Cocktail

We've had a babysitter now for two nights running; the dozy babysitter on Saturday and the sensible one on Sunday. The thing is, the dozy babysitter's much cheaper than the other one but she's so dozy that I never feel confident going further away than the eastern suburbs, which is how we came to be in Coogee on Saturday. And look, I'm sure she's fine, you know, but she also has a part time job serving on a checkout and I swear she doesn't recognise me when I see her there, which doesn't exactly inspire me with confidence.

Anyway, two babysitters in two days may seem frivolous, but when you consider I haven't been out at night since the beginning of November, you see our predicament stuck in the flat in the most beautiful city in the world. Not that we haven't wanted to go out, just that we've been either too exhausted to get round to organising it or else Darren's been going out with people from work on his night off or he's been tied to some on-call shift with the chopperdocs. Either way, it's always me staying at home.

The thing is, some people take their kids out with them at night, and I know this because I see them rugged up in blankets being pushed around Circular Quay at 11pm, though the kids don't exactly look happy about it. Kate and her husband let their kids stay up well past ten o'clock, but their kids wake up later in the morning as a result (like 10am) whereas Ella's on some sort of James Bond nano-clock that goes off at roughly the same time no matter what time she went to bed. And spending the following day with an unpleasantly grumpy and argumentative toddler somehow doesn't seem worth the luxury of going out the night before.

Anyway, with the sensible babysitter safely installed back home, we made a run for the city and had drinks at the Fortune of War on George Street, which contests the title of Sydney's Oldest Pub (and hence, Australia's oldest pub) because the landlord of that pub has been squabbling over the matter of who got the first license with the landlord of the Lord Nelson for decades now. I don't think the matter's been resolved; the Lord Nelson claims it's older by eight days, but anyway, the Fortune of War looks like the inside of the old victorian pubs in Manchester's northern quarter (and if you've never been there, you should).

Afterwards we headed to the Opera Bar, where I had a moonlight ride cocktail courtesy of my friend Natalie, who sent me a $20 cocktail voucher (read, $20 note) for my birthday, which either the customs people nicked from the parcel or else I totally failed to spot. Anyway, we took $20 from the ATM to make up for it, which covered the cost nicely, so here it is (as promised).

And then we had a walk around looking at the preparations for NYE, which include this light show in front of the opera house and these swanky yachts parked up right in front of the Park Hyatt hotel just waiting for it all to begin. The theme this year is The Time of Our Lives and the big secret is the circular thing on the side of the bridge, which everyone's speculating about but I think surely has to be a clock.

And in true Aussie style, there are rules and regulations all over the place, this being the most rule-obsessed place I've ever visited. So my step-brother's flat and the street he lives on are subject to a ridiculous number of rules for NYE, like no cars can come and go after 4pm and no pedestrians after 7pm. No alcohol can be brought in after midday and the building itself has hired a security firm to ensure each flat has no more than ten guests (with no more than two on the balcony at any one time), so if your name's not on the list, you're (quite literally) not getting in.

Oh yeah, and the chopperdocs have broken a promise not to put Darren on call, so he's on call for the international arm of the company until half seven the following morning. Rules about rules, though not when it comes to keeping your promises.

City at Sunset

Heading out along the coast past Bondi beach last night we stopped to take in the beautiful view of the city from the cliffs above Double Bay. They were busy fencing the park off and putting up tents ready for the NYE celebrations as it's a pretty good vantage point, though not as good as having your own house with the same view.

Bronte

We remembered today why we rarely make the effort to go to Bronte. Not that Bronte's far away, it's a five minute drive, but because once you've got there it's very difficult to park your car.

Today was the busiest I've ever seen it and unfortunately there were bluebottle jellyfish in the sea, which put us off and led us to swimming in the Bronte Ocean Baths and bogey holeyou can see to the right hand side of the second photo. Don't ask me what a bogey hole is, but the ocean baths has nesting birds tucked away under the cliffs and crabs scooting around the edges looking for their lunch. It's a glorious spot, one of those infinity pools where you're at eye level with the ocean.

We might not go to Bronte often, but I'll miss the option of going there when we get home.

Anyway, I have a theory that Bronte brings out the largest designer sunglasses of all Sydney's beaches and they certainly didn't let us down today.

