Latest news with #Mosman
The Age
a day ago
- Business
- The Age
The moment lunch with Tim Wilson turned into an ambush
Wilson's tanned skin turns a deeper shade. I notice our unexpected guest has a plastic loop on her mobile phone case around her middle finger, making it very easy to film us as she fires questions. She's feisty, but her hands are trembling slightly. 'You want nuclear in Australia, and you are a Zionist?' she asks for a third time, not waiting for an answer. 'And you want people killed, and you want babies killed?' Wilson tells her that he is having lunch, and this is grossly inappropriate. Nevertheless, she persists – for a full five minutes. This being Brighton, a well-do-to suburb south-east of Melbourne's CBD with a strong sense of self-worth (think Mosman in Sydney), the discourse soon turns to housing. Our anti-Wilson activist is bitter that her daughter and granddaughter ('who went to Brighton Primary') were forced to move two hours away because of housing affordability. She also says Wilson was invisible on the streets of Goldstein. The antagonists start to align on criticism of the Victorian state Labor government's massive underinvestment in local education. The temperature calms. Wilson masterfully suggests a visit to the local state MP, James Newbury, just down the road. But he can't help himself, slyly querying if bowling up and filming people without permission and verbally abusing them is really the best way to win friends and influence. 'No, no, I do need to do more letter writing, yes,' is her withering rejoinder. A man at the next table decides enough is enough and in a thick European accent tells the local activist to move on. She disappears down the side street. 'Save my love to Zoe,' is Wilson's slightly garbled postscript to break the tension. It's a joking reference to teal independent Zoe Daniel, from whom he has just regained the affluent seat with a significant Jewish community situated on Port Phillip Bay. Wilson asks his cafe neighbour for validation – he is indeed a recognised local face. 'I don't know who you are,' the man replies. 'I just don't like people bothering each other.' The whole thing was excruciating. Who would be a politician? Tim Wilson, that's who. Wilson is 45, a Liberal, and a liberal, one-quarter Armenian, a happily married gay man, carrying a few extra kilos but, frankly, for someone who has just engaged in a gruelling election campaign, a man with pretty great skin. 'It's politics, right,' Wilson says a short time later between mouthfuls of the cafe's signature Abundance Bowl, an enormous pile of salad greens, sweet potato, quinoa, seeds and a fried egg, to which he has deleted the halloumi and added not just avocado but pan seared salmon. He ordered it almost every day of the campaign. I have the similar salmon bowl. The flavour mix is terrific, the mouthfeel excellent. But wine is waved away – it's a Monday – in favour of a double espresso, which sits largely untouched. Today Melbourne feels on the precipice of winter. It is allegedly going to reach 18 degrees, but locals are mistrustful. One passer-by is in a puffer jacket, the next in T-shirt and shorts. Wilson is wearing his campaign uniform: jeans, blue blazer, a crisp shirt, bright-yellow pin lapel. And to be fair, during our 90 minutes together, 14 well-wishers come up to congratulate him. Earlier in our conversation, he says going from civilian life to winning an election and straight into the shadow ministry is 'feeling like you're being shot out of a catapult and haven't quite hit the ground yet. Still from election night there are SMS that I haven't even read. It is not an unwillingness, it's a simple incapacity.' I want to know about winning – and losing. 'I can tell you there are two winnings,' Wilson says. For him, nothing beat the feeling of winning his first preselection in 2016 after Liberal veteran Andrew Robb had retired. 'Everybody expected me lose', but Wilson went all in, resigning from his post as human rights commissioner just to contest. 'Bold,' I venture. 'Bold, but welcome to Tim Town,' he agrees, opening his hands as if to demonstrate 'voila!' – but only for a split second. 'I remember that adrenaline rush, and also quite frankly shock.' This time, victory was not a shock but rather 'a mountain to climb'. At which point he turns to losing. 'Pretty much from the last election day I had a personal and professional purgatory. It feels violent,' he says, describing the post-loss businesslike phone call from the bureaucracy to losing MPs. 