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On a wet Monday morning, I was pacing up and down the lounge room, wondering what to do next. The few weeks until the election loomed ahead, demanding a program to organise my time. There was a calendar pinned above the telephone wall with a countdown of days left to campaign: blank spaces to fill with activity.
The sound of a motorbike stopped in the street outside our gate, Through the fogged up windows I could see a bulky figure dismount and approach the house. I opened the kitchen door to find a leather clad bikie, dripping water on the step. The helmet came off, revealing a girls face. She introduced herself:
"My name is Donna Yen. I'm an unemployed graduate in Political Science. From what the paper said, you seem to need some help."
I invited her inside.
She removed her boots and sat heavily on a newspaper covered chair, wet, plump and bedraggled. Despite her appearance, she spoke clearly, with a well modulated voice:
"I will work for you for nothing during the campaign, but when its over I will want a job."
The question of employing staff as an MP had not occurred to me. The present preoccupation was with trying to win votes.