You Set What You Charge
Your price is yours. You put it on your page, a neighbour reads it before they write to you, and nobody haggles you down at the gate. Where you would rather look at a job first, you say so, and that is an answer too.
If You Are Fifteen To Eighteen
Your street already needs what you can do. Lawns that got away over winter, a dog nobody has walked today, a car, a shed, a kitchen table where somebody’s little brother is stuck on his homework.
Doing it for your neighbours means real responsibility, real trust, and a reputation you build on your own terms, a few doors from your own front gate.
Ready now? Start your own.
Fifteen is the age you can start, and that is the law rather than our rule. Under fifteen, an employer needs a permit — so we wait for you, and your fifteenth birthday is the day.
Your price is yours. You put it on your page, a neighbour reads it before they write to you, and nobody haggles you down at the gate. Where you would rather look at a job first, you say so, and that is an answer too.
A neighbour pays you directly, however the two of you agree. LocaLilly asks you for ten dollars a month to be here, with your first month free, and takes not a cent of what you earn.
Your words, in your voice, about the work you actually like. Every sentence on your page is one you wrote yourself, and you are met here rather than measured.
Every adult who can message you has paid a dollar on a real card in their own name. Your street travels with you and your house number stays yours.
A neighbour writes to you and you answer for yourself. Show any of it to the parent beside you whenever you like — you are running this, so who reads it is your call.
Pick as many as you like, and change them whenever you like. Your hours go around school, sport and the rest of your week.
Front and back, edges done, clippings taken away. The one everybody asks for first.
An hour of company. A cup of tea, a walk to the shops, a hand with a phone that has stopped making sense.
Setting up before, running the games during, and the clearing away nobody else wants at the end.
Weeding, raking, hauling, planting. The jobs that got away over winter.
Inside and out, at their place, with their hose. Bring your own bucket and you are worth more.
A garage, a pantry, a wardrobe, a shed. Turning up and making one room make sense again.
Maths at a kitchen table, reading with somebody small, or the essay a Year Nine has been avoiding.
An evening with the little ones so their parents get an evening of their own.
And whatever you are good at that is missing from this list — tell us in your own words when you build your business, and we will put it on the map.
$10
a month, once you are open
One lawn covers it and the rest of the month is yours.
Free
your first month
Long enough to find out whether your street wants what you can do.
Yours
every dollar you earn
A neighbour pays you directly. LocaLilly never touches it and never takes a cut.
Open in the first hundred and your first three months are free, counted from the day you are ready to work.
Seven moments, saved as you go. Stop halfway and come back next week — every word waits exactly where you left it.
Most of this is the same whatever your age. Here is the part that is not.
15
Fifteen is the day you can start, and that is the law rather than our rule. Younger than that, an adult hiring you needs a licence of their own — so we wait for you, and your fifteenth birthday is the day.
Before you can start, one parent signs one page — witnessed, and only that once. The account is yours, in your own name, from the first day.
16
At sixteen most banks let you run your own account on your own, so a neighbour can pay straight into it without anybody standing between you.
From sixteen there is no form at all. One parent’s name and email are still held, shown to nobody, so they can be reached if they are ever needed.
17
The work you have done is the part that keeps growing. Every job on your page comes with you into whatever you do next.
Your business carries on past every birthday. It stays yours.
On money and tax: you keep every dollar you earn here, and there is a yearly amount anybody in Australia can earn before paying any tax at all — well above what a few Saturdays will make. When you get close to it, that is a good conversation to have with your parent.
Whatever you choose sits on your own page, read before anybody writes to you, so the price is never a conversation you have to have.
Your business is yours and you open it yourself, and nobody sits on your account but you. At fifteen, your parent signs one page first — witnessed at a pharmacy, a bank, a police station or a post office — and it opens the day the page comes back. From sixteen there is no form. One parent’s name and email are held, shown to nobody, so they can be reached if they are ever needed.
It begins with your first name and your suburb, and it is yours from that moment. Each answer after it is saved as you go, so you can stop halfway through and pick it up next week exactly where you left it.
Six moments in all, and the last one brings in a parent. Start now and the first hundred to open get three months free rather than one, counted from the day you open.
Create Your BusinessBring a parent with you. It takes a minute and they only need to read it once.
If You Are Reading Over Their Shoulder
Every adult puts a dollar on a card in their own name before a single word reaches your young person. The card is real, the payment is on record, and their name, their family name and their address are held here before a word arrives.
Their first name, their suburb, their street, and the words they wrote themselves. Their family name and their house number are held for us alone, so we can reach you if you are ever needed.
Straight to them, from the neighbour, in whatever way you both agree. LocaLilly never touches what they earn, so nobody is holding their money and there is no account for you to guard.
Nobody sits on their account but them. Your name and your email are held here, shown to nobody, so you can be reached if you are ever needed. At fifteen you sign one page first, witnessed; from sixteen there is no form. Every word they wrote is kept exactly as they wrote it.
Fifteen is the age they can start, and that is the law rather than our rule.
Read The Whole Of It