'You're out, this person's in, pack up the office, sort that out – bang, bang, bang, bang. 'All of a sudden nothing – and you are out.' A lot of people were very worried. A psychologist friend suggested a chat. He went. 'Part of it is just to vent and get things off your chest,' he says. 'And somebody to listen. I found that very helpful.' The morning after the loss, his husband, Ryan Bolger, a school teacher, told him: 'You can look at this as the moment that ends you – or you can look at this as a gift.' His purpose taken away from him, the couple left Goldstein so Wilson could find his space and his place, moving back to their old apartment in South Yarra, where Wilson undertook a PhD in the carbon economy. 'I don't find making money something that excites me,' he says. His voice quickens in summary mode: 'It's an awful, horrific experience. But anyone who experienced a big professional setback will know those experiences. The difference is you do it in full public glare. And of course, you are known for the last thing you did.' Which in his case, was to lose. The 2025 Goldstein campaign was controversial. The very morning of our lunch, Daniel was on ABC radio talking about dirty tricks and a personal campaign directed at her. Wilson says the campaign was intense. 'We both had very passionate supporters. No one's trying to pretend otherwise.' As to her accusations about attacks on her from groups supporting Wilson, he sits there, anger clearly rising. 'I'm really resisting in light of the difficult circumstances she is facing and living right now – fighting back.' One political commentator describes Wilson as 'charming but very egotistical'. I realise I have known him for a decade, back when I was media editor at The Australian and he was a member of the free market think tank the Institute of Public Affairs and had a higher profile than many Liberal MPs. For Wilson, liberalism – the philosophy that promotes individual rights and freedoms – is the foundation of society. 'I hate the term 'moderate', because my liberalism doesn't come in moderation. I believe in that very strongly,' he says. 'I think what people are used to is this kind of idea that you have these kind of moderates who don't fight, and then they have these conservatives who fight very aggressively, whereas I'm somebody who fights very aggressively and not afraid to.' Which included contacting The Age at 3.45am one morning to protest at one aspect of the paper's coverage, which he is a little sheepish about, explaining he couldn't sleep that night. 'I don't particularly enjoy a fight, but I definitely enjoy a crusade and to be able to go and achieve change,' he says. 'I'm also not afraid of failure.' Wilson played a key role in defeating Labor's policy to change capital gains tax under Bill Shorten; now he is fighting against Labor's proposed tax changes on superannuation. I ask if there could ever be a gay leader of the Liberal Party (subtext – him). 'It's yet to be tested,' he says. 'I don't feel anyone is sitting there thinking this is an insurmountable barrier to anybody. 'There's a time where my relationship with my husband would have found me in gaol, and now it finds me, frankly, barely able to tick a diversity box.' How did the couple – who married in 2018 – meet? 'We actually met at Liberal Party State Council.' 'How romantic,' I reply. Here, Wilson looks down to apparently study his lunch and says something softly to himself. It occurs to me that Wilson might be more confident attacking Labor's superannuation policy than discussing affairs of the heart. But he reasserts himself, not pretending it was the most romantic of settings. 'It wasn't, but nonetheless it is what it was.' Ryan and he have common values, he says, brightening. 'As he says, at least he knew what he was getting himself in for.' Wilson admires Margaret Thatcher, has a poster of Ronald Reagan on his wall, and loves Milton Friedman 'because he explained economics with a charm and a smile'. He name-checks two little known political women, Pauline Sabin, who fought against prohibition, and Katharine Stewart-Murray, a distant British relative, who tried to topple her own prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, over his appeasement of Adolf Hitler in 1938. 'I like Menzies a lot as well because, in the end, he's a man of rebirth, and perhaps like me, he's a man who failed first,' Wilson says with a smile.
Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
- Business
- Sydney Morning Herald
The moment lunch with Tim Wilson turned into an ambush
Wilson's tanned skin turns a deeper shade. I notice our unexpected guest has a plastic loop on her mobile phone case around her middle finger, making it very easy to film us as she fires questions. She's feisty, but her hands are trembling slightly. 'You want nuclear in Australia, and you are a Zionist?' she asks for a third time, not waiting for an answer. 'And you want people killed, and you want babies killed?' Wilson tells her that he is having lunch, and this is grossly inappropriate. Nevertheless, she persists – for a full five minutes. This being Brighton, a well-do-to suburb south-east of Melbourne's CBD with a strong sense of self-worth (think Mosman in Sydney), the discourse soon turns to housing. Our anti-Wilson activist is bitter that her daughter and granddaughter ('who went to Brighton Primary') were forced to move two hours away because of housing affordability. She also says Wilson was invisible on the streets of Goldstein. The antagonists start to align on criticism of the Victorian state Labor government's massive underinvestment in local education. The temperature calms. Wilson masterfully suggests a visit to the local state MP, James Newbury, just down the road. But he can't help himself, slyly querying if bowling up and filming people without permission and verbally abusing them is really the best way to win friends and influence. 'No, no, I do need to do more letter writing, yes,' is her withering rejoinder. A man at the next table decides enough is enough and in a thick European accent tells the local activist to move on. She disappears down the side street. 'Save my love to Zoe,' is Wilson's slightly garbled postscript to break the tension. It's a joking reference to teal independent Zoe Daniel, from whom he has just regained the affluent seat with a significant Jewish community situated on Port Phillip Bay. Wilson asks his cafe neighbour for validation – he is indeed a recognised local face. 'I don't know who you are,' the man replies. 'I just don't like people bothering each other.' The whole thing was excruciating. Who would be a politician? Tim Wilson, that's who. Wilson is 45, a Liberal, and a liberal, one-quarter Armenian, a happily married gay man, carrying a few extra kilos but, frankly, for someone who has just engaged in a gruelling election campaign, a man with pretty great skin. 'It's politics, right,' Wilson says a short time later between mouthfuls of the cafe's signature Abundance Bowl, an enormous pile of salad greens, sweet potato, quinoa, seeds and a fried egg, to which he has deleted the halloumi and added not just avocado but pan seared salmon. He ordered it almost every day of the campaign. I have the similar salmon bowl. The flavour mix is terrific, the mouthfeel excellent. But wine is waved away – it's a Monday – in favour of a double espresso, which sits largely untouched. Today Melbourne feels on the precipice of winter. It is allegedly going to reach 18 degrees, but locals are mistrustful. One passer-by is in a puffer jacket, the next in T-shirt and shorts. Wilson is wearing his campaign uniform: jeans, blue blazer, a crisp shirt, bright-yellow pin lapel. And to be fair, during our 90 minutes together, 14 well-wishers come up to congratulate him. Earlier in our conversation, he says going from civilian life to winning an election and straight into the shadow ministry is 'feeling like you're being shot out of a catapult and haven't quite hit the ground yet. Still from election night there are SMS that I haven't even read. It is not an unwillingness, it's a simple incapacity.' I want to know about winning – and losing. 'I can tell you there are two winnings,' Wilson says. For him, nothing beat the feeling of winning his first preselection in 2016 after Liberal veteran Andrew Robb had retired. 'Everybody expected me lose', but Wilson went all in, resigning from his post as human rights commissioner just to contest. 'Bold,' I venture. 'Bold, but welcome to Tim Town,' he agrees, opening his hands as if to demonstrate 'voila!' – but only for a split second. 'I remember that adrenaline rush, and also quite frankly shock.' This time, victory was not a shock but rather 'a mountain to climb'. At which point he turns to losing. 'Pretty much from the last election day I had a personal and professional purgatory. It feels violent,' he says, describing the post-loss businesslike phone call from the bureaucracy to losing MPs. 'You're out, this person's in, pack up the office, sort that out – bang, bang, bang, bang. 'All of a sudden nothing – and you are out.' A lot of people were very worried. A psychologist friend suggested a chat. He went. 'Part of it is just to vent and get things off your chest,' he says. 'And somebody to listen. I found that very helpful.' The morning after the loss, his husband, Ryan Bolger, a school teacher, told him: 'You can look at this as the moment that ends you – or you can look at this as a gift.' His purpose taken away from him, the couple left Goldstein so Wilson could find his space and his place, moving back to their old apartment in South Yarra, where Wilson undertook a PhD in the carbon economy. 'I don't find making money something that excites me,' he says. His voice quickens in summary mode: 'It's an awful, horrific experience. But anyone who experienced a big professional setback will know those experiences. The difference is you do it in full public glare. And of course, you are known for the last thing you did.' Which in his case, was to lose. The 2025 Goldstein campaign was controversial. The very morning of our lunch, Daniel was on ABC radio talking about dirty tricks and a personal campaign directed at her. Wilson says the campaign was intense. 