depressing,’ I said. I missed the insightful acerbity of former prime minister Paul Keating. Forme, politics in Australia after the excitement and unpredictability of Papua New Guinea was extremely dull.
I had largely given up on the idea of continuing work as a journalist – reporting news in a small country town did not seem very appealing.
Luckily, the BBC World Service got in touch and asked if I would be interested in being a regional freelancer for Australia and the South Pacific. I was told I would only report on significant events, which meant the workload would not be too great. Then they dangled another carrot – I had to spend a week in Jakarta for some training.
•••
The week away was a huge boost to my professional confidence and it was thrilling to be working with other journalists from South-East Asia, many from countries that I knew little about. The days were intense and interesting as we sat around in an airless hotel conference room. I had not worked this hard since the Sandline crisis and I enjoyed it immensely.
However, after a few days I began to wonder whether our evening sorties into the clogged and choking city had made me sick – my appetite was dropping and I felt unusually tired.
I dragged myself off the plane in Sydney to be greeted by Julian and George.
‘You look very pale,’ Julian said as he took my bag. ‘Did you catch a bug?’
‘Must have done,’ I said, gathering up George. I held him close, breathing in his scent. It was good to be home.
•••
Within days of returning, I had all the symptoms of pregnancy I had previously experienced with George, but this time accompanied by a level of nausea and vague preoccupation I had not thought possible.
A test soon revealed my suspicions were true – it was not some nasty bug from Jakarta but an overload of hormones. A double dose. I broke the news to Julian. We were having twins.
He was delighted and immediately began suggesting boys’ names.
‘No, Jules,’ I said. ‘I really think I am going to have girls.’
Julian immediately dismissed my prediction. ‘I only have boys,’ he reminded me. ‘There are no girls in the Thirlwall family. It’s absolutely impossible.’
•••
With the news that our twins would arrive around Christmas, we increased our efforts to find a permanent home. However, we had completely different ideas about what we wanted. I was looking at what I thought were gorgeous old, ramblingweatherboard homes near the centre of a town or village, close to shops, people, activities and places for children to play.
Julian, on the other hand, was driving to the most remote corners of the Southern Highlands, enthusing over wilderness and miles of bush. Where I saw charm and convenience, Julian could only see suburbia and boredom; while he was carried away over miles of rocky, windswept bush, I could only see isolation and the hours we would spend driving just to buy a carton of milk.
Eventually we were persuaded to look at a farm in East Kangaloon, about a fifteen-minute drive from town. We had driven past it on several occasions but the house seemed too close to the road, something that neither of us found particularly appealing. A friend urged us to go and have a proper look.
We were in the depths of winter by then. Frost had destroyed most of the lush paddocks and the wind was icy. After years in a tropical climate it seemed I simply could not get warm no matter how many clothes I wore. I had hoped the pregnancy would boost my internal heating system but so far that had not happened. When we arrived at the house mid-morning to meet the agent, we were greeted by the owner’s daughter, who was still in her dressing-gown.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just waiting for the pipes to thaw so I can have a shower and leave.’
I raised an eyebrow at Julian.
‘We’ll come back,’ the agent told her, then suggested to us: ‘I’ll take you for a drive instead.’
We headed out
I had largely given up on the idea of continuing work as a journalist – reporting news in a small country town did not seem very appealing.
Luckily, the BBC World Service got in touch and asked if I would be interested in being a regional freelancer for Australia and the South Pacific. I was told I would only report on significant events, which meant the workload would not be too great. Then they dangled another carrot – I had to spend a week in Jakarta for some training.
•••
The week away was a huge boost to my professional confidence and it was thrilling to be working with other journalists from South-East Asia, many from countries that I knew little about. The days were intense and interesting as we sat around in an airless hotel conference room. I had not worked this hard since the Sandline crisis and I enjoyed it immensely.
However, after a few days I began to wonder whether our evening sorties into the clogged and choking city had made me sick – my appetite was dropping and I felt unusually tired.
I dragged myself off the plane in Sydney to be greeted by Julian and George.
‘You look very pale,’ Julian said as he took my bag. ‘Did you catch a bug?’
‘Must have done,’ I said, gathering up George. I held him close, breathing in his scent. It was good to be home.
•••
Within days of returning, I had all the symptoms of pregnancy I had previously experienced with George, but this time accompanied by a level of nausea and vague preoccupation I had not thought possible.
A test soon revealed my suspicions were true – it was not some nasty bug from Jakarta but an overload of hormones. A double dose. I broke the news to Julian. We were having twins.
He was delighted and immediately began suggesting boys’ names.
‘No, Jules,’ I said. ‘I really think I am going to have girls.’
Julian immediately dismissed my prediction. ‘I only have boys,’ he reminded me. ‘There are no girls in the Thirlwall family. It’s absolutely impossible.’
•••
With the news that our twins would arrive around Christmas, we increased our efforts to find a permanent home. However, we had completely different ideas about what we wanted. I was looking at what I thought were gorgeous old, ramblingweatherboard homes near the centre of a town or village, close to shops, people, activities and places for children to play.
Julian, on the other hand, was driving to the most remote corners of the Southern Highlands, enthusing over wilderness and miles of bush. Where I saw charm and convenience, Julian could only see suburbia and boredom; while he was carried away over miles of rocky, windswept bush, I could only see isolation and the hours we would spend driving just to buy a carton of milk.
Eventually we were persuaded to look at a farm in East Kangaloon, about a fifteen-minute drive from town. We had driven past it on several occasions but the house seemed too close to the road, something that neither of us found particularly appealing. A friend urged us to go and have a proper look.
We were in the depths of winter by then. Frost had destroyed most of the lush paddocks and the wind was icy. After years in a tropical climate it seemed I simply could not get warm no matter how many clothes I wore. I had hoped the pregnancy would boost my internal heating system but so far that had not happened. When we arrived at the house mid-morning to meet the agent, we were greeted by the owner’s daughter, who was still in her dressing-gown.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just waiting for the pipes to thaw so I can have a shower and leave.’
I raised an eyebrow at Julian.
‘We’ll come back,’ the agent told her, then suggested to us: ‘I’ll take you for a drive instead.’
We headed out
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