Eddie Perfect and Lucy Cochran have emailed one another from the day they met 10 years ago.

The following is an excerpt from novel, Signed, Sealed, Delivered: Women of Letters, curated by Marieke Hardy and Michaela McGuire.

To my other half

Lucy Cochran and I met on the dance floor of Revolver Nightclub, 22nd January, 2006, on a Sunday morning, at about 7 a.m.

From that day until this, Lucy and I have emailed each other; often when we’re under the same roof. The following is a selection of our written communication over the span of our relationship.

Eddie Perfect

— — -Original Message– — –

From: Eddie Perfect

Sent: Monday, 23 January 2006 9:55 AM

To: Lucy Cochran

Subject: morning

Hi there, Lucy,

Found your small card crumpled up on the bottom of my pocket and decided to email you, just because it is a medium of communication which really suits my style . . . and also because I awoke sheepish and a little too scared to call you.

I really just wanted to let you know I had a fun-slash- strange-slash- terrifying time talking to you on Sunday morning. It’s fairly rare to meet a woman with a morbid, pitch-black sense of humour so I really dug our chat, not to mention your almost stand-up fist-fight with a big suburban meathead on the dance floor. So thanks for making that memorable.

Trust you had a good swim. I nearly crawled into a birdbath for some relief from the heat.

I’ll be around Melbourne in case you need to find me.

Hey Eddie,

I am super impressed with the subtleties of your last name. I think I might want to marry into that. My real name was actually ‘Lucy Prettygood’. It just wasn’t working so I made the logical change to Cochran.

Glad you emailed – I too am a massive fan of this form of communication. Partly because it is the greatest waste of time at work and partly because I can use the thesaurus and pretend to be really vocabularyarily cool. Now. Thank you for a good Sunday a.m. I also really enjoyed our morbid observations from the couch. Black-humoured people are hard to find, but are most likely to be found on Sunday morning in Revolver. It would be good to catch up for a drink sometime.

As I mentioned, I do have a boy (whose hair I pull regularly) but hope that doesn’t mean we can’t catch up. It is odd making new friends with gents when in a relationship, but given I have always had lots of male friends it would seem odd to stop it now.

Yay. That email wasted twenty minutes at least.

“Sometimes you have to be a little bit naughty.” Matilda has finally arrived in Melbourne ????????❤️

A photo posted by Lucy Cochran (@lucycochran) on


That is hilarious. I was actually wasting time by checking my emails, procrastinating as usual instead of writing . . . then I read your response . . . seriously, email is an evil, evil distraction. Yes, Perfect is subtle. No doubt the leap was logical from ‘Prettygood’ to ‘Cochran’. I know the new male friend thing is kinda peculiar . . . but seriously, I am not fussed. I just got out of a relationship with a girl who pulled my hair for FIVE YEARS. I’m certainly not going back for more anytime soon from you or anyone. Besides, I am a great friend and a lousy boyfriend. A great friend because I am always on tour, never really complain about personal issues, and I’m good at pretending to listen . . . and a lousy boyfriend for pretty much the same reasons. So, yeah . . . chill out on that one.

Anyway, I shall let you know when something is going down somewhere and maybe you can come along and ‘hang out’ or whatever. Perhaps Adelaide? We could hit Supermild or Crazy-horse or some other famous nightspot and then stab someone in front of the train station before getting a pie from the caravan thingy.

Stay cool (or ‘hot’ if you will),

Mr Perfect

P.S. This email represents about ten minutes of my life.

Eddie and Lucy. (Image: Supplied)

On Monday, 27 March 2006, 10.34 a.m., Lucy wrote:

Mr Perfect,

Right after Adelaide, this situation had been pretty much overrunning me. However, I think since a few weeks ago, when I was prepared to fess up about what was happening and we both decided against it until you came back to Melbourne, I have emotionally deferred it all. Given we are not in the same place, it is hard to judge it all.

I have this clearly naive state of denial that all will be sorted upon seeing you. There is also my theory of what you really want – which could be totally wrong but mainly revolves around me being an unavailable girl who is convenient (and who makes you feel good) at a time when you are meant to be single. Not sure, but just a theory. I’m also guessing that that comment just annoyed the shit out of you. Anyway, I guess, put simply, I don’t think either of us know what we want. And what we both need is likely to be something completely different. There is one option which scares me because I would miss you way too much but it may well be the right thing to do.

Can you actually not stay hot? Might make things easier.