'We both had very passionate supporters. No one's trying to pretend otherwise.' As to her accusations about attacks on her from groups supporting Wilson, he sits there, anger clearly rising. 'I'm really resisting in light of the difficult circumstances she is facing and living right now – fighting back.' One political commentator describes Wilson as 'charming but very egotistical'. I realise I have known him for a decade, back when I was media editor at The Australian and he was a member of the free market think tank the Institute of Public Affairs and had a higher profile than many Liberal MPs. For Wilson, liberalism – the philosophy that promotes individual rights and freedoms – is the foundation of society. 'I hate the term 'moderate', because my liberalism doesn't come in moderation. I believe in that very strongly,' he says. 'I think what people are used to is this kind of idea that you have these kind of moderates who don't fight, and then they have these conservatives who fight very aggressively, whereas I'm somebody who fights very aggressively and not afraid to.' Which included contacting The Age at 3.45am one morning to protest at one aspect of the paper's coverage, which he is a little sheepish about, explaining he couldn't sleep that night. 'I don't particularly enjoy a fight, but I definitely enjoy a crusade and to be able to go and achieve change,' he says. 'I'm also not afraid of failure.' Wilson played a key role in defeating Labor's policy to change capital gains tax under Bill Shorten; now he is fighting against Labor's proposed tax changes on superannuation. I ask if there could ever be a gay leader of the Liberal Party (subtext – him). 'It's yet to be tested,' he says. 'I don't feel anyone is sitting there thinking this is an insurmountable barrier to anybody. 'There's a time where my relationship with my husband would have found me in gaol, and now it finds me, frankly, barely able to tick a diversity box.' How did the couple – who married in 2018 – meet? 'We actually met at Liberal Party State Council.' 'How romantic,' I reply. Here, Wilson looks down to apparently study his lunch and says something softly to himself. It occurs to me that Wilson might be more confident attacking Labor's superannuation policy than discussing affairs of the heart. But he reasserts himself, not pretending it was the most romantic of settings. 'It wasn't, but nonetheless it is what it was.' Ryan and he have common values, he says, brightening. 'As he says, at least he knew what he was getting himself in for.' Wilson admires Margaret Thatcher, has a poster of Ronald Reagan on his wall, and loves Milton Friedman 'because he explained economics with a charm and a smile'. He name-checks two little known political women, Pauline Sabin, who fought against prohibition, and Katharine Stewart-Murray, a distant British relative, who tried to topple her own prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, over his appeasement of Adolf Hitler in 1938. 'I like Menzies a lot as well because, in the end, he's a man of rebirth, and perhaps like me, he's a man who failed first,' Wilson says with a smile.
News.com.au
4 days ago
- Business
- News.com.au
‘More than double their market value': ‘Megalot' phenomenon making homeowners rich
Property owners in some of Sydney's most affluent neighbourhoods are joining forces to become overnight multi-millionaires. Rather than offload their home alone, residents in affluent harbourside suburbs like Mosman and Cremorne are selling at 'more than double their market value' to developers in 'megalot' amalgamations. In May alone, two groups of property owners – five along Cremorne's Benelong Rd and Gerard St; the other five along Mosman's Rangers Ave just two minutes down the road – were involved in collective sales worth an eye-watering $100 million combined. It's a sign, experts say, of the future of urban development in Sydney. A team of UNSW and Macquarie University researchers recently published Reassembling the City: understanding resident-led collective property sales – a study funded by the Australian Research Council that cast a spotlight on the phenomenon. Professor Simon Pinnegar from the UNSW City Futures Research Centre and Professor Kristian Ruming from Macquarie University's Housing and Urban Research Centre both contributed to the study. 'Collective sales have been a part of the urban renewal landscape in Sydney for many years,' the pair told pointing to developments surrounding the North West metro. 'The current wave being seen in Sydney's high value land and property markets – the likes of Mosman, Roseville and Gordon – reflect areas where the 'business of densification' stacks up given current feasibility considerations: large lot sizes – which means you only need to get 4 to 6 properties together, rather than 10 to 12 – and the ability to command premium sales prices for the apartments that will result.' Director of residential sales at Savills, Stuart Cox, has been involved in a number of these amalgamations. He told the agency already has 'another good raft of sites coming to market in the next two weeks'. Mr Cox estimated more than 200 homes have now sold across 'the heart of this site rezoning' – the North Shore – driven by the NSW State Government's Transport Oriented Development (TOD) Program, which is designed to increase housing supply near new transport hubs. The new controls gave the green light to medium- to high-density apartment blocks with a six-storey height limit and 2.2:1 floor space ratio (FSR): which is your site area x 2.2 x the sales rate for that area, Mr Cox explained. 'Buy for $3 million, sell for $10 million' For homeowners, the 'primary appeal' is 'a belief that they will be able to sell their property for a much higher price, compared to if they sold individually', Professors Pinnegar and Ruming said. 'Coming together to sell 'in one line' means that they're able to deliver the larger amalgamated sites that developers require for higher density development,' they continued. 