Ache

It's been an interesting couple of days in the office, an office where nobody tells anyone else anything until the last minute; until it's too late to argue.

We had a new member of staff join the team yesterday; Julia, a new graduate with Shirley Valentine specs and an alarmingly high waistband; her thin leopardskin belt doing a sterling job of underwiring her bra.

The funny thing is, the new girl's my replacement, but until today, I hadn't given them my notice, so she'll be shadowing me for another four weeks before I finally hang up my pen torch. Yes, I'm giving up my job for the summer, a sentence I've dreamed of writing for years and now it's a reality. Bring on the grill.

Anyway, nobody told me the new girl was starting and nobody told me she'd be observing me working for the next four weeks, which is a bit of a bugger and really puts the skids on any illicit food shopping on the way past Coles or nipping into the Birkenstock shop along the Parramatta road on the way back from Haberfield on Mondays. From now on, I'm going straight.

So yesterday we all went out for lunch to welcome Julia to the department. The university has an incredible array of restaurants on the doorstep, ranging from Thai through Lebanese to African and Moroccan, the food cheap as chips to entice the students through the door (the equivalent of £2.50 for a plate of Pad Thai).

My colleague Anna is feeling very down in the dumps since her husband reversed his car over their West Highland Terrier last Saturday, so I dragged her along too, still tearful, and receiving very little in the way of support from anyone else in the department, all of whom think she's being overly-sensitive aboout the dog and really ought to suck it up.

Anna began the conversation.

"Has Australia been different than you imagined it would be then?" she asked

"Well yes and no" and replied. "I mean, no because we'd been here twice before, but yes because being a tourist is very different from being a resident. And when you arrive as a tourist, you leave as a tourist. When you leave as a resident, you leave a life behind; a home, a job, friends. I don't think you can ever look at it the same way again"

"I lived in Newcastle-upon-tyne for two years" she said. "And I have such fond memories. I mean, I wanted to come home, but the place itself got under my skin and I suppose I carry something of it with me forever now, in my heart"

"It's true" said Julia. "My parents were Irish immigrants on the ten pound passage in the sixites, so I always felt a connection with Ireland. I went to live there and met my husband, had my daughter in Dublin, thought I felt settled. But after six years it began to get to me, the grey skies, so I came home. And after that I was torn between the two, could never be happy in either. You know, you'll go home and you'll physically ache for Australia, there will be days you'll feel your bones aching at the thought of it, just like they probably ache for Britain from here"

"That's the thing" I said, "they don't ache at all"

"But you have the return ticket. You have the return to Heathrow in your back pocket. It would be different if you didn't know you were heading home"

"I suppose you're right. No, I know you're right, but the aching for Australia disturbs me because I felt it even before we came to live here. How will I put the lid on it now?"

"You won't" said Anna. "You'll learn to live with it. Or you'll emigrate. Either way, it's going to be painful, I know that because I've seen how you look up into the sky and it's like you're miles away. I see the cogs turning and I see you pull yourself together and shake it off"

"Nah" I replied, "I've probably caught a Quantas in the corner of my eye, either that or I've spotted a cockatoo in the garden or something"

"Rubbish. You're looking at our big sky. The big sky was what I really missed"

"Exactly" said Julia. "I don't think I'd ever appreciated the light we have in Australia until I was in Dublin. And the sky is so huge"

"It IS!" I replied. "But that's the first time I've heard anyone else say it. The sky is huge, I can't explain it, and I can't even think of a reason why. Why is it so big?"

"I don't know" said Anna. "But in Britain, you feel closer to the sky. In Australia it's so unreachable, you know, so vast"

I think it's the clouds. They give you perspective, don't they? They tell you roughly when to expect the next bucketful of rain. The blue sky's just endless sunshine, no idea when it's going to end.

I'm aching already.

nb Suck it Up, vt, To stop whining and pull yourself together, (Australian, colloq.)