On Monday, 27 March 2006, 6.06 p.m., Eddie wrote:

Ms Cochran,

I think there is a distinct possibility that everything may be getting a lot more serious than it should be . . . Yes, your comment shat me, but I was immediately impressed with the fact that you were aware it would . . . hot. The answer is how would I know? How would you know? I have examined my motives as closely as you have your own. The frightening thing is that they are quite simple. It is inconvenient. It is tiresome and frustrating. It’s a little like the emotional equivalent of Sisyphus rolling that rock up the hill.

I just want to meet you in a Melbourne park at midnight and beat the living shit out of you with a stick (much like the party at your house I missed out on). I am looking forward to seeing you if only to save on my phone bill. I just want to drink a beer and chat and burst this mystical bubble that is only strengthened by distance. It’s just life . . . and I never meant to take life that seriously. All the reasons I like you are so mystifying to me that they almost make me laugh out loud. I am scared of you. But in a good way, I guess.

Mr Perfect

Written by Eddie to Lucy on the back of a metcard while upstairs at the Hi-Fi Bar, Comedy Festival, 2006:

You should be going out with me. I really, really, really like you – and when I say ‘like’ unfortunately I think I mostly mean ‘love’. Not sure what else to say – I’m even prepared to embrace your cat (not literally, of course). I just know that Lucy Cochrans don’t come around often.

Written by Lucy, on the other side of the card:

They do.

Written by Eddie on the back of a Noel Jones Real Estate business card:

I want to be with you every second of every day. I miss you, and you live next door.

Written by Lucy, on the other side of the card:

Yes. Yes. On average I think I want to be with you about every 3.8 minutes. But when I was two all I wanted was boiled eggs.

Eddie’s reply on the card:

You are so rational it shits me.

On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 11.27 a.m., Lucy wrote:

Yay! The creative director has approved the territory of ‘Pay Beyond Reason’.

Play Beyond Reason

Play beyond reason means abandoning logic, obligation and those plans you had. Play beyond reason is play for the hell of it, just for the fun of it. It doesn’t need or care if it wins, or question what the benefit is. It doesn’t care for purpose, rationale or an outcome, because isn’t there enough of that in life as it is? Play beyond reason is when you give in to fears and worries and simply embrace whatever happens next. So leave reason behind and keep playing until you feel so good, you can’t even reason any more.

On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 12.01 p.m., Eddie wrote:

I even love your typo ‘Pay Beyond Reason’. That’d be funny . . .

I love you like a squid loves its ink.


Beautiful gals at Mt. Lofty Botanic Gardens.

A photo posted by Eddie Perfect (@edmundperfect) on

On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 4.16 p.m., Lucy wrote:

I’m can’t even SEE that typo!

I left it as a stream of consciousness as sometimes it feels more emotive that way.

On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 4.28 p.m., Eddie wrote:

Your paragraph reminds me of that ‘Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans’ quote that is a little tired . . . but it made me think of the fact the interesting things, the things you remember and hold on to, especially when you’re travelling or spending time with people, are ALWAYS the unexpected things, the accidental things and the in-between things.

Maybe there’s something of that you could include in your preso? Just a thought. Here’s some good news . . . Casey got us all four tix to see The Book of Mormon on Broadway, June 9th, 7 p.m. through good ol’ Neil Armfield. I am so pumped it’s not funny! My first ever Broadway musical and it’s apparently a knockout.

It’s a good sign, baby!!


Eddie Perfect and Lucy Cochran. Source: Supplied.

On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 4.38 p.m., Lucy wrote:

Totally. A girl in one of my research vids was just saying that – it is the people and the unexpected meetings that are the things you remember, not the monuments or the things you tick off your list. That is AWESOME about June 9th! Yay for Casey and Neil. Brilliant. Exciting. Hurrah! I’m going to be in New York in a fortnight and getting married the very next day!


On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 4.56 p.m., Eddie wrote:


On Wednesday, 25 May 2011, 5.38 p.m., Lucy wrote:


Eddie Perfect and Lucy Cochran. Source: Supplied.

Text message exchange, 9th November 2014:


My love. Are you able to pay the mortgage this month? It is being taken out of the offset account today so it’s best to put it there.


Done. Put $4K in so there’s $6k and change in there now.


Thanks, baby. It offsets the mortgage so any extra saves in interest. Are you in the West End?


