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Starting again … again

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rucksacks leaned on fence near lush meadow

woman in white top and denim jeans sitting on red luggage bag
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

After hugging my beautiful, big family and saying my goodbyes at Belfast City Airport 13 years ago, I cried all the way to London.

But by the time I arrived in Melbourne, jet lagged and luggageless, I had reaffirmed my reasons for wanting this fresh start, and the tears had dried.

I had done the hard part – quitting my job, leaving family and friends and moving across the world.

The sadness and guilt linger but the tug of a new beginning is powerful.

My sister – already living in Melbourne – generously housed and fed me until I was able to get my own place.

During those months I fell in love with the notion of self-reinvention. I had been a journalist for years. Now was the time to reimagine myself; take risks.

Time to change

I wouldn’t set foot in another news room but discover a new me.

But, within five months, I had joined the team at the Frankston Leader.

Before that, as I job hunted, I had worked shifts at a market research company and I did one full day at a Brumby’s bakery, before handing back my apron and baseball cap.

 I was terrified of the till and spent a stressful day avoiding the bloody thing by suddenly noticing how badly the floor needed mopping, or the store-room tidying every time a customer appeared. (Mastered the slicer, though.)

It was a day of learning, however. I discovered tills have A LOT of buttons, I am a mean floor sweeper/ store room sorter, and standing in one very small space for many hours (without popping out on a whim to see a man about a dog or whatever) is difficult. Finally, I look terrible in a baseball cap.

When I heard about the Frankston job, I was feeling the downward drag of unemployment.  My reinvention plan was abandoned and I immediately applied for the post.

Maybe it was a kind of cowardice; a fear of building a new reality outside of the norms of my old one – all dressed up in a convincing narrative that this what I do. I am a journalist.

Or maybe it’s true that we journos find it hard to let go of the love of story-telling, digging, uncovering. It has an addictive allure.

I’d guess the truth is it was a bit of both; fear of failing to find who else I could become and succumbing to the pull of the journalist and writer that I am.

My years at Leader as a reporter, columnist, and editor were a friend-filled, fun-filled educational, industrious, exhilarating, frustrating and sometimes mind-crushingly exhausting ride. I loved it.

Back to the future

Then rapid changes to the media landscape and the arrival of COVID-19 brought it to a halt and here I am; mimicking the beginning of my Australian journey.

My redundancy has metaphorically set me back down at the airport. I hugged my newspaper family goodbye and I found myself at the arrivals lounge again; old notions of reinvention rekindled.

For the past few months as I have been freelance writing, I have been considering (over thinking?)who can this middle-aged woman be? What are my options?

A few journalists I know have sated their longing to unchain from the desk and get outside and be mobile and grabbed the opportunity to start their own business.

My partner’s corporate life ended with a Covid-induced redundancy last year. After 30 years of  joining the daily crush of the city-goers on packed early morning and evening trains, he has swapped his suits and business shirts for tradie shorts and t-shirts.

He has passionately embraced his creative side and is in the throes of establishing a wood-craft business.

The usual garage contents – bikes, lawnmower, household items in a holding pattern on their way eventually to the dump or op shop –  have been replaced with cutters,  saws, benches and timber and he happily spends his days designing and making.

Nine years ago I hooked up with a big-bank project manager and I now live with Scott Cam (minus the multi-million dollar property portfolio).

His swift self-reinvention is envious. It comes from a place of heart and integrity. It wasn’t about turning into someone else but remaking his life to align with what he has long wanted, with who he really is.

From Brumby’s to Bunnings?

I love storytelling and my change may simply be to do it this way, as a freelancer. Or I may yet still evolve and take a new path.

Part freelance writer; part e-bike postie,  or that person in Bunnings who explains the astonishing value of that weird widget thingy. Who knows?

There must be many people out there in this Covid-corrupted time who are attempting to reinvent themselves, whether out of job-loss necessity or because they now have the time. Or maybe the sadness and craziness of 2020 provided an impetus, slapped a fresh perspective on life.

For some self-reinvention is a slow burn; for others it’s a fast grab at a new opportunity.

Ultimately, I suppose it is about knowing who you can be and courageously, confidently becoming them.

To the very many people on the scary, exhilarating road trip,   stay strong and I wish you luck.

