Two loves lost

This year I lost two loves. Here's how I'm gunna remember them.

Marty and I took my Torana up the Pacific Highway. Melinda was a good mate and we hadn't seen her since school. We went out and silly. Late, huddled in front of the CD player, I fondled a couple of unknown CDs.

Newcastle Uni had introduced her to a funny little band called the Lucksmiths. She'd bought a few CDs, raved about their live shows.

Back then I could drink, and I sat up doing so after the gang went to sleep. Perched in front of the stereo, I plucked "A Good Kind Of Nervous" from its cover and gave it a spin. A track called "Under the Rotunda" won me over. In the morning I was found with the CD sleeve in my hand.

A few years later I was lucky enough to interview one of the fellas from the band for a student paper. "You boys aren't too well known in western Sydney, so how would you describe your sound?"

"Imagine you're walking on the beach. The sand is cool between your toes, the sun is warm on your shoulders. There's a dog chasing a frisbee along the sand. Overhead there's an aeroplane and behind it there's a banner that reads, 'I love you!' That's what we sound like."

That's how I remember The Lucksmiths.

We were in Nakuru, Kenya. A break from Nairobi and the madness that was Vasco's time in Somalia.

I'd downloaded the last couple of Grods podcasts and brought them along.

I remember sitting out on the little balcony listening to the boys. They were just talking shite, nestled in some Melbourne pub. Giggles, puns, in-jokes, nonsense. I didn't know 'em, they didn't know me. But the sounds made it seem so close. It was liking being there, having mates around me.

At a rough old time it was so fucking valuable. The connection was more important than I can describe.

That's how I remember the Grods gang.

I'm "home" now. The Luckies have called it a day and the Grods lads have hung up their boots. And it's only with their passing that I've realised what they meant to me. A band and website.