Australia, Freedom and Arseholes
From around age 13 I decided that I wanted to be a journalist. I’ll admit the career choice was ever so slightly influenced by Carrie from Sex and the City and her effortlessly glamorous life. Although a great believer of doing what makes you happy, I later decided that in reality, a journalist’s payslip wouldn’t quite cover the costs of the boho-chic lifestyle I had envisioned for myself. As a teenager, I decided (a tad melodramatically ) , that I had already experienced a life of poverty. Despite fond memories of my childhood, I faced winters with no central heating, endless cans of soup for dinner and £5 school shoes and quite frankly- I’d had enough. I therefore gave up on my dream of becoming a journalist- a decision reinforced by family friends who ex plained that “print publication is a lost cause”. Sadly, I chose to follow this somewhat defeatist advice and stopped writing completely. After some consideration on my “gap yah” I’ve realised that I have a natural desire to