Pootiquette and other dog-walking dilemmas

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Dog walking Terry the rescued terrier
Terry the rescued terrier

Let’s talk petiquette.

Spending more time with Terry my rescued terrier has forced my focus onto issues I’d have happily remained in denial of.

My outdoors time is generally spent with the cute, but shamelessly productive, pooping machine. Regardless of the time of day, whether or not he’s already done his business in the garden or whether or not he has just eaten, he will dispense the contents of his bowel on every walk.

Having had a bad start to life, he’s a slightly neurotic mutt – spooked by envelopes sticking out of mail boxes or litter flapping in the wind. His nemesis, the fearsome hard-rubbish pile, brings him to a terrified stop.

So, the need to poop during every single outing could be a stinky manifestation of some kind of doggy post-traumatic stress.

The amount of plastic I go through to collect and dispose of dog poop is alarming and carrying it for the rest of the walk is a little revolting but, as a responsible dog-owning citizen, I scoop the poop.

Whether or not to carry it all the way home is a hotly debated modern-manners dilemma. Is it okay to throw your doggy-do into another person’s bin?

No trespassing, obviously, but is a bin on the nature strip fair game for communal use?


My neighbourhood became dog central in 2020 – I assume some people added dogs to the family during lockdown, and others just had more time to get outdoors with their pet.

Infuriatingly, some have no idea of, or don’t give a damn about, good dog-walking etiquette.

Pick up the poo, people. The bin thing is up to you but scoop it up.

And let’s talk leash. The cardinal rule is unless you are in a designated off-leash area, keep your dog attached to you.

It doesn’t matter if you believe Fido to be the friendliest living creature on the planet. I don’t know that when he’s running straight at me.

And even if he got straight ‘A’s in puppy school, you don’t really know what might trigger him to run off , or trigger another dog to get defensive.   

We have all encountered that laid-back owner half-heartedly calling back a dog that has quite obviously never returned on command.

My obvious fear just washes over the no-leash brigade whose “he won’t do you any harm” mantra makes me want to do harm.

Rescued Terry’s pre-me life was a tough one, therefore he’s not a stranger-friendly dog.

As another dog walker approaches I keep Terry on a short leash as we pass.  

It’s an unwritten rule of dog walking – step to the other side of the path. It’s not rude, just sensible and precautionary.  Social distancing before it was famous. 

And while I’m ranting – retractable leashes. No. Just no.

Dogs love to go for a walk and walking a dog is – or should be – a joy.

Just saying the word to them, or grabbing your coat or the leash sparks a canine cheerfulness that is infectious.

It is wonderful that so many people have adopted a dog in this very strange year, grabbing the opportunity provided by home-working and lockdown. All that unconditional love, all those extra cuddles and a great reason to get up off the sofa and take a walk.

The Covid era puppy boom bringing larger numbers of  dog walkers onto streets and public parks, throws a bit of light on who we are. We can spot the socially aware and mannerly from the selfish and careless.  Kind of like Covid health rules can.

If pandemic-ridden 2020 brought the joy of a canine family member to many homes, that’s a thing to celebrate among the hardship and sadness.

So, let’s do it by embracing not just our new furever friend but the out-in-the-world etiquette that comes with pet ownership.

May 2021 be a year of petiquette.

More blog pieces to enjoy and checkout my portfolio and back story while you are here.

Confession of a lockdown sourdough geek

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Sourdough tragic: How baking with bacteria that smells like baby vomit became obsessive

If you can’t reach me on the phone I may be procrastinating in the kitchen.

I made a medical discovery while languishing in Melburnian lockdown – Procrastabaking Syndrome. It’s the addictive attraction of losing yourself in a flurry of flour and baking powder when you are supposed to be working.

Okay, I am still at the pre-trial phase (observational) and my study group is just me – making ‘medical’  a rather liberal use of poetic license – but I stand by my findings.

Curiously, Procrastabaking can affect even those of us who always thought the oven just takes up crucial kitchen real estate, where a perfectly good wine rack could have been.

A Stage 4 lockdown- day can be oppressive

Sure, I have articles to write and job sites to trawl but a woman needs a computer break and, in the very sad absence of our legendary cafes (every procrastinator’s soulful escape place) the need for a break seems ever more persistent.

The desire to leave the house has grown in direct proportion to the number of days we are not allowed to.