'By facilitating the assembly process among them removes a traditionally complex task for developers, and so homeowners think that by coming together they will be in a better position to negotiate a higher sales price.' The median price of a four-bedroom home in Mosman is $5 million. '(But) if they've got amazing views like they have on Rangers Avenue – the one we sold looking straight back at the whole CBD from the ground floor – they're selling from anywhere from $13,000 up to $15,000 a square metre of GFA (gross floor area),' Mr Cox said. 'And then the ones on Balmoral Slopes, they're selling anywhere from $15,000 up to $20,000 a square metre. So if you think about it, a 1000 square metre house block can yield 2200sqm of GFA, which times 220,000 is $40 million. 'A lot of these homes are worth like 13, 14 or 15 million. They get more than double their market value.' Mr Cox said a lot of younger couples – those in their 30s and 40s – partaking in collective sales initially bought their properties for 'three or four million and are getting 10 million'. 'So they can now go, buy a more improved, more modern home for their family,' he said. 'Because none of them want to move out of the area – they obviously all love Mosman, they love the schools and the proximity to all the amenities.' 'How well do you know your neighbours?' The possibility of achieving such a high sales price is no doubt appealing. But, as Professors Pinnegar and Ruming found in their research, 'it is far from a simple process, (and) while some sales may proceed in a straightforward and timely way … it is a complex and often fraught journey for many'. Collective sales present two key challenges – the first entirely dependent on the answer to the following questions: How well do you know your neighbours? And, more importantly, do you all get on? 'Pleasantries over the fence and agreeing to put your neighbours' bins out while they're on holiday is one thing, but tying your property interests and largest asset together, requiring all to up sticks and move elsewhere, demands quite different levels of co-operation and trust,' they said. Each individual household will come to a collective sale from 'quite different starting points, household circumstances, and future needs', as well as with conflicting sales price expectations and preferences as to the agent they want to use or developer they want to sell to. 'Group dynamics come into play and there are many reasons that can cause groups to fall apart,' Professors Pinnegar and Ruming said, adding it's 'not uncommon' for this to happen over the sales process. 'It is also important to remember that some people just don't want to sell their home, no matter what price they might get. These people love their home and neighbourhood and don't want to leave – or at least not yet.' Mr Cox also warned it is 'highly critical in all these deals that they get one solicitor representing the whole group'. 'You can't have eight owners with eight solicitors,' he said. 'The deal will never get over the line.' The other challenge raised by Professors Pinnegar and Ruming is that it can take 'a very long time' to finalise the sale – which can be attributed to everything from owners holding out for a higher sales price to the way developers tend to buy these properties. 'In most cases developers purchase options on the land, providing owners a small percentage upfront, with the final sales occurring at a later date,' they said. 'As time passes, market and economic cycles shift, and expectations of owners in the collective may change. Some sales fall over, requiring homeowners to go through the process again. 'Developers will also closely track viability and feasibility of development tied to market conditions, availability of finance and evolving planning parameters. In our research, we spoke to owners in collectives who had been looking to sell for many years.' According to Mr Cox, the typical settlement for these deals can be as long as two years. 'No one's buying these sites for a six-week settlement, because obviously these homeowners live there for many years,' he said. 'It's going to take these developers at least 12 months to get their DAs in most instances, plus the Construction Certificate after that. Every deal up there at the moment is around that 18- to 24-month settlement.' 'It's not a bad life for some of these people' Whether in Mosman, Marrickville or Merrylands, according to Professors Pinnegar and Ruming 'residential densification through TOD will be the fundamental defining feature of urban development in Sydney in the coming decades'. 'The government's planning reforms place a great deal of expectation that land assemblies will occur, that sites will be amalgamated and new residential supply will be delivered through density,' they added. 'Much of the new supply to be enabled through the TOD Program rests on assumptions that land assembly is something that the market will drive and make happen. In reality it is a highly contingent and intensely 'peopled' process, involving a great deal of complexity. 'So yes, we will increasingly see these developments brought forward through collective sales and land assemblies, but not in a seamless, timely or indeed particularly strategic way.' As for where these homeowners go when all is (hopefully) said and done? In terms of putting down fresh roots, Mr Cox said, it often isn't far. 'I think you're going to find a lot of them are going to have a lot of leftover cash,' he said. 'A lot of them have talked about buying back into these developments because they love living in the area – they don't want to move away from the area. 'So they're selling their home for, say, $10 million, buying a three-bedroom apartment for $6 million, $7 million – which will be a very high-security, lock-and-leave scenario – then they go travelling with the balance of the funds. 'It's not a bad life for some of these people.'
