“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn’d / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn’d.” - William Congreve That hot sticky December morning, Medea swept down Melbourne’s grungy Gertrude Street brandishing the newspaper. She could think of a lot of things she’d like to do to that journalist. Wrap him up and throw him on a bonfire for starters.There’s me, expecting a bit of coverage from friendly Roving Reporter. But no, they send in their wannabe, Head Honcho. He’s right into