It's All Good

Well, dear readers, it's been quite a story, but all stories have a last page and this is ours.

And what a year.

For ten years we dreamed of coming to live down under and at times we didn't think it would ever come off. The mortgage was too big, Ella was too little, there were too many obstacles in the way. Then one day Darren came home and we sat down and he said, well, this was it, it was now or never. And I said, yeah, alright, let's do it and he started filling in the forms and applying for the jobs. And even when he was having telephone interviews at 2am and I was sitting at the top on the stairs listening in, it still all felt like a dream of ours that wouldn't really come off, like something that other people did and not us.

Our year in Australia is over and I don't have any words to describe how devastated I am about it, not just because we're swapping Australia for the UK but because something we always wanted to do has been done and it's no longer there to dream about. We had a pot of money we used to call the Australia fund and now it's gone and I suppose we'll close the account.

We came to Sydney willingly, we're returning because we have to. Who knows, perhaps another six months would have been enough; another winter in Sydney, one more cockroach in the fridge, one more no right turn, we'll never find out, but right now, I feel like I'm about to lose something I can't do without and I have that horrible lurching feeling you get when something terrible's going to happen, a sort of emptiness in the middle of your chest. I'm not done with Sydney and I'm not done with Australia, not ever.

I'm incredibly glad we came, despite all of the reservations that were (or became) obvious during 2006. Living and working abroad has been one of those life-changing, horizon-broadening experiences, akin to going away to university or having your first child, and I don't think there's any obstacle too high to justify not having a stab at an experience like this if the opportunity's there. They say you regret the things you don't do in life, and I'd certainly have regretted not doing this (though I wasn't always so sure at the time). We were incredibly lucky that Darren's job gave us an opportunity and I'll always be thankful for that, no matter where we decide we'll live, be it Reading or Randwick.

In the time we've been away, two babies have been born, three friends have sold their houses, there's been one wedding, one marriage break up and a friend diagnosed with leukaemia. Life moves on without you and you begin to wonder how it would be if you left forever, who would keep in touch? Who'd come to visit (and how long could you put up with them for anyway?). You realise you have a choice, you've reached a crossroads like one of those books where you choose the ending, and whichever one you choose you can't help wondering how the other one ended up and did you make the right decision. It's like having the chance of two parallel lives.

Australia is a fantastic continent, a big burnt earth of a place in orange and blue, colours and sounds which are indescribable, a sky that's immense. Everything in Australia's the wrong way around, Christmas is in the summer, the trees shred bark, not leaves, the animals have developed in isolation, so they're unique. Birds giggle, mammals lay eggs, I mean, somebody's having a laugh.

It has always felt to me that Australia, as a land, has a soul and character of it's own, far removed from the white (or yellow) people who live here, or even the aborgines (who actually came down from Asia). The image of Australia we've grown up to recognise does no justice to the place, and neither does a two week holiday on the east coast, nice as that might be. There's something about the light and the rock that goes to form the land that I find deeply moving and I suppose over the years it's taken on something of a spiritual sense to me, something it's not always easy to connect with when you're living in a big city like Sydney, though if you go to the coast and stand underneath the sandstone you can sort of get close.

At times I've tried to work out why I feel the way I feel. Perhaps I was an aborigine in a former life (though probably not. They wore fish guts on their heads to keep the flies away, which would play havoc with my colour (and anyway, how does that keep flies away?)). Or maybe I was one of those female convicts who came here on the first fleet and got all boozed up and debauched on the night they were finally allowed to get off the ship (though again, petty thievery's not really my style). Perhaps it's because my great granny used to send me a dollar bill on my birthday and I thought I'd get to meet her if I dug for long enough in the back garden, I don't know. I just feel I belong here, which isn't the same as saying I'm going to live here, but it's hard to live on the opposite side of the world from the place you feel your heart wants to be.

I suppose in most ways, the year abroad has been what I thought it would be. I knew we'd travel, though we didn't stick to our list and we visited places we hadn't previously considered. I hadn't realised how difficult the travelling would be, how hard it would be to plan around Ella, how many compromises we'd have to make. One of the biggest was the expense; a third (full price) plane ticket wherever we went. A two bedroomed apartment instead of a single hotel room; it all adds up. And wherever we went, we couldn't really go out at night, so I can tell you all about Melbourne but I can't tell you how it shapes up after dark because I just don't know, which is a shame.

I also hadn't realised how hard it would be to cope alone with a toddler; how much our moods would rub off on her. If we were stressed, she was stressed, and though I was aware of it, there was little we could do at times to reduce the level of difficulty we were experiencing or to reduce it's impact on her. I often felt guilty (particularly in the early days) that we'd dragged her along like some sort of accessory so we could fulfill our dream; a dream we planned years beforehand, one that didn't include a third passenger. Perhaps we were bad parents because we didn't stay in the UK and stick to her nice routine, we dragged her away from everything she knew and put her in a new environment that was so different from the last. Of course, I know now that she's benefitted from it, but it wasn't always easy to be objective.

At times I've thought, you know, we ought to have done this before, we ought to have done this before we had children, and I'm not going to pretend I feel otherwise because looking back, yes, we should have done it beforehand and if I could do things all over again then I'd have done it in my twenties, without a doubt.

I could think of a hundred ways to put a positive spin on having brought Ella, and I genuinely believe most of them but as I've always been honest in my writing then I've nothing to lose by saying yeah, it would have been a much better experience for us if we'd done it without a child. We would both have worked full-time and with no nursery fees, we could have afforded a better place to live, a much better standard of living, nights out without a $100 babysitting bill. I might also have felt less isolated.

On the other hand, for Ella, I think it's been a life shaping experience and as her mum, I'm proud we were able to offer her that, even if it turns out to have been for just a year. She loves the outdoors, she's grown like a weed, swum like a fish and (at times) whined like a dingo, but as the aussies would say, it's all good. I just hope the life-shaping bit doesn't include a profound need to return or any sort of sense of belonging here, not just because I don't want her to face the heartbreaking (either way) decision we have to face, but because, you know, if we stay in the UK and she decides to emigrate, well I'd be devastated. And I only know four verses of Tie Me Kangaroo Down.

Anyway, thanks for reading, it's been nice having you along, but let's get outta here, eh? Would I do it over again? Yes. Do I want to? Thanks, but no, I'd really rather not.

Start the engines, we're coming home.

nb It's All Good, phrase, A phrase used (liberally) by Australians because they can't think of a better way to end a conversation (Colloq.)