Personal failings have not led me here, Australia’s inaccessible housing market has
I was introduced to papier-mache when I was seven. Everyone in my class made an “owl”, a generous interpretation of an inflated balloon covered in white paste and painted brown. In hindsight someone should have asked the teacher if she was OK, because this activity was neither enjoyable nor produced anything resembling an owl.
I was thinking of this air-filled atrocity recently when I was making my bed, and a book that had been nestled between blankets softly struck the wall. What resulted was a huge overreaction by the wall (in my opinion): a hole roughly the size of an avocado stone appeared, and dusty white fragments spilled out silently. A gust of cool air emerged from the crevice. Wow, dramatic much? It wasn’t even a hardcover.
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