Daddy or Chips?

Last time we came to Australia we flew over to Perth to watch an ashes test match. We had tickets for the first three days with the option to attend the fourth.

The match was hopeless; the only highlight a Yorkshireman who did a cracking impression of a claxon every time Brett Lee came in to bowl. I can't even remember the score, just the claxon man.

By the end of day two we'd decided to give it up as a bad job. On the Sunday we drove our hire car up the coast to Hillary's boatyard instead, listening to CMJ and Blowers covering the cricket for Test Match Special. It was a wise choice; the cricket was over by lunchtime.

It was a clear, warm day and Hillary's was full of families with small children, some paddling in the water, some on swings, all of them taking part in the great Aussie outdoor life. We stood on the harbour wall watching them. It turned out to be one of those defining moments in your life. We had no children of our own at the time, but I could see what opportunities Australia offered for any that might come along. It made my stomach churn thinking about it because I knew then that we'd have to consider living here and I didn't want to face having to make difficult decisions. I envied the Australians who had the best of both; all of this and their friends and family close by. I still envy them. I tell them at every opportunity.

Four years later, here we are, this time with a child who is growing up with the great outdoors. We're just pretending to be residents, but Ella doesn't know that, she thinks this is for real. She's learning how to be an Australian, she climbs, balances, runs, hops and swims. She licks sand, drinks salty sea water, pats dogs, dances in fountains and climbs the wrong way up slides. At night, before she goes to bed, she looks at a book of Australian wildlife and points out "platypus", "wombat" and "dingo dogs", which, she adds, "might bite". She hears kookaburras in the trees and tries to make the same noises. She lives in a world where daddy has time to do finger painting and play fuzzy felts and mummy has time (and inclination) to slice mangoes.

We were so sure that a year in Australia would "cure" the need to live here permanently, that it would begin to irritate us (and some things do; think cockroaches, humidity and lack of decent french cheese). Perhaps it's the honeymoon period or the fact I'm not working, but we are surprised how quickly it's felt like home. If only we had the people we love.

Earlier in the week, when I was driving her home from nursery, we stopped at some traffic lights. "Happy", she said suddenly. She's never used that word before. "Ella happy?" I replied, looking in the rear view mirror. "Mummy happy. Ella happy". She's right, we are happy.

I couldn't get it out of my head, so when I was drying her off after her bath I looked right at her and said "Sydney or England?". She laughed and said "Sydney", slowly and deliberately. Of course, she has no idea what I meant, but I told Darren about it later. "Perhaps we should let Ella decide" I offered. "she can make a random, whimsical decision that affects the rest of our lives. If it turns out wrong, we can hold it against her in our old age".

He laughed. Daddy or Chips? Daddy or Chips? A tough decision.