4 days on a plane

Well, since I was last here… I was there!



A few months ago I picked up a new role within SKM, that of Sustainability Practitioner. Now, I had no real idea what this meant but hey, it sounded cool and summer in the UK (I use that term lightly of course) is not a very busy time at work so I was looking for new challenges. I’d just like to point out that the fact the role meant a trip home to Australia had nothing to do with it!

After the intensive course in Sydney I caught a plane to Albury as my parents were serendipitously on the move from Tassie to Brisbane at that very time. Some time with Uncle Dud and Auntie Sheryl there then off to Barham to stay with Auntie Joan and Uncle Wayne, not to mention catching up with Uncle Alec, Auntie Joy and cousins Roger, Suzie, Vanessa, Sarah and Brad! Brunch barbie by the river Murray....

I offered to drive as we headed west into what seemed like the most glorious sunset I’d ever seen, but after the long flight and then the tough course I couldn’t keep my eyes open so Dad had to take over again. But I kept trying to wake up to watch the sun fill the horizon as far as the (open) eye could see.

And this is something you don’t get in England – horizons. Unless you’re standing on the coast and have somehow managed a day without cloud, you can never really see far enough into the distance to get to the point where the earth curves (about 50 km I believe) without hitting hills, towns, motorways etc. It’s not just the fact that the houses are one room wide that makes me feel a touch claustrophobic here sometimes.

Another thing that hit me was just how much colour and light there is in the world. Even on a clear day here there’s less light than on a cloudy day in Sydney. You’d virtually never need sunglasses for example. And colour! It was like living in a Ken Done picture. Especially once we got to Bateman’s Bay and all along up the coast to the Gong (catching up with cousin Ben) back to the airport.

It was my first time home in nearly 2 years, but in a way it felt like more than that. NSW is a lot closer to my home town of Brisbane in every way than Perth and we worked out that it had been 12 years since I was last in Barham, where I was born. If I wait another 12 years before I go back I’ll be 45. Hmmm. Anyway, I kept trying to put my finger on what exactly is that vague cultural difference between west and east in Australia, and also England and Australia. I decided that it wasn’t a coincidence that there are so many english who end up in Perth – the two places have quite a bit in common. It’s not that people in England aren’t friendly; they are, and I’ve come across lots of very lovely types. It’s just that they don’t often initiate contact, and I think maybe Perth was a bit like that too.

It was going through the Sydney airport that made me think this. Something amusing happened on the way through security, and the guy in front of me automatically turned round to share the joke. That happens only rarely here (unless of course I’m the one doing the sharing). Everyone keeps a bit more to themselves. I don’t know, just a thought.

Finally, within about, oh I don’t know, 2 seconds! of stepping off the plane my accent flopped straight back into broader ocker mate. It’s like my throat had been kept in a corset for the last 2 years and when I took it off it just sagged into its natural shape. Rico thought it was particularly amusing when I spoke French! The corset had to come straight back on though when I reached Heathrow and nobody could understand me. I speak noticeably slower these days too.

Since then life’s been pretty hectic. Rico and his mum came to visit and I was rather proud of myself for devising the ULTIMATE 3 day “faces of England” tour. The itinerary was:

 Walk around the beautiful Dovestone Reservoir in the northern Peak District
 Stroll through quaint old village followed by traditional english pub lunch
 Night time visit to the Blackpool Lights, Blackpool being the absolute king of tacky – imagine something like and English Gold Coast but just really, really dodgy. Masses of very drunken hen’s and buck’s parties in matching comical shirts/outfitis, rock candy in the shape of bacon and eggs, game parlours, sex shops, nightclubs, tourist shops everywhere amongst the more traditional fish and chips (no donkeys at night though). And down the main promenade about 5 miles of lit… um, things (shapes, pictures etc – done this year by the host of the UK’s equivalent of Changing Rooms, or something like that – the Brits lap up their minor celebrities).
 Next day, off to Chatsworth House, scene of the recent Keira Knightly movie the Duchess, gorgeous stately manor set in impeccable gardens with long history of tasteful art collection and entertaining royalty (a bit different to the night before!)
 Then Monday in modern Manchester, a thriving European city with a mix of old and new architecture and increasingly urbanite lifestyle.

Miraculously it was bright sunshine almost everywhere where we got out of the car (kindly lent for the occasion by neighbour Helen) and deadly flooding throughout the rest of the country (literally, about 5 people killed).

Since, then, busy busy. Had a trip to watch the Sale Sharks (rugby union) play a match courtesy of a colleague with season tickets. Brilliant seat, Rico and I were able to watch The Beast from France Chabal score a try right in front of us. Next week off to London for the week then up to Newcastle for a few days then back to London then….

Next time – update on the French lessons….