News.com.au
07-05-2025
- Business
- News.com.au
Mosman House of the Week: Grand surprise behind Federation facade
A classic Federation facade on Awaba St hides a pleasant surprise. Beyond the double front doors, the century-old home has been transformed into a designer residence fit for a growing modern family. The Mosman home, which last sold in 2011 for $2.575m according to title records, is set to go to go under the hammer on May 29 through Ray White Lower North Shore. Thanks to a savvy split-level layout, old world charm and contemporary living coexist in harmony across the entry level. Original rooms at the front of the floor plan feature picture windows, high ornate ceilings and a chandelier, while the rear of the footprint has sleek glass bi-fold doors, and a vast 6m void drawing in loads of natural light. The star attraction is the sophisticated kitchen with its 5m Calacatta gold marble island bench, Polytec cabinetry, single touch drawers, hidden European appliances, pyrolytic V-Zug ovens, a 900mm induction cooktop and a concealed double door Liebherr fridge. In addition to the three bedrooms on the same entry level, the property is home to a whole floor upper retreat. This private elevated space has a casual living room featuring a kitchenette and terrace with postcard views of Balmoral through to North Head, plus an open plan main bedroom with a floating gas fireplace, a centrepiece freestanding tub, a double shower and long walk-in wardrobe. Down on the lower ground level a separate studio is a perfect home office or teenager chill out space, as well as a large multipurpose utility room with a hidden laundry and powder room. This handy lower ground floor area also houses a bespoke 344-bottle wine cellar, a grand under house storage and a lock up garage with internal access. Outside, the entertaining area features a heated swimming pool with a spa and swim jets, built-in bench seating and an outdoor shower. Additional features of the Awaba St home include spotted gum timber and heated tile floors, Ducted and split system air-conditioning systems, internal and external surround sound, a two-way ensuite on the ground floor, and intricate lead light windows. Close to Balmoral Beach and Bathers' Pavilion, the property is 200m from The Esplanade and cafes, while being within easy access of the local walking trails and bus or ferry transport. Auction: May 29, 5pm Inspect: Saturday and Wednesday noon to 12.30pm Comparable sales: 12 Hunter Rd sold for $9.5m, 10 Lavoni St sold for $12.75m, 14 Amaroo Cres sold for $8.95m
Sydney Morning Herald
29-04-2025
- Politics
- Sydney Morning Herald
From corflute craziness to ‘Trumpet' texts, election day can't come soon enough
I'm almost scared to vote in my hotly contested electorate. I've had ankle surgery and I'm worried I won't be able to navigate my clumsy crutches through the sea of signs and corflutes at my polling booth. It's sign city in this marginal seat and every second fence seems to have a smiling face. It's ridiculous how many there are – as if a vacillating voter will be swayed by this visual pollution. But then, the corflute is a consequence of our not caring. With so many disengaged, disheartened and disenfranchised voters, candidates need name recognition at the very least. Social media algorithms target us in bubbles, but we've all seen the conspicuous corflutes (and we've all received the annoying 'Trumpet' texts). If posters are the only way to universally access voters, they're bound to attract passion. The skirmishes around signs range from scary to silly. Independent candidate for Calare Kate Hook's posters were ripped down and had metal stakes poked through the face. It takes a certain kind of fury to do that to an inanimate object, and any woman who feels welcome in politics after seeing the image is crazy-brave. Hook says it's 'a distraction from the issues of homelessness, affordable housing, childcare and climate change' that she wants to talk about. Similarly, there's the video of Dr Greg Malham; in his blue singlet and shorts, he takes out his rage on independent Monique Ryan's poster and boasts about 'burying the body under concrete' as he stomps on it. He has apologised, but this man operates on spines that now shiver at his misguided machismo. Melbourne seems to be showing nastier behaviour this election – neo-Nazis have crashed a sacred event to get attention and volunteers have been spat at. In Sydney, we've seen sillier expressions of subliminal rage in the staking of land claims. The Mosman women using a Chanel lipstick to draw a pig face on an election poster for the MP for Warringah Zali Steggall says everything about the entitlement of the ladies who possibly liquid-lunched, and none about their MP. Not since Kath and Kim's alter egos Pru and Trude have we seen such a show of clueless entitlement and petty obsession with such clipped vowels. If you wrote these lasses in a comedy sketch, you'd be accused of being too reductive. I feel sorry for the people of Mosman – these women just set your stereotype in stone for the next decade. Yet the word 'pig' on a face in lipstick still slightly sickens me.