Yes. I’m right next to the Cambridge Theatre (Matilda). Feeling very lonely. It’s so fucking lonely travelling around like this: no one to head out and have a drink with (Lynchy’s back is fucked) and coupled with the hideous feeling of eternally pressing my face against the glass – professionally and personally – the whole experience feels awful. I walked around the crowds and had a beer at the Soho Theatre bar. Alone. There’s so much going on and I’m not a part of it. Ugh. This is good, though. Feeling this shitty means that when that’s turned around I won’t take it for granted.


That sucks that Lynchy is not in full shape. I wish I was there to walk around with you and point and look at things. I love you so much. You’ll make it to the inside.

(Eight or so hours pass.)


It’s morning in London. Having breakfast in the hotel and there’s a posh English family with a teenage son and he has terrible table manners and it made me think of you.


How is he posh if he has no table manners? WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ENGLAND????

Eddie Perfect and Lucy Cochran. Source: Supplied.

Text message from Eddie to Lucy, who is in the spare bedroom, 6 April 2015:

I’m sorry for last night. By the time I was aware of what you were talking about it was too late and you were upset. I wasn’t really paying attention, just watching the movie, so I didn’t realise how grave it was. But I should have put it together. It’s a large (albeit hypothetical) thought; considering where we are now, what you’ve been through, it’s massive that you’d not wish to change anything in your past should time travel exist. Theoretically speaking, it’s possible that another universe exists where you never lose your mum, and where you found a life of love and kids and happiness, but, yes, it would not be our reality, our kids, or me – but it would also not be you. You didn’t deserve to lose your mum.

The good things you have now are not a direct result of that loss. In another reality you could have everything. I’m glad you wouldn’t change our life. I wouldn’t either but it’s an easier ask for me, with no inciting moment of loss to alter. I love you more every day, and everything I do is a part of that; I want you and our kids to be happy. To make the most of this reality. I’m sorry I let the moment go last night where I could have told you that. You and the girls are the most important ‘things’ in my life. This life. This reality. I’m very grateful and I will love all of you and work for our shared happiness forever. If we did find a time machine, you could go back and see your mum and not alter anything. It would be painful but I’d love to see her, even if from afar.

Reply message from Lucy to Eddie, who is boarding a plane to Sydney:

From the moment in that movie when she told that story about her mum, I was upset. It seems impossible to communicate the before and the after of losing your mum but that movie was trying to. The before was light and easy, and the after was where every moment was seen through a lens of sadness and disconnection because all the other kids were still in the ‘before’ phase. I thought you’d be more connected to me and recognise what was happening when we were watching the movie. Your message is so full of love. Thank you. But I never said I wouldn’t go back. I actually don’t know. I have been so sad without Mum and for Mum herself – she loved life and she loved us. I think I’d do almost anything to stop that moment. I think about the accident every day. It shouldn’t have happened. It was so close to not happening and for us to have carried on being a normal family and for the chain of damaging events to have never existed. If only I’d just woken up a bit earlier in the car or done something differently that day . . .

But there isn’t a time machine. So it’s pointless. And I love you and I love our girls.

When I was little I used to imagine that someone would announce that I would get to be picked out of a massive crowd and be given something amazing because I’d lost my mum. Sometimes I feel like that ended up happening because I got to be with you and you make me
so happy.

By the way. In the movie, the time machine does end up working. She gets to go back. I really liked the movie.

Eddie Perfect and Lucy Cochran. Source: Supplied.

Text message exchange, 25 Nov 2015:


I have sent you the song. Also, can you do pick-up tomorrow?


It’s ridiculous how quickly you write songs these days. I think it’s really good in an intense way. I love how you captured her cynicism and sense of loss – the picket fences impaling people’s heart lyric is perfect. The words “dead” and “mum” (well, technically “mother”) are two of the most emotionally charged words around. This does make me think that I can’t imagine a twelve- year-old putting that lyric across. Maybe it’s OK if the style of the scene allows? When do you need to send it off to NYC? And yes, I can do pick-up.

The most recent text exchange between Eddie and Lucy the day before they performed at People of Letters:


How’s the gymnastics comp?


I’m sitting in front of the biggest A-hole family that makes me understand how society ends up the way it does.




She nailed it! (photo of Kitty on the podium)


What??!! Is that Kitty on the winner’s podium?


Her team won (no individual prizes). She did a fantastic job – I’m so impressed with her!


That’s incredible!

These letters appear in Signed, Sealed, Delivered: Women of Letters curated by Michaela McGuire & Marieke Hardy. Published by Viking and available from 28 November.


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