Life, glamour, politics.....
They can co-exist.

These are my notes from Capital Hill.
Not quite as glamorous as Tiffany's.....

March 21st
6:28 PM

The Spill that wasn’t

So this is how it went down:

 

10.00am: Simon Crean comes out in the morning and says, and I quote, “Hey you lot, pull your heads in and stop this crap. It’s doing us no favours, we need to keep our mouths shut, put our support behind Jules and just get on with the job, ok?”

 

1.00pm: A few hours later Crean comes out and says “Oh stuff it, let’s just have a bloody spill because I’m sick of this shit. Sorry Jules, but I’m actually with Kev. And I want to be his Deputy, soz Swanny. Let’s roll Ruddy, we’ve got this in the bag. I’m your man!”

 

1.30pm: Jules calls Simon into her office and says “Are you effing kidding me Simon? You are so effing fired. Get your arse on the backbench in Question Time today buddy.”

 

1.31pm: Simon says “no wuckers Jules, I’m going to be Deputy PM pretty soon, so take your Regional Affairs Ministership and stick it.”

 

2.00pm: Jules starts Question Time with a gun shot to the roof, “You want my job Kevvy? Simmo? COME AT ME BITCHEZ! And not in a week’s time, we’ll do it today. I’ll see you in two and a half hours.”

 

2.45pm: Rudd leaves Question Time trying to keep his smugness on the down low. He’s got some number crunching to do….. but he discovers he doesn’t have as many backers as he thought. There’s no “overwhelming majority” of the caucus begging him to come back and lead them all to the Promised Land. They clearly don’t recognise how valuable he is. Yet. They will, but not yet.

 

4.20pm: Rudd waits until the caucus meeting is due to start and fronts the media saying, “But I told you I wouldn’t challenge again, and you should have believed me because I am such an upstanding guy. If my party wants me, they’re really going to have to beg.”

 

4.30pm: Jules rolls up to the caucus meeting with her crew. She’s packing heat. It’s all over in minutes. No one contests the Prime Ministership. Crean backs down from his bid for Deputy. Jules and Wayne stay in the top jobs.

 

4.45pm: The media’s like WHAT!?

 

5.00pm: Crean hates everyone and he’s out of a job. Sends Kev a text.

image

December 2nd
7:36 PM
Not even going to pretend to be modest about this. I am awesome.

Not even going to pretend to be modest about this. I am awesome.

November 24th
10:05 AM
Now that’s how you start a weekend. Going to be a gorgeous day in Canberra. (at Harrison)

Now that’s how you start a weekend. Going to be a gorgeous day in Canberra. (at Harrison)

November 7th
4:03 PM
Obama’s victory tweet #4moreyears #cute

Obama’s victory tweet #4moreyears #cute

October 16th
9:26 PM

Baby black market

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – WHY DO PEOPLE TALK TO ME?

I honestly don’t have one of those faces that invites strangers to approach me. I am, in fact, afflicted with some pretty serious Bitch Face (runs in the family) – and yet, I seem to draw out the freaks and creeps that want to share or discuss deeply personal things with complete strangers.

Today I was in a baby shop. Just browsing. As a bored woman might do. Don’t judge me – baby clothes are cute.

So there I was, in an aisle of Babies R Us when the shop assistant approached me….

 

Me: minding my own business.

Her: Assaults me from behind a tower of nappies. Stands uncomfortably close to my face. “Can I help you with anything?”

Me: “No thank you. Just looking.”

Her: Standing and staring.

Me: Staring back.

Her: Staring.

Me: Slight step forward, assuming she’ll move aside to let me past.

Her: Staring. Not moving.

Me: “Um, excuse me.” Awkwardly squeeze past to look at something on shelf.

Her: Pivots on spot. Still staring.

Me: Hairs prickling on back of neck under the unbreaking gaze of shop girl.

Her: Staring.

Me: Slight glance to side in that ‘I know you’re staring at me’ way.

Her: “Do you have a baby?” creepily….

Me: “No.” Curt and firm. Leaving no room for more discussion. I don’t need the third degree from you lady - I could be buying something for my nephews or something. Plus you’re giving off an ‘I want to kill you and wear a suit made of your skin’ vibe. Leave me alone.

Her: Staring. I am not 100% sure her whole body is turned to me. It may just be her head at a 180 degree to her body. Can’t be sure. 

Me: The creep factor is stratospheric. Can anyone else see her? Am I Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense? I am staring at some breast pumps (which possibly made the situation all the more scarring) hoping she’ll get the hint and wander away to terrify someone else. But I’m standing my ground in front of these breasts pumps. I will not negotiate with shop girls. Shop girls will not change my way of shopping. 

Her: Staring. 