So, what to do? There’s only so many times you can launder your face masks and hang them in size order on that cute little wooden pole thingy you made after seeing one on Pinterest (just me?) or rearrange your hand sanitizer bottles in order of label colour and alcohol content.

My talented sister – who has been fermenting, pickling, jam-making, cake-baking and for all I know, distilling her own Poteen since lockdown number one – introduced me to bread making and her sourdough starter, Lexi, gave birth to mine.

Nostalgic pang for the bread van of the ’70s

Who knew sourdough could be so fascinating? I have managed to keep alive the starter I’ve named Billy (after Billy the Breadman from my childhood. He came every few days in a van that wafted the most sensational smells onto the street as he hauled open the clunky doors. We’d run out like starving little waifs and gaze longingly at the haul of cream-filled, sugar-stuffed gorgeousness, and swallowed our disappointment when mum bought sensible sliced loaves and fluffy baps. Now and again the wonderful Billy would throw a few free jam doughnuts into her bag.)

Anyway, my wonderful Billy smells a lot sourer and lives in a fat glass jar. Figuring out how to feed and water him and attempting to master the art of the perfect loaf (I am still at apprentice stage) began as strangely alluring and has become ridiculously obsessive .

To type sourdough into your favourite search engine is to fall headlong into a rabbit hole of websites, You Tube videos and how-to blogs – a sensational cyber movement based around flour and water that comes alive.

Discovering the allure of a sourdough starter

For 5000 years people have thrown the two together and waited for the wild yeast and bacteria to burst into life – but 2020’s crazy Covid world has rebirthed it and made it social media sexy. The virus has made it viral.

What to bake, how to knead, where to prove and a zillion pretty pics of everyone else’s baked perfections – it’s all there to trap the easily-snared procrastinator.

Even the ‘starter discard’ that results from feeding the starter, has recipe pages dedicated to it. So, the grandspawn of Lexi feeds me too.

I used to think baking was for the mothers of pre-schoolers. I didn’t own so much as a wooden spoon.

But I have just ordered a fancy mixer and, in the past fortnight I have crafted a delicious brown butter cheesecake and decadent tiramisu via Zoom classes with former Masterchef contestants.

My kitchen smells like Billy the Breadman’s van, and I am filled with contentment, nostalgia and far too much carbs and sugar.

Just as I decide that’s enough empty calories for one pandemic, I am seized by the addict’s post-high depression and the ignominious need to trawl for more ways to feed my habit kicks in.

Procrastabaking Syndrome.  It’s a thing.

What does a copywriter do?

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Here’s five good reasons you need a copywriter – and why you’ll be glad you hired one.

A copywriter tells your story

A good writer gives the colour and energy to the material you need to bring your product or service to potential customers and clients.

Your skill has been building your great business but if writing’s not your thing, you need help to find the rights words to make your company memorable.  A copywriter has the skills to make the words on your website, blog, emails or social media posts sing – and sell.

They free up your time

Even if writing comes easily to you, finding the time can be a challenge.

Outsourcing this part of your workload can free you up to tackle the rest of what’s on your plate. Staying focused on the things you do best and paying a freelancer to do your writing can be cost effective in the long run.

They bring passion and expertise

A good freelance copywriter can promote a product and is also a content writer who can educate and demonstrate your company’s expertise. They know the best way to write website copy to engage your audience as well as spur the reader to action. They have the skills to craft a blog post that is informative and authoritative, building trust in your business.

“Copy is a direct conversation with the consumer.” – Shirley Polykoff

They know how to cuts through the internet noise

Well written copy and content gives you brand a voice people want to not only listen to, but converse with. Copy for copy’s sake is just more noise. SEO knowledge is certainly advantageous but a good freelance copywriter can put it to work effectively with great content. They understand what the reader is searching for and answer that need in natural language. Not only is the reader engaged but answering their query simply and effectively helps your Google ranking, too. Algorithms and spiders aren’t the only things crawling the web. Google has human checkers too.

They’ll be who you want them to be

A freelance copywriter hired by you will bring all their expertise and experience but also versatility and eagerness to learn. They will listen to what you want your brand voice to be and write copy with your agenda in mind.

Copywriters have to ask questions, research thoroughly and understand completely what you want, what your customers need in order to write what matters.