Adulthood is like looking both ways to cross the road and then getting hit by an aeroplane.

One day you’re winning, excited about setting up a new life in a new place and then the next you have a fungus* on your face and it’s raining EVERY DAY in the land where it’s not supposed to rain. I’m talking about Australia. WTF ‘straya?

Due to this sudden change in weather we bought our first heater last night, and it’s a beaut, thanks Aldi. We’d never had use of one previously as UK homes have this glorious thing known as central heating. God I miss being able to flick it on and get the living room toasty warm so I could sit around in a t-shirt.

I’d completely forgotten about the torrential rain and tropical storms that hit this part of the world. Everyone keeps saying to me; but you’ve come from London! You should be used to this! And they look at me like they’re the first person to have pointed this out. Well no, let me inform you that London rain is not rain. It is drizzle. One night of rain here in Australia feels like it’s more than the volume that falls in the UK in six months.

See how British I’ve become? I’m talking about the weather.

I know I’m not really British. But I feel like I am. I’m technically only 50% British, except when Phil’s in me of course, then it must be closer to 70-75%. Sorry that was vulgar. I hope my mum’s not reading this. Perhaps it’s closer to 60%, sorry babe.

But when I hear an English or an Irish accent my ears pique up and I make a beeline for them – asking them where they’re from, how they are liking Australia, do they miss home. They must think I’m a nutter, asking them such questions like we’re fellow country(wo)men, when my thick Kiwi accent surrounds my speech. I just have this kindred spirit to anything and anyone British. I do blame Phil, with his strong adoration for his country; at this moment we have nearly 15m of Union Jack bunting arriving on a ship from London that he just HAD to have – I have no fecking clue where we’re going to hang it. Perhaps the bathroom.

Basically, I’m homesick. Homesick for a country I have only lived in for six years. I say only, but they were six BIG years. I did so much, I learnt so much, I met so many people, I EXPERIENCED so much. I don’t think we’re experiencing Sydney in the way we should be. I blame us (and the weather). We do need to make more of an effort. It was fine while the sun was shining and I was new in my job so it all felt like a holiday. But now it’s real. Work is getting tougher, like I actually have to work. Shit is expected of me. Plus hanging over our heads is the visa process we need to go through for Phil, $7,000 and 12 months of processing. Every time I think of it I want to cry. But for him to be able to stay, and get a permanent job, it would need to be done.

I know I’ve been a real Debbie-downer on our whole move to Sydney so far, and believe-you-me it’s something I’d like to change. It may just take time… or it may never happen… eek! But I’ll add more posts about poo in between to keep things light and cheery.

*my sister says this is because I eat far too many mushrooms in any given week. I probably do. But I also don’t think she’ll be a medical professional anytime soon.

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