The Beginning of the End

Saturday 29th December

After lunch we drove ten minutes down the road so the kids could have a splash about in the waters of Port Hacking, where we also found some lovely starfishes. Ella and the boys had a great time barging onto one another and knocking each other over in the water, she never wanted it to end.

By half five we were packed up and heading back into the city, having said our final goodbyes to our new friends. So that's it, we had lunch, we went into the water, we may never see them again in our lives. We held it together, but this evening a man came to buy the futon in Ella's bedroom and I thought, you know, that's it, the beginning of the end and I shed a tear as I hoovered the (shamefully dusty) space on the carpet where it had previously been.

"I don't know what's wrong with me" I said to Darren. "I didn't even like that futon and nobody ever slept on it anyway".

"Well that Japanese bloke who just bought it liked it" he replied. "He came by bus and ordered a taxi home with it"

"What? A double futon and wooden base, in a taxi? Did he get it in?"

"I've no idea, but he's gone now, and so's the futon"

We went out for a few drinks at the Beach Palace Hotel to drown our sorrows. You could say we drank and ate the futon, as that's where the money went. Then watching the sky turn lilac over the twinkling lights of the eastern suburbs we pondered again whether we'll be returning to live in Sydney. It's a tough call, especially as the Australian lifestyle's done wonders for my youthful appearance; tonight I got asked for ID for probably the first time in my life. And that includes drinking in Warrington town centre when I was fifteen.

Backyards

Saturday 29th December 2007

Today we drove down to the shire to have lunch with Pippa and David, and in Ella's case, to sample all the goods on offer in the traditional aussie backyard, which include a trampoline and a slide and the choice of red or brown sauce to squirt on your barbequed sausage.

And then I spotted this nice tub of vegemite in the fridge, the medium sized one, not the industrial sized one and I couldn't help getting a photo of it for posterity.

Wildlife Warrior

I was taking Ella to nursery one day last week when I came across a lizard on the stairwell. Not one of these blue-tongued lizards, you understand, just a little lizard.

Anyway, after eleven months down under I've become much more accustomed to the wildlife, so I thought what would Steve Irwin do? and began furiously bashing at the step with Ella's pink rucksack, which might not have been exactly what Steve would have done, but it certainly gave the right message to the lizard.

The lizard then threw himself down two flights as though in some sort of suicide bid, though it wasn't a very successful suicide bid because he ended up dazed and confused on the ground floor but still managed to move his scaly little arse towards the door when he saw me coming. A wildlife warrior I may not be, but that's the third creature I've spared in the last three months, all in the name of the crocodile hunter, Australia's national hero.

So today when I did see an enormous blue-tongued lizard, I was blown away by how gorgeous he was and how the miner birds (yes, that's how they spell it here) were teasing him as he crossed the road in Centennial park; his enormous electric blue tongue swiping at them whenever they pecked him. I couldn't believe he was just ambling across the road - you should have seen the size of him, like the size of a ferret.

And when I slowed down the car and drove alongside him, the miner birds stayed away and left him alone and I thought what would Steve Irwin do? and I couldn't decide whether he'd let the birds carry on pecking at him, you know, because that's the law of the jungle, or whether he'd say the lizard was a silly arse for exposing himself on the road and he'd try to relocate him into the long grass where the birds wouldn't spot him so easily.

Anyway, I wasn't about to stop the car and relocate him myself, so instead I drove alongside him as he walked along the curbstone, stubbornly refusing to retreat from the side of the road back into the grass because he was quite enjoying the novelty of having a Honda CR-V as a chaperone and looking back at the birds whispering nur-nur-nur-nur-nur, or something like that. And I trailed him for ages and in the end I wound down the window and started leaning across the passenger seat making hissing noises, which didn't scare him off but did scare Ella, especially when I hit the curb because I wasn't looking where I was going.

I lost patience with him in the end and called out that he was a bloody idiot and was going to get himself killed. And just as I did I realised I was being observed by two of Sydney's yummiest mummies, neither of whom would have been seen dead shouting at a blue-tongued lizard out of the passenger side of their car.