Me: I have been trying not to look at her, because her gaze feels like a strange moist hand on my forearm. You know, like when a dirty old man sits next to you and wants to talk while touching your arm.

Her: Still staring. And then, quietly and menacingly (or pityingly?) ….“Do you want a baby?”

Me: Jaw hits ground and I kick it as I run away.

Her: Staring through a display of bottle warmers.

 

This girl was otherwise completely inappropriate - like some stranger on a bus asking you when your last Pap Smear was.

 

Or

 

She was trying to sell me a baby. 

October 12th
3:59 PM

Butterflies in Bali

She’s quick with a grin, dishing them out generously as she bubbles over with stories about her “perfect” life, her love, her family and friends. She’s wildly cheeky in a way that makes you want to dance on the tables and the carefree joy in her blue eyes reveals nothing of her tragic past.

She stretches out her tanned legs. There’s a tattoo down the side of her right foot, reaching for her little toe: Mummy.

“I got it few weeks before (what would have been) Mum’s 50th birthday,” she smiles, running her fingers over the pink and blue butterfly resting on the Y.

At her mother’s funeral, ten years ago, Kristie Webster, now 25, and her sister Brianna, 27, released a box of butterflies. When they fluttered into the sky, one remained behind, sitting stubbornly on Kristie’s finger. The sisters leant forward, kissing Kristie’s hand: goodbye. Suddenly, the butterfly took flight.

Kristie’s mum, Robyn Webster was killed on October 12th 2002 in Bali. Kristie and Robyn, 44, were in Kuta Beach’s Sari Club, when two car bombs were detonated, killing 202 people, including 88 Australians.

+++

Robyn had spent the first half of 2002 caring for her eldest daughter Brianna, who was battling bone cancer. When Brianna went into remission, Robyn wanted to make up some lost time with her youngest, Kristie, who was 15. They chose Australia’s playground, Bali and took off for two weeks of girlie bliss with family friends Debbie Borgia, 45 and her daughter Abbey, 13.

After 15 days of shopping, sun-baking and massages, the girls spent one last night at the popular Sari Club.

Kristie bumped into a school friend, Chloe Byron, and they hit the dance floor. After a while Robyn appeared at Kristie’s side. One more drink and then they were leaving. She held up her right hand… 5 minutes she mouthed and went back to their table at the front of the club.

Moments later, Robyn Webster, Debbie and Abbey Borgia, and Chloe Byron were all dead. Kristie found herself buried beneath the roof of the club.

“All I could hear was screaming and cries for help and the crackling of fire,” she recalls. “I wasn’t scared or in pain, I was just thinking ‘get me out of here’”.

She has no recollection of how she freed herself from the rubble: only running towards the rear of the club.  When she made it to the back wall, a ball of fire hit Kristie.

“I remember looking back and seeing this flame engulf my back,” she says. Pure adrenaline moved her forward.

Kristie was hauled up the brick wall by the arms of strangers. She ran, barefoot, across the roof of the imploded club to a side alley. She jumped 3 metres into the darkness below.

Perth brothers, Michael and Anthony Brain, saw a young girl, bloodied and terrified, running down the streets of Kuta screaming for her mother.

Michael, 32, swept Kristie up onto his shoulder and she passed out instantly.

The blast had split Kristie’s top lip in two - the left side was barely attached to her face – so Michael and Anthony took her to a police medical centre out of town: all the hospitals were full.

“They stitched up my lip with a rusty needle,” she says, tracing the faded scar. “I remember feeling it go in”.

The two brothers never left Kristie’s side. She was a stranger to them, but they cared for her like their little sister; treating her burns, arranging her paperwork and working hard to make sure she was on the very first evacuation flight out of Bali.

It was days later, still being treated for her burns at St. George Hospital, that Kristie realised her mum wasn’t coming home.

+++

Kristie still grieves for her mum. She always will. But from day one, she has surprised her friends and family with her positive attitude - it was one of her mother’s most memorable traits.

“One minute she was there, and the next, she was gone,” says Kristie. “I do cry, when I’m alone, but Mum was such a happy person, it’s important to keep smiling and be grateful for what I have.”

“Sometimes I wake up, and think ‘Oh my goodness’, but I look outside and see it’s a beautiful day” she says.

“There are people who don’t have legs or arms, or can’t hear or see and here I am feeling sorry for myself”.

“I think, ‘wake up to yourself Kristie’. There’s so much more to live for.”

Kristie still lives with her dad Brian, who struggled through losing his wife and then had to learn how to care for two teenage girls. After some hiccups, Kristie says Brian came to juggle the role of mum and dad brilliantly.

Kristie and her Dad are devoted to each other; a love strengthened by the raw awareness of what family means. It hurts her when she sees her friends disrespect their parents.

“You have no idea how much I’d love to have my mum back,” she says. “It’s not until they’re gone that you realise how much they mean to you.”

