Clovelly Conversations

Jan's son Saul attends Ella's nursery. "I was a bit cheeky" she said. "I wasn't on their waiting list, then I got this job and phoned them up saying my 7-year old niece used to attend the centre when she was tiny. They gave me the next available slot". I told her the story about Niamh Dawson and how loosely knowing her mother had shunted me to the top of the queue.

Jan's a lawyer from Stockport who's been living in Sydney for seven years. She's given up her law career and works for a firm of advocates, earning "just about enough to cover the childcare" but is infinitely happier without the stress of a demanding job. They've gone from a large double income to living on just her husband's salary. I was interested on her perspective on life in Sydney.

"Do you miss the UK?" I asked.

"No" she started. "Though I miss the supermarkets for the ready meals. Oh and Marks and Spencers for clothes and John Lewis for everything. And I miss the countryside. And country pubs. And the media, especially the papers and Radio 4. And I miss the people, especially the humour".

"How do you find the lifestyle? Would you go back to Stockport?"

"Sometimes I think, if we lived in Stockport, I'd still be working in law and we'd have a big house with a garden. We're nowhere close to affording a house in Sydney, we have a flat with a roof terrace. Families in Sydney just accept that. We could have a house out in the sticks but I want to be in the city".

"So you're not going back then?

"Well the other thing is, I think, if we were in Stockport, what would I do with Saul? Where would I take him to play, especially in the winter? I miss my old friends and it's taken me a long, long time to make new ones, but you do make a few good friends eventually. It's a better place for the kids".

"But then they grow up and do their own thing" I added.

"I'd like my parents to come out", said Jan. "My brother's in Sydney too. He has two kids, so they have quite a bit of family here. The only thing is, my sister is back in Stockport with her kids. They'd have half of their grandchildren on the other side of the world however you look at it".

Jan invited me to meet up with her mothers' group at Clovelly beach this morning. Clovelly is a lovely ocean beach popular with families because the water is shallow and lacks any surf. It was 24 degrees and we were on today's approach to the airport, which meant a Qantasfest for me (and one 747).

The mothers' group all have children around the 15 month mark. Two of them are British. They both came to Sydney as a temporary move but decided never to go back.

"What about your houses?" I asked.

They had all three sold up, lock stock and barrel, without ever setting foot back in the UK.

"I just got my mother to itemise everything in the house and sent a list to family and friends setting out how much we wanted for everything" said Jan.

"Everything?"

"Everything".

I thought about what "everything" meant. I especially thought about the things with sentimental value. How can you leave "everything"?

"Selling up was tricky" said Claire. "But we did it".

"Oh, we couldn't make a decision, we're ditherers", said Nicola, rolling her eyes whilst simultaneously unwrapping a batch of home-made cup cakes. "Yeah, We're paying £1000 a year for a storage unit in London because we haven't got round to selling our stuff".

I'd never considered not going back, not until monday night, when Darren found out that he has the option to complete his training here, as the UK and Australia now have reciprocal arrangements. We both know we are going back, but it was delicious to enjoy the thought of just, well, buggering off, even if only for half an hour or so. The health service has been ruined, lots of doctors we know are planning or considering a move to Australia. It's a worrying thought that so many British Medics are planning to bail out. Who'll take their place? Oh, sorry, yes, nurses.

Then we came back to our senses.

The mothers' group are thinking of venturing to Taronga zoo sometime, they've never taken the children there.

"I can recommend Parsley Bay and Camp Cove" I said. "And the swimming pool at the olympic park, and the one at Sutherland".

"Where's Sutherland?" they chorused.

"And the ball pool at Marickville"

"We don't know that one. God, you get about don't you?".

That's the difference between a permanent resident and somebody grabbing every opportunity Sydney throws at them.

Lou is the only Aussie in the group. She puts my whinging to shame; She'd travelled to the beach by bus with a three-wheeler jogging pram, her daughter's swimming gear and a home-made banana loaf with frosted icing. She's also 37 weeks pregnant. When I was 37 weeks pregnant I passed my days lolling about on a birthing ball eating ice-pops. I don't know how she manages it.

"Are you enjoying Sydney?" she asked, touching me on the arm.

"Loving it"

"Oh but you poor thing, we had the worst, most humid summer I can ever remember. Imagine arriving in the middle of that. February is always disgusting but it lasted well into March. I was thinking oh please, send me to England, this place is too much"

"That's funny" I said. "There are lots of Brits back home thinking the very opposite".