Sydney Has a Hold on Me

Hard to believe, but I've now been in Sydney a year and eight months. Almost two years, people! Jody and I have now lived here longer than we lived in B.C. as a married couple. Which is probably why Immigration has finally given me a spouse visa.

Tourists stop me to ask for directions, or to take their picture. I move halfway around the world and still, I am the approachable one. And yes, I know where the Aquarium is, and the QVB, and the nearest train station. And no, you should not take a pricey harbour cruise - get on the public ferry and you'll get just as nice a tour, but cheaper.

I know not to walk underneath the monorail on the Darling Harbour Bridge after it's rained, because I'll get soaked as the ridiculous mode of transport whooshes overhead and sluices water from its track.

Not only do I know what Aldi is, I know that my friend doesn't want her mother to buy infant clothes from there, because they'll fall apart in three washes.

Instead of gasping at book prices, I've begun ordering online.

I understand that brunch with the girls requires more effort than a ponytail, jeans, shirt and sneakers.

I have successfully used "pashed" in a sentence.

Maybe I don't quite understand why it's so difficult to see a friend who lives in another suburb, but at least I've accepted that our outings are likely to be three months apart.

Now that it's winter, I don't feel ready to go out unless I'm wearing a scarf or pashmina.

My wardrobe has more black in it than ever. Maybe this means I should move to Melbourne.