Where's the baby?

Calm down mum, there is no baby.  At least not that I know of.  Or at the very least that I’m admitting to.  If anybody comes knocking at your door, you don’t know where I am.  You think I could pay both Sydney rent AND child support?!?  And don’t you think you currently have enough grandchildren?

Photo credit: Classical Beaver

No, the “9 month” of the title refers to the month that I’m now entering as a Yorkshire Expat in Sydney.  Yes, I don’t know where it’s gone either.  Did I really leave the UK all those months ago?  Evidently I did, yet would struggle to describe how I have filled those months.  Without, of course, recourse to these blogs.  Maybe I should do that one quiet night, get a(nother) bottle of wine in and recall what I’ve been up to.

It’s been quite an emotional few weeks, for one reason or another.  Not withstanding the running out of Manchego cheese, counter balanced by finding an amazing Chilean pinot noir to drown my sorrows, the major event this month has seen me saying goodbyes.  When I was in the process for coming out here, a work colleague was counting down the days til he left Blighty, for these shores, on a 12 month working holiday visa.  And we were more colleagues than mates.  Sharing the Yorkshire love, we met up in my first week in Sydney and over the intervening months we have forged a really strong friendship.  Alas, the sands of time on his visa expired and he has now returned to the UK.  I’m keeping my eyes on the Nando’s share price as I expect it will be the thing that will suffer most. 

In traditional fashion we had his leaving drinks.  And boy, can he put away his liquor.  Decamped in Paradiso bar near work, at Darling Harbour, we were on the cinnamon whisky shots at about 16.30, followed not long after by Patrone shots.  Some drink I had never heard of.  Don’t worry, I was told, it’s only tequila based.  Oh, that will be ok then!  A great night was had.  I think.  It went by in a flash.  Or, as I tried to recount the day after, a series of flashbacks.  Shots…beers…friends…taxis…chicken tikka roll kebabs (seriously, you have to try this Neutral Bay speciality)…friend’s irate neighbours…wine…walks…international phone calls…unconscious.  In that order.  I think. 

I had a more sedate meeting this week.  Catching up over coffee with somebody I haven’t seen for a long time.  About 20 years she reliably informs me.  Really?  I was young then.  And had dark hair.  Moving out here last year we figured it was time we met up finally.  And we had a great catch up, chatting like we had last seen each other only the other week.  Us Yorkshire expats have to stick together.

On another topic, I seem to remember I had written about homesickness recently.  The “elephant in the room”.  So on that, I must pass on a heartfelt thanks to all my UK based friends.  Thank you all for knocking any residual homesickness out of me with all your arctic “spring” pictures.  I may be suffering in the unseasonal Autumnal heat, yet don’t have to contend with being snowed in and having my life disrupted as seems to happen with increasing frequency at home.  Be careful what you wish for is an adage close to this pom’s heart.  I just hope the snow has cleared by June.

At the time of writing this, I have the long Easter weekend ahead of me.  I think I’ll make another trip up to the Blue Mountains.  I went over Christmas when a friend was over from UK, and we couldn’t have picked a worse day.  The train ride itself was trying enough, with a very annoying little lad shouting “are we there yet” at every station.  On a 2 hour journey.  I kid you not.

And when we got there it was a proverbial pea souper.  Probably even worse, a mushed pea souper.  Not a mountain or a eucalyptus tree in sight.  Anywhere.  We had to buy a postcard just so I could prove to her that the “3 Sisters” mountain range does in fact exist.

Photo credit: environment.nsw.gov.au

Hopefully, this time around, I’ll get a better day.  You’ll find out next month.  Until then, hasta la vista chicos.

Dreams

We all have them, to some extent.  Dreams that get us through the, sometimes, humdrum slog of everyday life.  Things we hang on to, strive for.  Work towards, setting goals along the way.  Milestones to tick off along the journey. 

For some people the dream is to fly into space.  Mr Branson is going some way to allow the more affluent amongst us to realize that dream.  For others, the dream is to have a little shed at the end of the garden that you can retreat to with a little scotch and a good book under the pretense of “doing a little work”.

But dreams are tricky to nail down.  They can often be a moving target, needing to be realigned at various times in your life.  Dreams can disappear in a flash.  A popular marketing strategy of a bank here in Australia is to portray large banks stealing your dreams.  By stealthily “robbing you” of the interest you could be earning.  But it is not just banks that steal your dreams. 

Who was it that said “life is what happens whilst you are making plans”?  This is so true.  Some events happen that we have no control over.  Or sometimes it’s a person that “steals your dreams”, leaving you ripping up the plan and starting again.  The strength you gain from this adversity makes the achievement of the dream so powerful.  The journey being the reward.

But, that’s the thing with dreams.  What do you do when you have achieved it?  What then?  Sit back and enjoy the achievement?  Bask in a warm self contented glow for a while?  Or does the achievement motivate you?  Showing you what we are capable in the short time we are here?

I had a dream of living in Australia.  You might have heard about it.  Sampling the fabled lifestyle of beaches and BBQs.  It took me a long time.  You could argue it had been a dream ever since first visiting in 1994 for a year on a working holiday visa.  But I persevered, and eventually, being granted my permanent residency visa in 2012 I upped sticks and moved here. 

This hasn’t been without its own challenges along the way, but I’m here, settled, working and enjoying the lifestyle.  

