Julian_Croft

Julian Croft: Sex, Money, and Living in TownsvilleG'day. I'm Julian Croft. Born and bred in Townsville, North Queensland. I’ve spent the last twenty-plus years working in the trenches of human connection – as a sexologist, a dating coach, and, for a while, a researcher. These days, I write about my city for the CamoWallet project over at camowallet.app. But my real education? That came from the humidity, the relationships that didn't work, and the ones that almost did.I came into this world at the old Townsville General Hospital on January 17th, 1978. Back then, that place was the heart of the city, perched right on The Strand. You could practically hear the waves from the maternity ward. My parents had a little worker's cottage in Railway Estate, a stone's throw from the Ross River. I remember the monsoon season that year was a ripper – the river broke its banks, and the whole suburb smelt like mud and mangoes for weeks. That's my first memory, if you can call it that: the feel of that thick, wet heat and the sound of the cicadas screaming from the paperbark trees.Growing up in Townsville in the 80s and 90s was a strange mix of small-town conservatism and tropical hedonism. School at Townsville Grammar was all about rugby and discipline. But after hours, we'd be down at The Strand, watching the sun set over Magnetic Island, sneaking cheap booze, and figuring out the confusing dance of attraction. I worked at the old Tobruk Memorial Pool on The Strand as a lifeguard in my late teens. Saw a lot of clumsy flirting there, a lot of teenage hearts getting broken on those concrete stands. One summer, I dated a girl from Aitkenvale. Her dad was a meat worker at the abattoirs. That relationship taught me more about class, money, and the unspoken pressures on a couple than any textbook ever could. It ended, badly, because that's what happens when you're young and don't know how to talk.And Townsville... look, I know its every scar and secret. I know the feeling of the bitumen on Flinders Street melting in December. I know the precise spot on Castle Hill where you go to clear your head after a fight with your partner – it's the third lookout, the one that faces the Strand. I've lived in a dozen different places – a share house in Hyde Park with a broken air conditioner, a cramped flat in North Ward with a view of the water I could barely afford. I've had coffee at the same cafe on Palmer Street for fifteen years; they don't even ask for my order anymore. This city isn't just a dot on a map for me. It's the smell of the mangroves at low tide, the way the light hits the granite on the hill at 5 pm. It's the backdrop to every stupid, beautiful, and heartbreaking thing I've ever done.Honestly, I’m not sure if my work made me good at relationships, or if my failures in relationships made me good at my work. Probably the latter. I spent years with the Queensland Association for Healthy Relationships, running workshops out of a stuffy office in West End. I'd be talking about attachment theory one minute, and the next, I'd be mediating a fight between a couple from Kirwan about who left the esky out in the rain. I was good at it because I'd been there. I knew the feeling of your stomach dropping when you realise you're not on the same page about money. Or the quiet terror of bringing up non-monogamy to a partner you grew up with in a town where everyone knows everyone. My own love life was... a long series of field studies, let's say. Marriages that fizzled out, passionate affairs that burned too bright and fast. You collect a lot of data points. And through it all, I was writing, trying to make sense of the chaos. My PhD from James Cook University was all about how couples in North Queensland talk about money. Riveting stuff, I know. But it's real.And that brings me to now. I've stepped back from the front lines. I'm not taking on new clients. Instead, I'm writing for the CamoWallet project. It's a funny pivot, isn't it? From sex to finance. But I don't think they're that different. It's all about trust, vulnerability, and having the hard conversations. I write pieces for their site about Townsville – the cost of living here, how young couples are navigating finances, where to go for a first date that won't break the bank but might just lead to something real. I profile the city I love, through the lens of money and relationships. Because you can't understand one without the other. And at the end of the day, whether it's a swipe on an app or a joint bank account, we're all just trying to connect. Still trying to figure it all out, right here in Townsville.