I still don't know what Steve Irwin would have done. The only two things I do know are that (a) eleven months as a Sydneysider and I'll shout abuse at anything, human or animal and that (b) the birds continued harrasing the lizard after I drove away, so my efforts were in vain. Sorry Stevo mate, but I tried.

Newfangled

For Christmas I was given an i-pod shuffle. If you don't know what that is, it's a silver paperclip that stores 250 of your favorite songs. I think it might be an MP3 player but I'm not sure. Anyway, it's brilliant for using in the gym.

To load my music onto it I had to go onto i-tunes, which is a sort of website, I think, but also somewhere we stored all of our CDs before we transferred them to Darren's i-pod (which I had nothing to do with). Actually I'm a bit confused about what i-tunes is.

Have you been on i-tunes? It's like a shop, but you can also buy audiobooks and download podcasts, which are free. I think I can pay with Paypal if I can remember my password. There were some audiobooks that looked great but I didn't download them because I'm not sure whether you can put audiobooks onto the i-pod shuffle and I'm scared I might break it if I try.

And anyway, audiobooks aren't much good on the treadmill.

I feel tired even thinking about all of this. I just want music through my headphones, something that won't fall off me in the (unlikely) event I do any running. Now I know how my Nan felt when the Walkman was invented.

Thank God I don't belong to the i-pod generation. Generation X suits me fine.

...and the Living is Easy

A few shots I took around Watson's Bay this afternoon to show you how the Aussies approach boxing day.

In the last picture the girl was helping push the boat off the sand - note the queue for the Watson's Bay ferry stretching all the way along the jetty in the background. More to the point, notice that thing she's wearing, which looks like something Hattie Jacques would have poured herself into for the purpose of seducing a terrified Kenneth Williams. And they call it fashion.

Anyway, if you think that ferry queue looks bad, the queue for the fish counter at Doyle's take away was an hour, which is why we brought the picnic.

Through the Heads

(a) Bruce Taylor's Chutzpah rounds the heads at Gap Bluff

(b) The ship we visited at the maritime museum accompanies the yachts through the heads - they were selling tickets for $250 a throw to be on board

(c) A police helicopter hovers in front of the crowds gathered on the cliff at Gap Bluff, just to say hello. This was one of eleven helicopters surveying the harbour this afternoon, most of them from the press.

Boxing Day

Ahh, Boxing Day; the day for rugby league and cold frosty walks to a country pub. Snatching half an hour to look at the books you've been given for Christmas and deciding what order you'll read them in. Convincing yourself it's really still Christmas in order to justify sticking your snout into that big tin of Cadbury's Roses.

Except this is Australia, where boxing day means stinking hot weather and the Melbourne test match and the start of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. And all that left over ham.

The weather was glorious today, seeming like a whole different season from the cold and dull conditions we had yesterday, so we headed down to Watson's Bay with what felt like half the population of the eastern suburbs for the start of the yacht race.

The Sydney to Hobart yacht race has been running for the last sixty-two years and it's a really big deal on the Australian sporting calendar, right up there with the Melbourne cup. It's when the people of Sydney all flock down to the parks and beaches along the shores of the harbour to get a glimpse of the floating action.

There are plenty of good vantage points along the harbour, but the best ones are found around the north and south heads, where you can see the yachts coming up the waters of Port Jackson and (if you're quick enough) run over to the other side of the headland to watch them start their ocean journeys south towards Tasmania.

To be honest, I was feeling a bit half-arsed about going to see the yacht race, not least because I knew that (a) we'd have to lug a picnic and drinks and the big blue IKEA bag we use as a beach bag (which, I can assure you, is full to bursting every time we leave the house) and (b) I also knew there was bugger all chance of parking the car at Watson's Bay so we'd have to park somewhere else and get on a bus, not exactly easy with all that luggage plus the big camera bag, zoom lens, a collapsed pushchair and a two year old.

And then again, when exactly have we taken the easy option during all our time down under?

So we made the effort, and yes, it was good and now I can say I've seen the beginning of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race on boxing day, along with the Sydney Mardi Gras and the Australia Day celebrations and the cricket at the SCG. All that's left is the new year fireworks.

(a) The flotilla of yachts approaching Watson's Bay along Sydney Harbour.

