Boomerangs

I took Ella to Lyne Park at Rose Bay today. The photo is a google image, not one of mine, though it marks exactly the spot I was sitting on the grass in quiet contemplation while Ella had her afternoon nap.

Rose Bay is on the harbour. You can catch a ferry into the city for a couple of dollars or travel by seaplane if you've got the money. It's a nice neighbourhood; we considered living there but felt we'd be out of place with the other residents, many of whom are Japanese, most of whom are wealthy. It would have been handy for getting into the city, but not for much else.

The reason I'd gone to Lyne Park was because there's a great (shaded) playground hiding in the trees you can see on the far right of the picture. However, Ella fell asleep literally as soon as I put her into the buggy, so I did a quick reccy of the waters edge and headed off for a coffee at the cafe across the grass.

By now you may be getting the impression that I see more than my fair share of the inside of coffee houses. You'd probably be right.

Exploring the city alone poses a few practical problems. For example, yesterday I met up with a friend of a friend in Centennial Park. I'd arranged to meet her in the cafe but as she was slightly late and Ella was jumping around in the fountain, it was almost impossible to queue up at the kiosk for a coffee whilst simulatneously keeping an eye on Ella.

(And while we're on the subject, it's also a very odd experience meeting someone you've never met before if you don't actually know what they look like, especially when it's sunny and everyone is wearing sunglasses. All I knew was that she would have two children with her and one of them would have blonde curly hair. In the event I returned the wave of three different women who were waving at somebody else, simply because I couldn't see their eyes so couldn't tell where they were looking. I felt so tragic when they walked straight past me).

The cafe in Lyne Park is up some wooden steps onto a platform raised just above the ground. I went round the other side looking for a ramp but there wasn't one, so I struggled up the steps with the buggy, trying not to wake Ella while a group of women in expensive sunglasses watched me with interest. Every one of them looked as though they might be married to a Greek shipping millionaire and none of them offered to help, nor did they move their chairs an inch so I could get past them. When I sat down they strained their necks to peer into the pushchair, so I swung it round to where they couldn't see, sat down, ordered my coffee and pulled up the Sydney Morning Herald. Thank goodness we didn't come to live here.

Afterwards I went to sit on the grass and watched the boats on the harbour, wondering what it would be like to emigrate. I'm not sure. Being here for a year feels "safe". It's like you're on a long stretchy piece of rope, like you're a boomerang. What if our "real" furniture was here? What if we had sold our cars and bought "proper" cars here in Australia? What if there was nowhere to go back to? We have no relatives in the UK with houses big enough to accomodate us if we wanted to visit. We probably wouldn't get back there much, for exactly that reason. Our parents would probably visit, we'd probably pay. But what about our friends? There were two women sitting next to me on the grass. They had three dogs between them and were having one of those meandering conversations that you don't really have on the phone. I miss that. I know people, but I don't know anyone I want to have a meandering conversation with.

After Ella woke up, it began to rain. We never made it to the playground, we got back into the car and went home. Sitting at the traffic lights I was facing a silver VW Golf travelling in the opposite direction, it's wipers going full pelt. That's a famililar sight. That's my real car, my real weather, my real life. But how can we be happy with it after all of this? We're lucky to have the choice, but who wants to make a decision like that?