Jess Bartlett

Ah, Jamberoo, the little 'village' that could... if only it were not in denial about what it actually is and had the vision to know what it could achieve if it would just grow up. Local folks are standing their ground against more subdivisions, apparently to preserve a quaint and thriving 'village' vibe, but let's be real, it's a village with more tumbleweeds than excitement.

Picture this: an overpriced IGA, an antique shop that seems to be collecting dust for its own 'antiques' which are probably just mass-produced items purchased off AliBaba, a pretty boring bakery selling dry scones and 90s vanilla slices, a bowling club that's begging for a reno, and a pub that clings to life thanks to a gang of weekend warrior motorcycle riders who think they're on a wild adventure.

Jamberoo seems to have some grand ambitions of being a highlands hideaway for the posh and exclusive, but it's more like a distant relative of the backwater family. The roads leading into town, whilst pretty, are lined with 90s 'country' homes, and the town itself is less 'quaint charm' and more 'quaint alarm' because there's nothing that screams prestige like a tumbleweed rolling by, or a local wearing an ill-fitting pair of board shorts and a dero cap they purchased from Surf Dive 'n' Ski in 2002.

There's this odd sense of misplaced pride when locals declare they call Jamberoo home. It's as if they're the captain of a sinking shop proudly announcing their title while the water is gushing in. And let's talk about the illusion of exclusivity. Unless you're living in the purist air at the tippy-top of the town, it's all just as bogan as Albion Park, but with more elbow-room for activities.

It's time to drop the act.