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459 Fitzgerald Street
North Perth, WA, 6006
Australia

The Amber Fresh Chronicles

The Grandest Final

Andrew Ryan

emlyn took us for footy training last night. when i messaged him about it he said "footy training in the dark? sounds like a stupid idea." but he came down loping through the darkness to where me and jamie and nick and kate were starting some kick to kicks.

when i was home in the southlands last weekend i cooked up a kangaroo pie, under my father's instruction, with herbs from the garden and puff pastry and pieces of marinated roo. he started watching footy from a joke, saying to us one time, maybe with a john donne quote mixed in, that he was going to "have a pie and watch the footy", but then almost from the moment he sat down on the couch into the joke he became instantly hooked, and now there is no other option when the game is on than to be there in front of it, with a pie and with a redback beer and to huff at the umpires and believe.

anyway emlyn came down. i think he played for northam for money one time, or some other town closer to 'the middle' where it's dusty and there's not much to do, and apparently not enough men with tall thick legs to kick it from 50.

so yeah, emlyn loped in through the darkness, with his hair thick and cut like a strange curly black chip, short on the top like a box of music boxes and long down the back like a seaweed heaven.

it became apparent he was the only one who knew how to train and so he took us through drills and finally to the "funny kicks", which ended up being Bananas and Snaps and the ones that roll end to end and bounce frontwards to jump up into the arms of your teammate like a little mustard terrier.

see, emlyn played a show this week but i wasn't there to see it, a show at mojos with ali from boatshow and stella from boatshow and peter bibby and emlyn. what a great line up but instead i made mexican beans and thought about putting on all the candles, home alone.

that's how we were going to light the footy field if we couldn't get the oval lights turned on: candles.

i did see special music this week: a girl called Daisies Net who played delicate but purposeful minimal experimental songs and compositions with cello and keyboard and prerecorded samples and a voice that reminded me of 2010 perth musicians, namely jessyca hutchens aka jane harris and leonie brialey aka lil leonie lionheart, neither of whom this daisy is likely to have ever seen. she seemed delicate but not really, she knew what she was doing but then apologised afterwards which some of us are wont to do - but don't do it, friend, just be amazing and look it straight in the eye - your talent, and accept the gift.

also lucy peach, her voice as a gift from above to us all, in the darkened room of bar 459, singing about periods and about her perfect love which she deserves. her beautiful gappy face, her loveheart hairline, her four stringed guitar that bill sitting next to me said he'd tried to learn but it was just too tricky.

lucy peach is going to come play footy too. i think the men might be distracted by her model features, which will be handy if she and i are on the same team. and what does the self-picture have to do with all this? well, it's a suggestion for you for a thursday, to just comb your hair in the mirror, pretending to make filmclips for beach house songs, after you've been a good friend to your friends, called for justice in your mind, done a little physics study just for fun, and successfully worn a dress all day long over official AFL merchandise tracksuit pants, thinking of spring and all it will bring, including the grandest of finals.