In the short space of a few days of the new year I found myself with an apartment (and its fortnightly rent that could well afford another six months accomodation in south-east Asia), a job that required me to pack away the board shorts and flip-flops and purchase a pair of trousers and proper shoes and sit in an office instead of on the beach and a happy French couple wishing to buy Stubby.
The transition was far from seamless with Stubby deciding to blow a hole in his muffler twenty metres after we had handed over the keys to his new owners and requiring us to spend our first weekend in Sydney finding a mechanic who could and would fix an ancient van without trying to steal all our rent money. In the meantime we had to negotiate the hell that is Sydney parking where you cannot park your vehicle for any longer than two hours in one place and spent the weekend taking it in turns to move him from one spot to another until 10pm when the traffic wardens went to bed. In this brief period my extreme sadness to be parting with him changed to a relief to be finally shot of him though the tears did return when I finally saw him trundle off into the horizon with his new owners.
Similarly, the search for more permanent housing was eventually successful though not without the joys of sifting through the dregs of options beforehand. The first place we looked at, in a quiet residential suburb, was met with the sound of screaming. Opening the door into the apartment we discovered the sound to be coming from a sobbing Chinese girl whose non-Englisht speaking parents had just arrived from overseas and were sitting awkwardly in the lounge. Politely greeting us they sat back down on the sofa while the girl continued her argument with the husband as he showed us around the spare room pretending she wasn't there. This served to be a good indicator of the standard of rooms available on our budget which also included apartments where the communal lounge areas had been divided into sleeping areas for travellers passing through and windowless cells rented out by unashamed drug dealers conducting their business admist showing us their non-powdered wares.
Despairing of ever finding anything vaguely liveable we then scored a coup landing the apartment of the guy whose New Year's Eve party we had been invited to. Working away up the east coast with business he needed some flat mates and we were more than happy to oblige taking up residence in the apartment block squatted firmly on the boundary of Kings Cross and Darlinghurst with a 23rd double balcony view overlooking the Opera House and Harbour Bridge. In addition, we gained free use of the gym, spa, pool and billiards room and had a concierge tripping over themselves to assist us in any possible way. Located just ten minutes walk from the CBD it is incredibly central for all transport, shopping and entertainment while its neighbouring suburb of Paddington is a delightful area brimming with al fresco dining and drinking options.
There wasn't much time to indulge in the new pad as I landed a researcher's job for an independent production company on a brand new rescue documentary series and started work almost straight away. Having spent the Christmas period resigned to signing up to temping agencies for data input work and handing out CVs to the local restaurants for waitering opportunities I was extremely lucky to gain a job in my profession for the limited period I was available in Australia. Having now been there for a few weeks I realise how even luckier I have been in securing a researcher's position that is the most journalistic role I have had yet in television on a show that does not stitch people up or expose them and has a far higher salary than in the UK. Furthermore I am enjoying working in a smaller company of only ten-fifteen office staff where it feels like the grinding rotations of my little cog are churning far more emphatic propulsions than in the machinery of a vast corporate, commercial, network. The nature of my work has so far seen me hunting down shark attack victims and crocodile bounty hunters amongst many of my stories. Frequently it is quite sobering and most phone calls end in tears or some kind of trauma but it has been a great show to work on. I have thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of getting to grips with the mechanics, infrastructure and foibles of the country in a professional capacity and have found on numerous occasions that my jollies around Australia in Stubby have taught me more than I knew about this island in a way that has helped me in my work and in the understanding of my new home.
So, after nine months I have finally unpacked my trusty backpack and am luxuriating in having a base for longer than a couple of days. Simple delights such as owning an oven and a washing machine seem to keep me domestically amused for hours at a time, not to mention a giant television on which to watch the Australian Open! Weekly shops are actually quite thrilling as I discover whole new aisles of foods that have previously been disclosed and having a bed big enough to spread-eagle upon in a room where the walls don't let in every creak of the neighbours floorboards have proved to be most entertaining. The Sydney Festival is currently on and so every night there is something different on which is a great way to explore the city's less obvious jewels and with a wide residue of friends, old and new, around the city it has certainly become a home away from a home.
To temper the perenially aching itch of my little feet I am traveling down to Melbourne this weekend to go and see the tennis but am otherwise, for the next five weeks, perfectly content to enjoy my new home and lap up the joys of a summer in Sydney and ignore the headlines about physical and economical bleakness back in the UK before I pack the bag one final time and begin to wend my way home.
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