
In early 1993 I drove from Carnarvon to Melbourne ostensibly to see my beloved Fitzroy play some footy. The great unfenced lunatic asylum that is the North West was eating my soul.
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In early 1993 I drove from Carnarvon to Melbourne ostensibly to see my beloved Fitzroy play some footy. The great unfenced lunatic asylum that is the North West was eating my soul.
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For all of my life I have riled against it labeled as the Californian Dream. For two years I lived the life of an English git (and failed) and for a short period even tried to be Italian (and failed) I accepted that I was West Australian after all. But living the Californian Dream?
Continue readingWhy rent a lawyer when you can buy a judge
Teacher Education, Sport, Australian Rules Football,
Every scoreboard tells a story
A Song. A Place. A Time.
With the first dog chosen in the AFL Canine Draft
escape to the Vasse idyll