Bribie Island and I have A LOT of history. It goes like this. I returned from England after a two-year sojourn the day the Daily Sun closed its doors in Brisbane. There were unemployed journalists everywhere. I was broke, as you would be after two years living in the UK. But I was thrown a lifeline. The Sunshine Coast Daily, the newspaper I had worked on before heading overseas, had a job in its most southern outpost on Bribie Island. It was without doubt considered the least prestigious in the stable but a job is a job and I figured I'd be back in the main newsroom in no time at all. I was in the Bribie office for years, by choice. It was the weirdest job ever. I was the only person in the office. Not the only journalist the only person. So if a person came in to pay a bill, I took their money and wrote s receipt. If someone rang to complain about anything I took their call. And for a while I thought this may well be punishment for being a bad girl in a past life. And then I got the hang of it. I was my own boss. I set my own hours. I choose my own stories and I got to know the community really, really well. It was hyperlocal journalism before anyone had invented the term. And not only that it was the only job I had where I really loved coming to work. To be clear, I am talking about the drive, not the lure of the job. When you get the first glimpse of the Bribie Island bridge and Pumistone Passage you really can't help but feel your spirits soar. And then I was summonsed to head office to take over as Chief of Staff at the Sunshine Coast Daily. I became one of those estranged friends. You maintain you are still friends but you never make the effort to keep in touch. But when seeking dog friendly accommodation for a long, long weekend a property on Bribie Island popped up. And now I'm here and the dogs are here and Drama Teen is here and we are happy. Charles has to work. Boo Hoo for him. Let the mental health break begin.
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