Albo can buy any beach house he likes, but it’s time to retire the council flat story

Someone I know – who, in the interests of preserving anonymity, I will refer to as “my husband” – is in the process of selling his beloved 21-year-old car. The battery is on its last legs, the clutch needs a priest, and the driver’s-side window hasn’t closed properly since he accidentally smashed the door against a pillar and ruined the electronics.

Amazingly, despite it languishing on the market for a month, no buyer has yet emerged to snap it up. But if Anthony Albanese’s critics are to be believed, perhaps the prime minister should be eyeing it as a potential investment property in the lead-up to the next election. It’s the optics, you know. Between the rusting exterior and associated upcoming rego challenges, it fairly screams “cost-of-living crisis”. Unfortunately, I mean this sincerely: the muffler was dislodged in the same collision that knocked out the electronic window. As such, the car no longer does anything quietly.

Anthony Albanese and the house he has bought at Copacabana on the Central Coast.Credit: Domain, Alex Ellinghausen

Before yesterday, I wouldn’t have offered the grand old dame of grief-boxes to anyone other than an antiques dealer, much less the leader of the Australian government. But 24 hours is a long time in politics – long enough, in fact, for Albanese to seal the deal on a $4.3 million “slice of clifftop perfection”, aka a house in Copacabana on the NSW Central Coast, and then to be accused, in short order, of everything from political treason to rampant cake-eating on a scale that hasn’t been contemplated since France’s Marie Antoinette last darkened a bakery door.

From the usual tedious kvetching by four (naturally) unnamed Labor MPs to punters grousing about “Albo’s tin ear”, the primary criticism of the sale seems to be that the timing is ill-judged, given the aforementioned cost-of-living crisis and the fact that the next federal election is mere months away.

Not since the marketing dross that accompanied the house’s real estate listing have more idiotic cliches been uttered in short succession. Someone convene a focus group and pass me a couple of finger sandwiches because I have some feedback from the middle of voter heartland. No one in his or her right mind thinks the prime minister of Australia gets to the end of every working week, retires to his cherished cardboard lean-to, and starts contemplating whether to spend his last 10 bucks on a packet of roll-your-owns or a loaf of bread. Canberra understands Struggle Street like a real estate agent understands plain English, which is to say, maybe someone once had a passing acquaintance with it. Or not.

And frankly, in the case of our politicians, that’s as it should be. After a lifetime on the hustings, trying vainly to mollify every mouth-breathing knuckle-dragger with a bullhorn and an axe to grind, it seems only fair that Albo be allowed to take his earnings and his long-suffering fiancée’s hand and escape to a “premiere sunset-watching location”. (Dear God, will it ever end?)

It’s not as though Australian voters are especially forgiving taskmasters when it comes to their leaders. Given the (frankly astonishing) schedule they’re expected to keep, Albanese’s current hourly rate probably equates to slightly more than he’d be making if he was wearing a paper hat and standing over a bubbling vat of deep-fried chicken. And in the interests of further bolstering his working-class credentials, it turns out the new house was actually on sale, down from $4.65 million, which is what the previous owners paid for it in 2021. Apparently, he knows a bargain when he sees it.

Now, lest anyone think I have any particular interest in Albanese’s electoral fortunes and/or real estate portfolio, let me also say this: I’d be mounting the same impassioned defence of the transaction had the name on the title deeds been Peter Dutton (who owns only his residential farm north of Brisbane, but has made millions buying and selling property over the years), or Pauline Hanson (who owns two properties), or Adam Bandt (who has his home), or the recently exhumed, howling political ghosts of the deregistered Deadly Serious Party.

Ironically, the most irritating aspect of what should have amounted to little more than a slightly voyeuristic, 10-second scroll through the house’s sale pictures yesterday (and a silent prayer for whoever has to clean the saltwater spray off the windows), turns out to have come from Albo himself. No stranger to a spirited chorus of “livin’ in the love of the common people”, he once again reminded us that he was raised by a single mum, in a council flat. A mere 50 years or so ago. See? The present-day struggle is real. He totally gets it.

Now, speaking of acquiring stuff, attention all current politicians: did I mention my husband is selling a car? It’s the perfect investment opportunity in a cost-of-living crisis. You can park it outside whatever caravan park you’re using to spruik your understanding of the working class, and no one will steal it. Unfortunately, when you’re looking to beat a hasty retreat to whichever fancy locale you actually hail from, I can’t actually guarantee that the engine will start. But as Albo learnt yesterday, you can’t have everything.

Michelle Cazzulino is a Sydney writer.