Welcome to the Northern Territory, please turn your clock back 10 years

I always wondered why the asylum seekers sewed their lips together. Now that I'm staying in the ex-Baxter detention centre accommodation I know why. A small box with no window, a air conditioning unit from 1983 that intermittently blows bits of debri onto you, and a shower that makes me cry every morning. Three quite painful streams of water hitting your body is not something to look forward to. Half of me is being scalded, the other half freezing as I sidle up to the wall to get close to the stream of water pointed straight down the wall at the floor. Don't even talk to me about washing my hair - it'd be funny if it wasn't 3 months of my life.

Oh for a proper shower, a queen size bed, a glass of wine within arms reach and the ability to leave my house without getting attacked by dogs, kids with scabies, pigs, bulls or donkeys (yes, donkeys, we apparently have a feral donkey problem- I fall asleep to their lulling brays).