For over four decades I have been a rail and bus photographer.
However, during this time I have aimed the lens at other subjects, be they different transportation, scenery, buildings and other bollocks.
Given these do not really fit the scope of my other sites, I felt compelled to set up a new site so as to inflict my other photographic garbage upon the world.
While primarily Philippine and Australian content, there will be the occasional forays into Fiji and Hong Kong. Perhaps other locations should the current pandemic ever allow it.
So sit back and enjoy, or hate, even be indifferent. That choice is purely up to you.

Official Home Of the 'Brad N Virls Adventure Series' - Images are copyright, so contact us if you would like to use any photos on your site/video! (We don't bite)


Tuesday, 10 March 2026

MANDAON ILUMNI WEEKEND (PHILIPPINES) 8-3-2025 - PART 2

 



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Semi-Retired Foamer!
We are just a little bit different!
Follow our page to be kept updated on every Philippine thing we inflict upon the internet.
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The Asawa, in what can only be described as a moment of either great generosity or a brief lapse in judgement, decided it was finally time to present her somewhat weathered husband to polite society. And not just quietly, mind you. Oh no. If you’re going to unveil the foreign spouse, you may as well do it properly—during not one but two major local events. First, her high school alumni celebration, and then the fiesta of her original barangay the following day. Clearly, she believes in easing a man into things gently… by throwing him into the deep end.


This particular chapter covers the first of those adventures: the alumni homecoming. The festivities began with a cheerful march kicking off from a church on the eastern side of town (a location that will become relevant later, so do keep it in mind). From there the parade wound its way through the streets, past the port, around a few strategic corners, and then—because the organisers clearly believed no road should go un-walked—headed all the way back east again to the high school.


The weather, naturally, was the sort of tropical warmth that locals barely notice. Everyone else seemed perfectly comfortable. Meanwhile, yours truly—the pale foreigner who considers anything above 25°C to be suspiciously close to volcanic activity—was quietly reconsidering life choices while trying to look cheerful. Thankfully, the general mood of the crowd was high enough to carry everyone along, including the overheated visitor at the back of the parade.


And what a crowd it was. Alumni had returned from various corners of the Philippines and beyond, each proudly representing their graduating batch. In the Philippines, these things are taken quite seriously. Some batches celebrate milestone anniversaries, others simply show up because any excuse for a gathering with food, music, and a mild amount of competitive bragging is perfectly acceptable.


Standing among the rolling green hills of Masbate is the school at the centre of all this nostalgia: what most people still call Mandaon National High School. Over the years it has acquired a slightly more distinguished title—Federico A. Estipona Memorial High School, or FAEMHS for short. The renaming was even recorded in official government paperwork, which confirms it wasn’t simply a rumour that grew legs after one too many glasses of Tanduay at the local sari-sari store.


Despite the new and impressively formal name, locals still happily refer to it by the old one, because habits—especially Filipino ones—tend to stick around. The school remains one of the main educational institutions in the municipality and, like most organisations these days, much of its public life now happens on Facebook. There you’ll find updates on school events, flag ceremonies, student achievements, alumni reunions, and the occasional nostalgic comment from former students remembering canteen snacks that were somehow both questionable and unforgettable.


The campus itself occasionally appears in drone videos proudly circulating online, showing the school nestled near Barangay Laguinbanwa—or at least that’s what the internet claims. I personally haven’t managed to confirm the exact barangay reference anywhere official, so treat that detail with the traditional Filipino pinch of salt.


In the Philippines, alumni homecomings are not merely polite gatherings with tea and polite conversation. That would be far too restrained. Instead, they are lively mini-festivals where former students return to celebrate their school days, reminisce about teachers who somehow survived teaching them, and compare notes on who has aged gracefully and who has embraced a more… comfortable relationship with rice.


Parades or motorcades are common, often involving banners, marching alumni, and the occasional vehicle decorated like it’s auditioning for a festival float. Once everyone eventually arrives back at the school, the official program begins—speeches, performances, music, and the occasional batch competition thrown in for good measure.

And of course, there is food. Magnificent food.


By the time we reached the high school grounds, preparations had clearly been underway for some time. Long tables groaned heroically under the weight of dishes prepared for the occasion, creating a feast that could easily rival a small wedding reception. There was more than enough to ensure nobody would leave hungry—an outcome that, in the Philippines, would be considered a grave organisational failure.


Entertainment was equally impressive. Music and performances kept the crowd lively, batches cheered for one another, and laughter echoed around the grounds as old classmates reunited and swapped stories about school days that were almost certainly exaggerated with every retelling.


It was, in short, a wonderful beginning to the festivities—full of warmth, nostalgia, music, and enough food to feed a moderately sized army.

And this, dear reader, was only day one.


