After retiring to her little beachside holiday shack, Stephanie Wood’s mother watched a millionaires’ row spring up around her
My mother’s large white underpants flap in the faces of alpha men in their mansions. It’s not intended to provoke, it’s not any sort of “up-yours”. As she has always done, my mother hangs her undies, all her washing, on the deck of her house by the beach to catch the sun and the breeze – and if her washing happens to foreground the ocean views of rich interlopers, well, “I don’t care”, she says, “I was here before them”.
In the late 1970s, my parents spent about $10,000 on a block of land on a steep dune overlooking a Sunshine Coast beach. Both teachers, they’d been tight. Avocados had barely been invented. An architect who sometimes wore sarongs designed a house for them.
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