“I make sure I tell Dad every day how much I love him.”

Sadly, no one can ever replace her mum. And there will be days that hurt more than others.

Kristie will marry her boyfriend Michael in February next year.

“I always think how my wedding day might be,” she says quietly. “Not having my mum there to tell me I look beautiful.”

“I was always a daddy’s girl” says Kristie. “But Mum was my best friend.”

Today, the aftermath still makes itself felt. She suffers from claustrophobia and loud bangs still make her jump. But this young woman knows that life is about looking forward, not back. Right now, she’s planning her dream wedding. Her life is an adventure, and her mum will be with her every step of the way.

“I know she’s with me,” says Kristie touching her tattoo. “She’s saying ‘You did a good job, I’m still watching you, you’re going to be ok.’”

 

October 8th
4:15 PM

Calling on the twit-squad

Ok, it’s enough now. When did we become a “one-strike-and-you’re-out” society? When did the nobodies of Australia become the collective judge, jury and blood-lusting executioners, wielding the almighty power that social media apparently affords them? Tweeters across the country have tasted blood and they want more.

Yesterday the hounds sniffed out a young regional reporter from Townsville and pounced on one of her tweets.

It read:

Jess Craig‪@jesscraig145

I really, really dislike Nicola Roxon. It’s an intense, irrational hatred, but it makes me want to punch her stupid face. ‪#auspol

A blue-bird distress signal was projected into the night sky. There’s been a crime Twitter! And all the ‘heroes’ gathered to protect us from the heinous act of Jess Craig. About an hour later, she tweeted:

Jess Craig‪@jesscraig145

Everyone jumping on me about my tweet, go away. It’s an opinion. I’ve clearly stated it’s irrational. I obviously would never punch anyone.

The twit-squad smelled fear and moved in for the kill. There’s no use trying to defend yourself when you have a noose around your neck.

It didn’t take long before Jess sent a series of very apologetic and humble tweets, saying she’d written an apology to send to Nicola Roxon and would be donating her entire pay packet of $700 to the White Ribbon Foundation.

Jess Craig made a mistake.  A big one.  As a newish journalist, she should know that reporters need to maintain some semblance of impartiality when it comes to politics. Some people succeed better than others, but you wouldn’t normally see one threatening violence against a politician (at least not publicly).

It was a stupid thing to say. We all get that. But does it really warrant the pitchfork-wielding villagers demanding the end of her career?

No it doesn’t.

People make mistakes. We ALL do. What really matters is how much damage it causes and how you deal with it afterwards.

Jess Craig has less than 200 followers on twitter. She’s not what you’d call an influential voice in Australian politics. I doubt she even covers federal politics from Townsville. So when you think about the widespread damage of her opinion, she’s not Laurie Oakes or Michelle Grattan. Or Alan Jones. 

And you’ve got to give a girl credit for how sincerely and profusely she’s apologised. If you wanted blood, twitter – you’ve got it. This poor girl is in knots over one stupid decision and the storm it’s brought down on her.

I’ve made mistakes before; the kind that has you nauseous with anxiety and regret. I also know what it’s like for people to take your apology, shrug it off and turn their backs. One mistake is all it takes for some. There’s an unquenchable thirst to punish people.

I’m sad that we don’t have it in us to say “what you did was terrible, and you should be accountable, but thank you for your apology, let’s move on.” We don’t have to forgive and forget, but surely we can still give people second chances?

We’re living in a gotcha society, on the never-ending hunt for faults and relishing the downfall. We pick pick pick – bad grammar, differing opinions, and differing values. The second we see something we don’t like – we pounce. It makes us feel powerful and important because in this twitterverse, we know our opinion will be heard. And the opinion is always a resounding, “This one act has deemed this person, damaged goods. There is no hope, they must be destroyed.”

There’s no leniency or understanding, especially from people who feel threatened or jealous. If they’re in a position to drag their competition down – they will.  The crash and burn of other people makes them feel better about themselves.

One stupid tweet, one badly worded email, one offensive comment doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.  But we don’t want human; we want perfection – unless the mistake is ours – then we’re begging for that second chance.

October 7th
1:28 PM
My grandpa Frank Hann, racing #bathurst in 1969 #racingisinmyblood #bathurst1000 #falconXWGT (Taken with Instagram)

My grandpa Frank Hann, racing #bathurst in 1969 #racingisinmyblood #bathurst1000 #falconXWGT (Taken with Instagram)

October 3rd
3:36 PM
Cheers Lawsy.  (Taken with Instagram)

Cheers Lawsy. (Taken with Instagram)

September 24th
9:54 PM
Fifty Shades - the magazine? (Taken with Instagram)

Fifty Shades - the magazine? (Taken with Instagram)