(b) The crowds leaving Robertson Park to climb up to Gap Bluff as the yachts come through the heads and into the ocean.

Cold Turkeys

The question is, will you believe me when I say it was freezing cold on the beach yesterday afternoon, albeit an improvement on the rain that had been forecast.

Laura's just arrived from the UK and even she sat snuggled up in a sweatshirt. Then Darren and Steve went running into the sea and we all stood and watched. I mean, yes, it's Christmas day and yes, that's the Pacific Ocean, but there's no rule the two have to go together, is there?

Christmas Dinner

There must have been five hundred santa hats on the reserve behind Coogee beach this afternoon, a significant number of them belonging to scouse santas, which meant christmas dinner with one eye on the eskie.

Some people were barbequeing on the council barbeques. Some brought little charcoal barbeques. Then one group rocked up at about 2pm wheeling a full-sized gas barbie onto the grass and proceeded to cook their own weight in seafood, seafood being just as important on the Australian Christmas menu as the ubiquitous ham.

Anyway, I didn't spot a single turkey apart from ours, and with the picnic set out on a table with an actual tablecloth, I reckon we set the bar pretty high. We even had cranberry sauce. The only thing missing was the Queen, but we drank a toast to her at 3pm in good British style.

Christmas Morning

We started the day on the park at the south end of Coogee, and there was nothing else for it but cranking up one of the council barbeques and tucking into bacon barm cakes, or bacon in damper rolls if you're being Aussie about it.

Then Ella climbed into the splash pool and started trying to work out the tap and I remembered we hadn't brought her a change of clothes.

Bugger.

Christmas, Sydney Style

1. Ella's breakfast

2. Security guard employed to guard the ice delivery, Shell Garage, Coogee

3. Surf lifesavers, Coogee Beach

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve, 7pm, Coogee Beach

We came home and played Now That's What I Call Christmas and for the first time this year we heard Slade and that other one, I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day.

All together now....when the snowman brings the snow, well he just might like to know, he's put a great big smile on some sunburnt face (dum dum dum dum dum).

Or something like that.

Happy Christmas from Sydney, wherever you are in the world.

Out of Mind

I had a phone call from Kate this morning, you know, Bradley's mum. I haven't seen her for a few weeks because they've been to Brisbane to see whether they'd like to live there and as soon as they got back, her in-laws arrived for Christmas.

She phoned me this morning as I was browsing the petshop at Bondi Junction with Ella, and continued to hold a lengthy conversation with me despite the fact I was simultaneously trying to arm-wrestle a Christmas stocking of doggie treats from Ella, who was intent on tucking in.

"You don't sound your usual chirpy self" she said. "Is it because you're going home in three weeks?"

"Well partly, yes, but also because Ella's got her mouth around a bone-shaped dog chew and I'm trying to prevent her from eating it"

"Oh" she continued. "Anyway, yeah, we liked Brisbane but I'd need to go back a second time before I'd commit to living there. My first impression was it's not a patch on Sydney, but you know what Sarah? Nowhere on earth's a patch on Sydney and that's something we'll just have to accept"

I thought for a minute. I mean, it's odd that she doesn't feel she'll commit to moving up to Brisbane without visiting a second time, yet she brought her whole family to Australia on the back of one ten day holiday. Leaving Sydney's going to be more of a wrench for her than I realised.

"So how's your first Christmas in Sydney?" she asked "Have you got relatives to visit?"

"No" I replied, "no relatives. And yeah. it's a bit weird but it's a nice change from all the hard work that usually goes with it and I actually quite like it. The only thing is, we feel a bit forgotten"

"Well Sarah, I thought that might happen. It happened to us and at first it upset me but afterwards I just thought, you know, it's only people. I thought I'll go and live the best life I can for me and my family and that's what I did. This is our second year in Sydney and we only received five Christmas cards from the UK. I sent thirty-five but I don't think people can be bothered to make to effort to go to the post office"

"Well we've got nine, if you don't count the ones from family. It's a real surprise, a leveller. It makes you realise you're not really that important to people. Makes me think of all the people who say oh please don't emigrate, we'd miss you so much and I think, yeah, sure you'd miss me. I do all your organising.

