Once again, we bussed to charmless, imaginatively-named Football Park at West Lakes, to see Glenelg contest another Grand Final. Having lost the first one there (1974) and subsequently losing the Grand Final in 1975, 1977, 1981 and 1982, we felt we were due. North felt due too, having lost its last Grand Final in 1973 (see the Greatest Game of Football Ever Played). The side was: Peter Carey (C), Stephen Copping, Chris Duthy, Adam Garton, Ross Gibbs, Tony Hall, Wayne Henwood, David Kernahan, Stephen Kernahan, Robin Kidney (int.), Chris McDermott, Tony McGuinness, David Marshall, Peter Maynard, Michael Murphy, Scott Salisbury…Continue Reading →
This is a Spenserian homage under construction. I reserve the right to alter or burn it. I welcome suggestions towards efforts with respect to the former. PMJ.Continue Reading →
I was ten years old in 1973 and already tempered by watching Glenelg lose Grand Finals. At the time, only the middle aged recalled our one Premiership season, a glorious against the odds win over Port (in 1934). Since 1967, the Club under Neil Kerley had gained new respect but that tended to dissipate each Spring.Continue Reading →
Joan Lindsay was born (1896) when Romanticism still cast its attractively unwholesome shadow and wrote her unique novel (1967) at the height of the Summer of Love.
In this chapter we attempt, briefly, to rope and steer the stubborn and amorphous beast that is influence, with respect to Picnic, both in the writing and its subsequent appreciation. Time and space were not frames of reference for Joan Lindsay. Unlike most of us, who use them to gauge, respectively, succession and mass and, together, motion, she regarded them as metaphysical states of mind.Continue Reading →