Saving Jacqui Lambie: ‘If I didn’t say something right, Anna would have to clean it up’

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When I got re-elected to the federal Senate in 2019, I offered her a job as my media adviser. In the first six months after the election, we were on the road a lot. When we were in Burnie, Anna stayed at my place. Then COVID-19 hit and we were in lockdown in Burnie. I’ve never seen a fridge open and shut so much. I put on heaps of weight. After four or five weeks of baking, we stopped and it was then just a lot of salads. Anna really likes to cook, I don’t. Some people look at the cupboard and go, “Oh no, there’s nothing there to cook,” but Anna will make something out of nothing.

During lockdown, we talked about work too much. We’d say, “It’s not bloody healthy!” It was work, live, work, live. It was nice to have a mate living there at that time; I would have found it quite depressing otherwise. I’ve been living on my own for four years since the kids left. [Lambie has two sons, Brentyn, 30, and, Dylan, 27.] Anna wanted to get a pet but who was going to look after it? She got a worm farm instead. Anna was feeding the neighbourhood cats through that time. She moved out in May after 12 months sharing my house. Then all I heard for a week and a half afterwards was, “Meow, meow!” I haven’t checked the worms; they’re probably dead and dried up.

If I didn’t say something right to the media, Anna would have to go and clean it up and it could take friggin’ hours. If you’re not clear and a little bit loose, it can go everywhere. Anna’s not scared to be standing in front of someone saying, “I’m not putting up with that,” especially at press conferences. She’s also extremely compassionate, sensitive … things do weigh heavily on her.

In politics you’ve got to find that funny side of life to make it bearable. What other people probably don’t find amusing, Anna and I did. And ’cause we’re mates, I could say, “God you’re a bit grumpy today, what’s your problem?” I’d also say, “Jesus mate, didn’t you get any this morning?”

Both of us have had adversity in our lives. Anna has been through some rough times. She was a single mum for a long time, and she’s struggled financially, like me. Nothing’s ever been given to her. She’s had to go out there and earn it. If I had to describe her in one word it would be: “Dedicated.”

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ANNA: Jacqui won back her Senate seat in 2019 because she worked her arse off. I was very proud to work for her and people like her because she’s authentic. But there were a couple of my friends who were a bit shocked because of that Sharia law thing. [In 2017, Lambie called for Muslims who adhered to Sharia law to be deported but walked back those comments the following year.]

Jacqui doesn’t stick to talking points; she makes up her own mind. I’ve got a massively over-amped maternal instinct, so I did feel protective of her.

I was terrified [during the COVID outbreak in north-west Tasmania] because I’m asthmatic. It was scary, Burnie was the epicentre for a lot of it. Living together in lockdown, I’d say, “I’m watching this movie tonight,” and she’d say, “I don’t want to.” I’d go, “That’s fine.” We’re very honest with each other. We both got a bit fat – the COVID spread!

Jacqui’s got a busy brain and I do, too. People don’t realise she’s walking around with chronic pain – her back hurts her all the time. She manages it with massage, because she doesn’t like pharmaceuticals, and by walking and listening to her ’80s soundtrack on this funny old MP3 player. She never takes her phone.

We spend a lot of time laughing at ourselves. One time in Canberra, I went into the kitchen of the two-bedroom apartment we shared, early in the morning, and a tiny bit of glass went into my heel. I had my dressing gown on and was trying to get it out. Jacqui saw me, got the tweezers and pulled it out and she’s like, “Jesus, now I’ve seen your fanny, bloody hell!”

Jacqui made that comment on breakfast radio in 2014 about wanting a guy with a big “package” and a big salary. She jokes about not getting a shag but the truth is she could get that if she wanted but she’s got a high bar and she is incredibly passionate about her work.

Jacqui knows what it’s like to be right at the bottom of the barrel. She struggled a lot more than I did. She managed to scrape it together and buy a house. She’s very good with money and I’m not; she nags me about that.

My son, Zammy, is 28. Jacqui’s got two sons around similar ages: Brentyn and Dylan. We both kind of comfort each other in the way that mums do. “I’m worried about him.” “It’ll be okay.” She talks about seeing her younger son [Dylan] in front of her and just going, “I don’t know who this person is.” [Dylan battled an ice addiction in 2015.]

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Jacqui went through army training pregnant with her first child. She found out after three or four months of being pregnant; she just thought, “I’m training so hard that I’m missing a period.” So she said to Brentyn, who’s in the army, “You don’t need to go through army training; you went through it in the womb.”

She’s tough, but tough doesn’t mean not kind. I watch her on the phone to veterans, sometimes late into the night, and I say to her, “Has everyone got your phone number?”

My dad was a big wheel in Australian TV and he used to say, “You treat the cleaner the same as the CEO.” Jacqui does that. She wants to make the world more equitable for people like her. I care about people who don’t have any power and she cares about that a lot, too.

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