Return to Oz

I’m totally aware of the irony in writing my next entry about the transition to London from a beach in Australia.

It reminds me just how different Australia is to the UK, despite our convict connections. I’m yet to even see a beach in England. I’ve heard they exist, but then again, some people think there’s a monster in the Loch Ness too.

But anyway, my return Down Under. After a day or two of weird, I’m back in the Melbourne swing of things.

My first day back I did feel like an imposter, no longer part of the tribe. Bronzed waifs danced the streets in front of me, attired in short shorts and sporting bras. The women weren’t wearing much either. I, on the other hand, was a pastey shade of pale and the only thing waif about me was the fact I’d skipped that fourth breakfast offered on the ludicrously long-haul flight.

At first, I was struck by how the familiar had become unfamiliar. I can’t put my finger on exactly what had changed. I think it was more that living in another place had given me a warped perspective of my old town. The buildings that had fit so perfectly together before now appeared slightly mismatched. I found myself thinking “I’m not sure that really works” more often than I care to admit. It also didn’t help that the city was full of tourists and undesirables, buzzing around in a drunken Australian Open frenzy. I was left with a devastating impression that Melbourne had lost its class.

But day-by-day, the great about Melbourne revealed itself and I remembered the mise en scène is inconsequential to Melbourne. It’s about the people. And the food.

It’s been so great catching up with friends. Each conversation is a happy overload – six months of good times and anecdotes to cram into a few minutes of conversation. Nothing is boring. Except perhaps me and my repetitive take on life in London and how really, it’s not that cold.

The sun is behaving too. Admittedly, a few extra degrees wouldn’t go astray, but by and large it’s warm and sunny, as evidenced by the random burn marks on my feet. And I can’t wash my hair without a burning sensation. I really don’t know how the entire Slip, Slop, Slap campaign passed me by.

I’m getting to do some of my favourite things. Most involve putting on kilos and destroying my liver, but damn, if you’re going to do it, Melbourne is the place. I was also able to go to the Quarter Finals of the Australian Open which filled me with an extra sense of national pride, not because any Australians were playing but because I knew I’d have more chance becoming a member of the tennis sporting elite than I would have getting a ground pass to Wimbledon. I think I’ve said it before; Australia is easy.

Which all leads to the million dollar question – is it making me want to stay?

Not bloody likely. I still have a week to go but at the halfway mark, I can say I’m looking forward to going back. Mum will be devastated with the news, but the experience has been a nice reminder that Australia will always be here for me when I need her. Which is not right now.

David asked me, what exactly is it that you are looking forward to going back to in London. My mind went blank at first. But then, slowly, it came to me.

“I’m looking forward to getting back to the journey,” I said. “In London, I don’t have a past.”

I can’t wait to get back there and start creating one.