This Crikey edition is the last that will be produced — aided only by half a dozen harried hacks and the magic of teh interwebs — from the fabled bunker in Melbourne’s premier boho suburb, the Newtown of the south, Fitzroy.
Our converted yoga studio home is of course just one in a long line of Crikey Bunkers, a tradition that has kept one step ahead of the residential tenancy tribunal since 2000. Previous locations had girdled the grid of Melbourne suburbia: Templestowe, East Melbourne, South Melbourne, Camberwell … it’s a bit like a Peter Stuyvesant ad, albeit one that makes no reference to Rome, Paris, London or New York. Or smoking.
From Monday we’ll be less a bunker, more an eyrie, as we move to significantly more salubrious digs in the legal and banking quarter (insert appropriate rhyming slang) of the CBD.
Some will see this as proof positive that Crikey is slowly losing itself in the routine morass of media corporatism. We prefer to think of it as taking it to the top end of town, another step toward foisting our robust, fiercely independent journalism and commentary on the broadest possible audience in this election year.
Which is to say, nothing will change. But we’ll be closer to public transport.