I’m part of ACM’s national property team, but my patch is the Illawarra — that beautiful, sprawling stretch of coastal New South Wales where the escarpment meets the sea. I’m based in Albion Park, a town that sits comfortably between the urban hum of Wollongong and the quieter, greener countryside towards Shellharbour and Kiama. From here, I get to tell the stories of homes and the people who live in them, sell them, dream about them, and sometimes walk away from them. It’s a job that sounds like it’s about bricks and mortar, but really it’s about so much more. Every property is a little time capsule of someone’s life — a first home bought with a lifetime of savings, a family house that’s seen three generations of birthdays, a run-down cottage with a backyard full of fruit trees and memories. When I write about these places, I’m not just describing floor plans and land sizes. I’m trying to capture the feeling of standing in a room and wondering who stood there before you, and who might stand there next. That’s what makes property journalism feel less like reporting and more like storytelling with a measuring tape.
I write about exciting, interesting, or just downright quirky properties that have been listed for sale. Those are often the most fun — the houses that make you do a double take, the ones with a lighthouse in the backyard, a converted church, a railway carriage turned into a studio, or a 1970s time capsule with orange shagpile carpet and a sunken lounge. People love those stories because they let us imagine a different kind of life. We might not be in the market to buy a decommissioned bank with a vault you could sleep in, but for a few minutes, we can dream. And then there are the major sales — the ones that make headlines and set the tone for the market. When a beachfront home sells for a record price, it’s not just a number. It’s a signal, a talking point, a moment when the whole region feels a little richer or a little more anxious, depending on which side of the sale you’re on. I get to dig into those sales, talk to the agents, the vendors, the buyers, and try to understand what drove the decision. Was it the view? The school catchment? The promise of a lifestyle change? Usually, it’s a combination of practicalities and dreams, all tangled together.
Market trends and auctions are a big part of what I cover, and they’re always more human than the data suggests. I can look at the latest figures and tell you that the median house price has gone up by a certain percentage, or that days on market are stretching out, or that auction clearance rates are softening. But the numbers only tell a fraction of the story. Behind every statistic is a family frantically checking their savings, a couple wondering if they’ll ever be able to afford a place of their own, a retiree deciding whether to downsize, an investor weighing up risk and reward. The Illawarra is a fascinating market because it’s so diverse. You’ve got the coastal suburbs where buyers are paying a premium for ocean views and a sea breeze. You’ve got the leafy foothills where acreage and privacy are the selling points. And you’ve got the more affordable pockets that are attracting first-home buyers and young families who’ve been priced out of Sydney but still want to be close enough to commute. When I write about these trends, I try to keep the human element front and centre. I ask agents about the buyers they’re seeing, the questions they’re getting, the reasons people are moving. I talk to sellers about why they’re leaving and what they’ll miss. I talk to neighbours who’ve watched the street change over the decades. The market is never just a graph. It’s a living, breathing thing, shaped by the choices and hopes of thousands of people.
Auctions, in particular, are a wonderful window into the human condition. There’s a unique energy on auction day — a mix of nerves, excitement, bravado, and sometimes heartbreak. I’ve stood on nature strips and in driveways watching bidders face off, their hands trembling slightly as they raise a number card. I’ve seen couples exchange anxious glances, trying to silently agree on a limit. I’ve seen the relief on a young family’s face when the hammer falls in their favour, and the quiet disappointment of those who just missed out. Auction day is theatre, but it’s also deeply real. For the people involved, it’s often the culmination of months of searching, saving, compromising, and hoping. It’s the day they find out whether their dream is within reach or just out of grasp. And when the bidding war gets fierce, you can feel the tension in the air — not just about money, but about identity and belonging. A home is so much more than an asset. It’s where you become yourself. It’s where your children take their first steps, where you host dinners, where you cry and laugh and grow old. To witness people trying to secure that for themselves is a privilege. I never take it for granted.
One of my favourite aspects of being a journalist is the belief that everyone has a story to tell. This is especially true in property. The most modest fibro cottage has a history. The newest apartment block is full of people who each arrived with their own reasons and dreams. When I knock on a door or call a seller, I’m not just looking for a quote. I’m looking for the story — the unexpected detail, the nostalgic memory, the twist that makes a property unique. Sometimes it’s the family who bought a house sight unseen and discovered a hidden cellar. Sometimes it’s the elderly widow who has lived in the same home for sixty years and can still remember the day she moved in, carrying nothing but a suitcase and a bouquet. Sometimes it’s the young couple who spent every weekend renovating, learning to lay tiles from YouTube, and turning a dated fixer-upper into a bright, modern home. These are the stories that make my job endlessly interesting. They remind me that behind every listing, every sale, every price guide, there is a human being with a life full of meaning. Property journalism, at its best, is about honouring those stories and sharing them with a wider community. It’s about helping people understand not just what a home is worth in dollars, but what it has meant, and what it could mean.
So, what’s your story? That’s the question I find myself asking more than any other. Maybe you’ve just sold the family home where you grew up, and you’re not sure how to feel about it. Maybe you’ve bought your first place and you’re terrified and thrilled in equal measure. Maybe you live in a house with a quirky history, or a neighbourhood that’s changing faster than you ever expected. Maybe you’re a renovator with a thousand photos and a million stories of things going wrong. Or maybe you’re just someone who loves looking at houses and imagining different lives — and that’s a story too. I’d love to hear it. Because the Illawarra is not just a collection of suburbs and streets. It’s a community of people, each with their own relationship to home. And every home has a story worth telling. Whether it’s a grand mansion overlooking the ocean or a modest weatherboard tucked away on a quiet street, there’s something human in the walls, something true in the way the light falls through the windows. My job is to find that something and bring it to life in words. So if you have a property story — a sale, a renovation, a battle with the bank, a love affair with a place — I’d love to hear it. You never know, it might just be the next story I tell.