WEEKEND REVIEW: At home with Senator dyljam, on one of Australia's largest cattle stations

^{BY JAMES JAMESONSON, EDITOR, THE WEEKEND REVIEW}

A CATTLE STATION is not the typical place you'd expect to find a federal politician, but then again Senator u/dyljam has proven himself time and time again that he refuses to fit the political mould.

The Senator for Northern Australia, who currently serves as Health and Sport minister in the NGSpy government, offered me an invitation to see what life is like for him once the parliamentary sitting week is over. I jumped at the invitation, having first got to know the Senator when he was Education minister in the IG_99 government, representing the vast swathe of land that is New England.

Naturally, I expected his new digs in the top end to be around the leafy outer suburbs of Darwin, or perhaps a swanky apartment in Darwin City. It turns out I was in for quite the surprise.

The former prime minister, now calling Murralinga cattle station home.

I was somewhat taken aback when I found out that I was to travel to Alice Springs. Really, I should have worked that out earlier. For as long as I have known dyljam, he has always represented his constituency in a smaller, more laid-back city. When he was Member for Denison, he resided in Launceston. He called the former steelworks cities of Newcastle and Wollongong (for a short time) home when he was a senator for New South Wales. So it should come as no surprise that he was representing the top end from the sleepy town of Alice Springs.

My second surprise came when I found out I was to travel five hours out of Alice Springs, by car, to some nondescript location. Out here, there is no Google Streetview and aerial imagery is sketchy at best. All I could see on Google Maps was brown, sunburnt country. It just continued on, floating unabated. The back seat of the Ford Everest was comfortable enough, but I would have preferred to be sitting up front, and have the whole landscape presented to me unobscured. Nonetheless, my new front seat companion Gary had proven himself he was not one for small talk, so I shut up and looked out the door window.

When we (finally) arrived at our location, I thought perhaps I was being set up. Two upturned bathtubs leading to a rusted-out steel shed, a golden XF Falcon ute which, judging by a few small patches untouched by the harsh outback elements, may have once been white, and a burly bloke with eyes shiftier than those of a fox. By now I had begun to grow anxious. I had lost sight of Gary as soon as I got out of the car, and my driver, Mal, had wondered off towards a weatherboard building which until now I had been totally unaware of. As I considered simply running off (to where?) I suddenly became overrun with relief when I saw dyljam step out of a sliding door of the weatherboard house.

I have always found it a highly unusual experience to see politicians in their natural habitat, outside of Canberra. An image of them wearing suit and tie or other business-friendly attire tends to burn itself into your psyche. So you can imagine that it was particularly unusual to see dyljam wearing a worn Akubra and an unironed blue Bisley shirt. A highly paradoxical image to the well-dressed, clean-shaven face with not a hair out of place that we are all so well accustomed to.

Murralinga is 15,000 hectares in size, with currently over one thousand head of cattle.

dyljam explains to me that this cattle station is owned by his sister and brother-in-law, who he is staying with until he finds a more permanent arrangement. This is understandable, given that he only several weeks ago flew up here from Tasmania to fill a vacancy in the senate. I ask him, does he miss Tasmania, or indeed the House of Representatives?

He begins to answer and then offers a somewhat awkward laugh when I add that last part and looks over my left shoulder. 'Of course, I do love Tasmania' he begins, before (importantly) adding 'But I do love it up here too.'

I ask him how it feels to be running the country's COVID-19 response as Health minister. Surely, I reason, it must be incredibly nervous and stressful? 'Yes', he adds, 'but give me one day in politics that isn't.'

At this point we sit on the long, endless verandah that wraps along the east side of the house. Directly below me is a gaping hole which I almost lose one of the legs of my chair in. 'You wouldn't be the first', dyljam says.

dyljam has made scones for the visit. I'm surprised he can cook. In all the years I've known him, he's never been one to prepare anything himself. He points to a woman loading firewood into what appears to be an old washing machine drum.

'You learn a thing or two from the folk up here.'

There is a particularly burning question that I've been waiting to ask dyljam since I left for Sydney Airport. It's the direct result of rumours spreading down the corridors of parliament house, the polite chatter of journos dining over a smoked barra at the Queen's Terrace cafe. I have worked with great pain to restrain myself from blurting out the question from the moment we bumped elbows when I greeted him.

'Are you going to have another shot at Denison?'

Really my question may soon become redundant. There are rumours circulating across the apple isle that the electorate is to be renamed 'Clark'. The locals are not happy. A local group of concerned citizens has formed under the banner #DEFENDDENISON (yes, all caps. And their Twitter feed doesn't digress) to fight the proposed change. I begin to correct myself but dyljam is already halfway through his first sentence. After a long sigh.

'Look, at this point I'm just focusing on Northern Australia.' he replied drily.

'Will you rule it out?', I naturally respond.

'No, but I won't rule it in either.' WR