. Someone knew the restaurant where the psychology department were having their celebration supper. Late that night, the august faculty members were startled to find their top student being carried in, above the heads of his peers, naked, and reaching down to scoop the cream & fruit off the desserts table. Dr Pico had arrived.

Years later, I was working with a guy who had studied engineering at Otago at about the same time as Pico was there. I asked him if he knew him. I got a lecture "There are 6000 students at Otago, do you think there is much chance I'd know them all?" I said "He got arrested for doing a dine & dash at the capping parade." The guy looked startled "Him?!! He's famous!"

It's been more than a few years since I last saw Pico. He was clinical psychologist at a hospital in Brisbane at the time, visiting Wellington, indeed, specialising in alcohol & drug abuse. he'd settled down with a lovely woman. Lord, he probably has a brood of Pico jrs by now....

Pico mate, on the very off chance you read this, we remember & salute you!