Honestly Kate, when we're at home we spend an average of sixty or seventy pounds a month on cards and presents, you know, such and such had a baby, such and such moved house. Then there's the thank you bottles of wine and the birthday presents. I send over forty birthday cards every year, I invite people home for dinner and we don't get a return invitation and no, I don't think my cooking's that bad. And you know what? I'm over it, so over it. Some people haven't actually bothered to reply to my e-mails, can you believe that?"

"I can, sadly" she replied. "We've been through it ourselves. It's sad, that's all".

I thought about it when we got back, sat looking at the pitiful array of Christmas cards from home. A year abroad sure teaches you who your friends are. Your friends are the ones who make the effort to keep in touch.

Then Darren came back form the post office with a parcel from Natalie. She'd sent a Christmas present for Ella and a Cadbury's dipped flake for me and it really lifted my spirits. We're not forgotten after all.

Christmas Ham

Christmas eve, and as a change from the usual festive routine (you know, elbow deep in sausagemeat with Slade playing on the CD) I found myself preparing for Christmas the Australian way, and there's nothing more Australian than browsing the hams in David Jones' food hall, even if I've no intention of buying one.

The Christmas Ham is every bit as important on the Aussie Christmas dinner table as the turkey is on ours; butchers and supermarkets are full of them while the turkey's more difficult to get your hands on. Actually, the ham would probably be a better bet than the turkey, but apart from the fact they're huge (and very expensive) I somehow can't get past the need for a turkey, even in these balmy conditions.

The Christmas food shopping was left to the eighteenth hour because I'd arranged to meet up with Steve's partner Scott for the traditional hunting and gathering ceremony. But then Darren got called out to Wagga Wagga at half midnight to collect a sick patient (in the style of some sort of 1980's Flying Doctors episode) and there was nothing else for it but to go food shopping with Ella, so thank goodness for emergency snakes. (And incidentally, they simply call it Wogga, though I'd still like to go there).

Anyway, Scott turned up with Steve and their friend Laura, who's visiting from North Wales, so it was a motley band of five of us (plus the pushchair) doing the hunting and gathering, which probably meant we spent twice as much money and had twice as much fun picking out the picnic. All we need now is the weather. The forecast says rain, I'm just hoping they've got it wrong.

Get a Wiggle On

Well I never thought I'd say it but today we went to see the Wiggles live in concert at the Sydney Entertainment Centre and I haven't enjoyed anything as much since I saw Bono strutting his leather-clad stuff at Wembley Stadium on the Zoo TV tour.

And I don't want you thinking we just rocked up either, because Pop Goes the Wiggles is the hottest ticket in town, so hot that we spent most of the day they went on sale sitting in a telephone queue trying to get hold of three seats, and that was back in July. They're onto a good thing those Wiggles because not only did the seats cost sixty bucks each, the show only lasted about an hour, which is pretty much all pre-school kids will put up with, and to top it off, the helium balloons were selling at $10 a time, which Chopperdoc's still moaning about.

Ella enjoyed the show, though I think she was a bit overwhelmed by the size of the arena and the sight of all those other kids when she'd been expecting a private audience with Jeff the purple one. Anyway, there was a lot of wiggling going on in my seat, not so much in hers, though she did bag herself a feathersword and a tour tee-shirt. You can see this show anywhere in the world, but there's something special about seeing them in their hometown, or beautiful Sydney as they called it. And the tour teeshirt's pretty special as well.

After the show we met up with Jan and Saul for lunch in a dim sum place in neighbouring Chinatown. Jan had also just been to see the Wiggles and had taken her husband and parents along for the ride, both in their late sixties and both having danced their socks off in time to the good clean fun as her father described it. As I suspected, they're both exceedingly posh, but very good company and in very good spirits after the show.

"So you come to Sydney every year?" I asked, twisting the lazy susan to get my hands on the char-sui pork.