The next instalment will cover the even bigger celebrations that followed the very next day—when the fiesta of the Asawa’s original barangay took things to an entirely new level. 🎉





Above and below.
Marchers from the parade earlier in the day.
Photos: Brad Peadon



Above.
A band was part of the afternoon entertainment at the high school.
Photo: Brad Peadon


Above.
Some religious guff was partaken in prior to the parade around Mandaon Town.
Photo: Brad Peadon

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Coming Next - The Bigger Day

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Nhing, Tins & The Trike Driver.
Gerry & Betty
Batch 86
Federico A. Estipona Memorial High School (FAEMHS)
Sunset Villa - Lantangan

Group only for friends and family - random weirdos please stop applying.
The questions need to be answered when applying so the aforementioned weirdos can be found.
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We have many sites and forums, check out our Link Tree below:
Your link to all the things we have to entertain you.
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News - Photos - History - Covering Philippine Transport.
Air - Sea - Road Only (no rail).




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Wednesday, 4 March 2026

T-BUCKET WEEKEND CANBERRA - 05-10-2025 - PART 1

 




All photos: Brad Peadon

Around the middle of last year, Virls announced she was bored. Not mildly under-stimulated. Properly, dramatically bored.

“I want to do something exciting,” she said.
“Can we go to the most exciting city in Australia? Somewhere every day is an adventure. Somewhere the streets are alive. Somewhere entertainment waits on every corner.”

Naturally, there was only one answer.

Obviously she meant Canberra — the nation’s capital of adrenaline, neon chaos, and reckless spontaneity.

Maybe.


Our first day was an absolute blur of high-octane thrills. We hurled ourselves headlong into the sensory overload that is the Australian War Memorial, followed by the riotous, pulse-pounding madness of Floriade. If you’ve never lived on the edge, try looking at commemorative exhibits and meticulously arranged tulips in the same afternoon. I’m still recovering.

After such an action-packed schedule, we retreated just over the border into New South Wales (and I do mean just) to the refined wilderness of Sutton, collapsing gracefully at the lovely Capital Country Holiday Park.


Now, by pure coincidence — or perhaps divine mechanical intervention — we had chosen the exact same weekend as a gathering of T-Buckets. For those equally clueless as I was, think hot rods that look like someone shrank a 1930s gangster car in the wash and then gave it attitude.

We were gently awakened the next morning by the soothing lullaby of unmuffled V8 engines announcing themselves to the countryside. Subtle. Delicate. Like a brass band in your pillowcase.



Naturally, as someone genetically incapable of not pointing a camera at literally anything with wheels (or, frankly, without), I wandered out to document the spectacle and chat with a few of the owners — T-Bucketeers? T-Bucketologists? Whatever the correct title is for very friendly people with extremely loud toys.

And I have to say… sarcasm aside, these machines were incredible. Polished, wild, unapologetically over-the-top. Exactly the sort of thing you don’t expect to find serenading a holiday park at 7am.

I do hope you’re at least a fraction as impressed as I was — though ideally with slightly less ringing in your ears.

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Semi-Retired Foamer!
Follow our page to be kept updated on news, photography, preservation, and every ghastly
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So what are T Buckets?

Besides being fancy cars, I wouldn't a freakin clue about them.
I can honestly admit that, as most people really know that my knowledge of motor vehicles is up there with rocket science.
However, given I am the kind person I am, I have sought some information for you around the interwebs.
Don't mention it, even if some of it is wrong, you're welcome.



T-Buckets are one of those gloriously impractical ideas that somehow became a movement. The concept traces back to post-war American hot-rodding, where enthusiasts took the humble Ford Model T — usually just the body shell — and bolted it onto a lightweight custom chassis with a large, unapologetic V8 up front. The “T” refers to the Model T, and the “bucket” comes from the cut-down, doorless tub that barely qualifies as a body. They were cheap to build, wildly fast for their weight, and looked like something a cartoon gangster would drive if given access to a blowtorch and poor decision-making skills.



Australia embraced the T-Bucket not long after the American hot-rod scene started influencing local car culture in the 1950s and 60s. As traditional early Fords became harder (and more expensive) to source, fibreglass replica bodies became common, allowing builders to create their own interpretation without sacrificing a genuine 1920s relic.


 The Australian climate, long open roads, and a deep love of mechanical tinkering made it the perfect environment for these minimalist rockets. They became especially popular through the 1970s and 80s, when backyard engineering and chrome were both national pastimes.




Unlike highly engineered modern performance cars, T-Buckets are about personality as much as horsepower. No two are quite the same. Some lean toward polished showpieces dripping in chrome; others are raw, noisy, slightly unhinged contraptions that look like they were assembled between cups of tea. That individuality is part of the appeal — they’re rolling expressions of their builders.





Australia has several clubs and informal groups dedicated specifically to T-Buckets, alongside broader hot-rod organisations. Various state-based bucket clubs help owners connect, organise runs, and attend larger rod events like the Summernats in Canberra. You’ll also find strong representation within state hot rod federations such as the Australian Street Rod Federation, which provides engineering guidance and event coordination.




At their heart, T-Buckets in Australia are less about practicality and more about joy. They are loud, exposed, slightly crazy, and completely committed to the idea that motoring should feel like an event — preferably one that wakes the entire holiday park at sunrise.

So wrapped I got to be part of it.













Check our new Linktree site above for piles of dreary entertainment.

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Nhing, Tins, and Virls.
The T Bucket people who made me welcome.