But here lies the rub.  

It was a dream that I have now realized.  Therefore, what does it become?  It is no longer there, on the horizon dragging me through another Monday morning at work.  Safe in the knowledge that the job was a means to an end.  Another day, towards another pay day, towards the travel fund, towards the dream.  In some respects, the dream has become the end.

So I have a quandary.  Do I become like the bloke who settled for his little shed at the end of the garden?  Or do I aim for space with Mr Branson, metaphorically speaking?  What becomes the new dream?  Now I look back, the years I have waited to get to this point have passed by in a flash.  I know the next few years will seem to pass at an equally frenetic pace.  So I need to make sure I am still moving forward.  Achieving something worthwhile.  The difficult question I now have to ask myself is, by maintaining the new status quo, am I developing, or stagnating?

And this stymies me.  I just don’t know.  What I do know is that I am starting to get that itch again.  And when that happens, I don’t know myself where we will end up.  Maybe it’s the curse of the unattached.  Floating and bobbing along the sea of life without the ballast of a partner to keep you grounded.  Who knows, maybe the ballast is what I am ultimately looking for.  Chi cerca trova, so goes one of my tattoos (he who seeks will find).   The search continues.

When I do take stock of my life, and start thinking about what I want to achieve in 2014, things may become a lot clearer.  

When they do, you will be the first to hear.

Don't Hassle the Hoff

And with the passing of February we say goodbye to summer. Officially the first day of Autumn on March 1st and the countdown to winter begins.

I always chuckle to myself when I hear Australians talk of winter and the need to "rug up". I mean, winter to us from the northern hemisphere conjures up images of roaring fires.  Central heating on high. Hats, scarves and gloves. Using your work pass to scrape ice off the car windscreen before we can start the trudge of the daily commute. Winter in Sydney means long pants instead of shorts. Maybe putting a pair of socks on.  At a push.

There is talk of acclimatising. Getting so used to the summer heat that our northern skins immediately notice cold 28' winter days. Inclement weather and nights so bitter that a friend of mine even has to pull the doona all the way up to his chin as he gets settled and tucked up for the night with Harry bear.  I'll keep you posted if I need any thermal long john's posting over.

Other then reverting to whingeing pom mode, what tales have I got to regale you with this month?

Some of you may have seen that I recently changed jobs. I left the academic world of the University of Technology Sydney (UTS) and moved to RaboDirect, an online savings bank.  This was not before we had a very special guest appearance at UTS.  We had a visit from Mr David Hasselhoff himself.  Let me make clear at this point that this was totally unrelated to me deciding to leave.

I’m still a little unsure why he had come to Sydney, and even more unsure why he decided to do a public appearance at UTS.  That said, staff meetings were put to one side as me and a good friend, Sponty, decided to go and get a prime viewing spot.  I think Sponty wanted to be as close as possible to hear the pearls of wisdom from the Hoff.  Whilst I was secretly hoping Pamela Anderson might spring out of a box in a Baywatch bikini.  Alas, my hopes were dashed.

Not long after, seriously, it was nothing to do with missing out on Pammy, I moved jobs.  I had interviewed last year for a role at RaboDirect and out of the blue got a request to go back for a chat.  In one day, the chat turned into a 12-month contract offer that I couldn’t turn down.  So now, I’m back in banking, that’s BANKING.  Working for the little guy, trying to “steal back the dreams of savers” that have been taken by the big evil banks, who shall remain nameless.

In between the excitement of the Hoff’s visit, and my subsequent disappointment, ok, maybe the lack of Pammy has hit me harder than I thought, and the start of my new job, I had a cheeky little trip to Hobart.  If you haven’t yet, go and read the blog that I recently wrote about this great little city.

The new job is located smack bang in the middle of Darling Harbour.  A cracking location.  Just as I was starting, my old mucker Rich Medley was leaving.  Unfortunately the time limit on his working holiday visa is coming to an end so he needs to pack up his thongs and return to the UK.  If anybody is looking for an excellent Business Analyst, Medders is your man.  Thanks for the intro at Rabo chief, and I’ll buy you a beer in the Percy Shaw in Halifax come June.

Last week saw me and a bunch of pals head out to the Sydney Football Stadium to watch the NRL rugby league season opener.  The Roosters, fielding Sonny Bill Williams upon his return from rugby union, facing off against the South Sydney Rabbitohs my adopted team. Not really my sport to be honest but a good occasion and as good an excuse as any to have a few beers.

Talking of which, there is a funny story related to this.  Due to the responsible sale of alcohol in Australia (RSA) a person in the ground is only able to buy 4 beers at a time. So along I popped with @scottbarton8 as we needed 5.  Upon ordering I got told I could only have 4, to which I replied there were two of us, and pointed to said friend.

The response? I can still only serve you 4. Your friend will have to buy the other.  Really?  He's just stood here.  Sorry.  So we had the ridiculous situation whereby I ordered and paid for 4.  Got my change.  Handed it to my mate stood right there next to me.  He then ordered one beer with my money and then also got handed MY change back, despite the barstaff seeing that I had given him the money in the first place. Seriously Australia, your attempts to deal with drinking problems are laudable, but the way you implement them is laughable.

On that note, I’ll go put the winter doona on the bed and settle in for another month.

Hasta luego chicos.