"Yes" said Peter. "It's rather embarassing really. We rent out a flat at Woolwich and we have a car there that's registered in Jan's name. We go home to Stockport in February and return in November. The grandchildren are here, you see. Annie doesn't fly so well as she used to, she's had cancer twice and she's almost seventy, but my goodness what a treat you have in store when you get to Australia. We try to do a different bit of it every time. This time we're sailing from Sydney to Tasmania, I'm looking forward to that"

"Has he told you about the flat?" Annie said. "It's terribly embarassing and makes us look as though we have money to burn, but you can't take it with you and we think, you know, let's enjoy life while we can"

"You wouldn't consider coming out here for good?" I asked

"Well we would, definitely" said Peter, "but since Annie's had cancer she has to have a certain number of years free of the disease before they'll accept her as a resident. They're a bit funny about that"

"So if you had your time again, would you have emigrated here when your children were small?"

"Absolutely, yes" came the emphatic reply, from both of them. "I wish my parents had brought me here" said Annie, "it's an incredible place".

After lunch we drove over to Manly and made sandcastles on the beach. With every day that passes I feel more and more inclined to emigrate. Perhaps it's just I don't want this year to end, though I know it has to. I simply can't imagine Sydney as a holiday destination any more, I'm not sure I can be content with coming here every five years when we've been able to call it home. It's so blue, so shiny. I wish I could bring it home to show you.

Kids' Stuff

More free stuff at Randwick this afternoon - aside from the crazy golf and bouncy castle, there was a clown juggler and a display of animals from the people out at city farm.

And then there was the face painting and this lovely kids' go-cart circuit. Nothing better than pouring your fat arse into a kids' jeep when your clothes are already stuck to your skin with the humidity. 'Tis but a mark of the love I have for this child that I suffer such indignity.

Chocolate Santa

Another weekend, another Santa, though I think this one was a RADA Santa because not only did he do a special photo face, he was plastered in the sort of make-up required for an average night out in Warrington town centre. And you can tell you're in Australia - this is the first time in my life I've ever seen Santa swatting flies.

Anyway, he was free and he gave out chocolate stockings from a coolbox, though I winced when I considered the fate of the chocolate stored underneath Ella's puchchair. Now I know why they pack the Cadbury's full of that anti-melting agent that takes away the taste. It's all about Santa.

A Day at the Races

Well after a brief respite yesterday, the weather's returned to the sultry and humid conditions we've been seeing a lot of late. If this was the north west of England we'd all be agreeing it was very close, but in Sydney it's just lots of puzzled looks and disgruntled mutterings about La nina and sub-tropical conditions. And more recently there's talk of Cyclone Tracey and people who remember the wet summer of 1974 shaking their heads and looking a bit worried.

Today was stinking hot, so hot that Ella was sick, though the forecast said only 28 degrees. Having surveyed the skies and decided rain wasn't imminent we trooped off on foot to the Royal Randwick racecourse, a fifteen minute walk down the road, where they were having a family fun day to entice us war-battered parents through the gates for the races. Entry was free for people with children under eighteen, which was fitting really, as we've been driving past the racecourse all year lamenting the fact we can't actually go and see any horse racing with Ella the age she is. Then lo and behold, turns out she's our get in free card.

The racing industry in Australia has been pretty beleagured this year following an outbreak of horse flu that put paid to any race events for months on end. And then they announced the Pope's coming to Sydney next year and they're holding the rally at Randwick, so that's going to bugger up the racing as well. People aren't happy.

Anyway, we had a flutter on the horses and one of mine came first (I chose him because he was called Takeover Target, which appealed because I think it's high time someone did take over Target and start stocking some decent clothes), but I only won $16 so we won't be putting a deposit on a waterfront property any time soon.

Aussie

It's been a funny day today because the sun's finally shown it's face and with the summer weather comes a profound sense of sadness at the life we've got to leave behind. Sure, you can go to nice places on holiday and feel sad to leave, but for the last year this has been our real life, not a holiday. This has been our home, we've been driving our own car, sleeping in our own bed. Now we have to return to Britain knowing it's all going on without us and there's no easy (or cheap) way back.

This morning Ella and I joined Jan and Saul in Centennial Park, where the sun was already searing the ground at 9.30am, rendering the swings and slides completely unusable. Jan's recently returned from five weeks in the UK, most of which she spent at her parents' house in Cheshire. In common with every other Pommie family we know, she's now been joined by her parents for Christmas, the escape from a British winter (or the lure of the glorious southern land) being too much for any of them to resist. And the thing is, now all their families have arrived, it makes you feel sort of alone.

