Usually the best cure for my homesickness is coming home (to Australia, to clarify). Two or three weeks every year or so and I’m generally ok to spend the balance of my life on the grey, damp isle whose main upside is being close to Europe. That and the new bakery that just opened up at the bottom of my road.
Anyway, not this time. This time I’ve a nearly-2 year old who has embraced Aussie kidhood whole-heartedly and has spent most of his time here barely clothed and barefoot. It’s brilliant.
A brief child- free break to Ubud in Bali for me and the boyfriend has only sweetened things. Ma looked after NewHuman in our absence. He was an angel on all counts it seems so I can only assume we gave her the wrong kid to look after.
We fly to London on Saturday and for the first time in about ten visits home, I don’t want to go back.