Rockhampton was dead, but, as it turns out, love wasn’t.Īs a last resort, and desperate for a story, I dragged my cameraman along to an agriculture event being held in town. There’d been no car accidents, no serious crimes committed, no politicians in town and no significant announcements. I’d read the newspapers, phoned my police contacts, called the council and sifted through my little black book. One muggy December morning, I vividly recall literally sweating as I scrambled to find another story to fill the bulletin I was in the middle of a story drought – every journalist’s worst nightmare. Sourcing the news each day for the 6pm evening bulletin was my responsibility and Rocky could get a little sleepy from time to time. It was 2013, and at the time I was based in Rockhampton managing Channel Seven’s Central Queensland newsrooms as reporter and producer. That is, until I fell in love with a very handsome farmer. Climbing the ladder and doing whatever it took for my reporting career to flourish was my life’s sole purpose. My world revolved around stake-outs, script deadlines and the stress of live TV. See all 14 stories.Ī born-and-bred Sydney girl with a thirst for the bright lights of the city and the adrenaline rush of a newsroom, I never gave a second thought to life in rural Australia, or to the women in it I was too busy cursing traffic. This story is part of the May 7 Edition of Sunday Life.
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