Jan's parents come to Sydney every summer and spend four months in an apartment they rent all year. I'm assuming they leave it empty for the rest of the year and I'm assuming they're loaded, because I can't even imagine what this sort of thing costs to them on an annual basis. "They like to know where they're staying" explains Jan. "I'd rather spend it in John Lewis" I reply, wincing at the thought of leaving the place empty for eight months at a time.

"So how was Blighty?" I asked, wiping Ella's hands free of Vegemite

"Well the first two weeks were glorious" she replied. "The autumn weather was gorgeous and it wasn't as cold as usual for that time of year. We drove across the Peak District and the colours were, you know, those golds and oranges, simply stunning, and for a while I felt quite nostalgic"

"But not enough to go back?"

"No. After that it all became very grim and cold and I felt really couped up indoors all the time. I mean, it's the first time I've been home with Saul and I thought, God, what do British kids do all winter? Admittedly Sydney's got nothing to offer when it rains, but Christ we spend most of the year outdoors one way or another, we have barbeque picnics in the park all winter"

"I know" I replied watching Ella chase Saul in her bare feet, "complete with picnic table and gingham cloth. It's serious business. So what other impressions did you get?"

"Well the shopping was a joy in comparison. The clothes were better made and it was easier to find something that suited me. I mean, I'm a big girl and the weather here gets so hot you have to choose some sort of skimpy get-up and that sort of thing just doesn't suit me. And add to that it'd probably be in some lurid shade of yellow and, well, you get the picture"

"I do" I said. "The clothes here are appalling, the cotton must be really poor grade stuff, even the jeans are made of really thin demin, the sort you don't get too hot in. I've given up on shopping for me and thank God for hand-me downs for Ella because my friends back home have kept her in clothes all year"

"Well I bought up half the undies in Marks and Spencer and I was pleased about that but very glad to get back, and I thought God, it's not my home anymore. That place just isn't my home. Anyway, what about you?"

"We leave in just over three weeks"

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh my God. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know" I replied. "But I keep looking at Ella in the sunshine, all the running and jumping and swimming she does. She's so incredibly happy here, despite us having to live in a little flat. I don't know how she'll adapt. I feel we brought her here and introduced this great quality of life and she was like the luckiest child in the world, and now I'm looking at Saul and looking at Ella and I feel so sad for her; what are we doing taking all of this life away from her?. I feel wretched about it"

Jan nodded. "The problem is, she's an Aussie now. I know she lived in the UK before, but she doesn't remember it, all her memories are here. She's just as Australian as Saul is, only he's got the passport".

I bit my lip and tried not to cry. My head says stay in Britain, my heart says you want the passport. Darren feels the same but neither of us likes talking about it.

"Look" said Jan (Sydneysiders start a lot of their sentences with look). "I know you're not asking my advice but I honestly think you should put in your residency application. I mean, what have you got to lose? They take about a year to process and then once you've been approved you have four or five years to activate it, and you only need to enter the country to do that.

So what if you decide it's not what you want? At least if you put in the application then the process will have been completed when you make your decision, so you won't have to spend another year waiting around. If you decide it's what you want then you can come right away, no messing about".

She's right, of course, but I can't help feeling it would be a big step putting in the application, because putting in the application amounts to some sort of admission you'd consider leaving Britian permanently, and when we set out in January I didn't really think we would.

This evening I took Ella down to the beach at Coogee for her tea as Darren had been called out to the Hawkesbury on a job. She devoured the fish and chips from the Chish and Fips kiosk (she takes her own bottle of Heinz tomato ketchup every time; an appreciation of the finer things starts earlier than I imagined) until there was hardly anything left of them. Afterwards we played football on the grass and sat on the beach watching the swimmers and burying each others' feet in the sand.

"We're going to England on a plane" I said to her

"It's cold there" she replied. "I'm taking my blanket"

"Don't worry, it's toasty warm in our house" I offered. "But it won't be sunny like in Australia. It will get sunny soon, in the summer, but for now we'll have to stay inside the house and keep dry"

"I don't want not have sunshine" she said, in the same way she says she doesn't want to go to bed or doesn't want to have a bath. "I want Australia".

How do you answer that?