Chit Chat

Christmas minus twelve days; today's advent calendar - a snowman.

This morning I found my British colleague Karen leaning over the photocopier gazing wistfully at a postcard of Vanuatu. It's been on the noticeboard so long that the edges are curling up. "Bloody weather" she said as I went fishing in the filing cabinet for the keys to one of the company cars. We have a few, which means you never know what you'll be driving from one day to the next.

"Yeah I know - and no central heating. It's a joke, but not a funny one"

"You two ought to be used to it" chipped in Kath, our receptionist. "It'll be like this until the end of August. August is a terrible month". She wrinkled her nose up as though there was a bad smell underneath it.

Karen and I shot each other exactly the same look. "August? The end of August?"

"But we're not doing too badly, it's almost the shortest day already" continued Kath.

"Well that'll be why it feels like Christmas" said Karen. "The light is exactly the same as December back home. I'm off to the Blue Mountains for the Yulefest in a few weeks, I can't wait, I need something to look forward to in all this gloom"

"Me too" I said. "I have season lag"

She's right about the December light. It's pitch black by 5.15pm and the street lights aren't really up to the job. It doesn't exactly make you homesick, but it makes you think about home much more often. It's not the sort of weather you associate with Sydney so your brain thinks you must be somewhere else.

On Saturday I loaded the Sky weather page onto the laptop to check when the hell it was going to stop raining and it took me roughly a minute to cotton on that it had defaulted to the UK weather picture. So there I was, busy studying the outlook for the north west corner, which, incidentally, corresponded exactly with the weather outside the window. And then my brain registered and I felt myself shooting across the globe in an instant. It doesn't seem much of a summer this week in Warrington, which is a pity because the rain is getting in the way of my father-in-law mowing those stripes into the lawn; the only thing I have to look forward to next January.

Anyway, it was nice to have some chit chat in the reception area this morning because it happens so infrequently, which is one of the things I miss most about home. I've been in the post two months and still nobody has asked me anything about my home life, husband, daughter or where I come from in the UK. They haven't asked me about my old job or about what it's like to work in the British health service. On Mondays they ask me how my weekend was but they expect a brief reply.

This thing about the chit chat is a common complaint amongst the British, a nation more accustomed to brewing up a nice cuppa before they can even contemplate starting any actual work. In my case I also like a nice chat first thing in the morning, a comment about the weather or the telly or so-and-so's useless boyfriend. The aussies come in and get on with it, and they work long hours and lots of unpaid overtime.

Those who don't are considered slackers, a badge I shall wear with honour on all our behalfs. Where's the fun in working?