Belle gets a shock

Boys and girls, I know that you were expecting the big news of today to be my haircut (and just to update you on that, it was a complete and total success. No paper bags necessary, no mutilation of my follicles - all good.) - but no. Today, I have something different to share with you : the moment when I nearly came home, without even a suitcase packed.

Let me explain.

Hard as the homesickness is, I thought (in my naivety) that it was the worst thing I'd have to deal with (other than the Monday morning blues, the slow weaning from my all-too-present chocolate addiction, and the fear of trying a new hairdresser). But no. On Saturday night, on an all-too normal phonecall home, I was told to sit down, and not get too upset. This is never a good way to start a conversation. Trouble only ever stems from this kind of talk. And so it did.

It turned out that a very dear friend of mine, who's place in my life is somewhere between second mum and pimp (hell, she wants grandbabies, and apparently she wants me to give them to her...) had had not 1, but 2 heart attacks. I think my own heart stopped when I heard the news.

The good news, thank G-d, is that she's doing well, is being cared for well, and has enough energy to shout at me down the phone for 1) spending the money on a phone-call, and 2) worrying about her. Don't you love parental logic at its best?!

The other good news, is that she's currently surrounded by hot male doctors (at least, given her chirpy tone on the phone, I assume she is) which means that whilst there is a potential lawsuit waiting to happen there (I joke, she would never leap on any of them...), she's a happy bunny and can enjoy the eye candy (even if it is eye candy that's putting her on "nil by mouth" - ooh Doctor! - and is bringing her yucky hospital food).

Not that I want to make this about myself - because quite clearly, it's not, and my focus is on my friend - but it brought home to me once again not just the distance, but the difficulties involved in choosing to live so far from home. Whenever you move countries, you're always going to be those extra few hours away, but when you're living on what's truly the other side of the planet (for almost everywhere) - it doesn't half scare the bejeezus out of you, especially when you need to get home ASAP.

As it is, I haven't booked my plane ticket home just yet - and nor do I intend to. Babs, my friend, is one of the strongest people I know, and I have every confidence that until I've met someone, gotten married, and popped out at least 2 children, she won't be going anywhere. Not to mention that after having her first heart attack she went cycling ("Stop being silly, I feel fine...)" and it wasn't until her second heart attack the next day that she decided it maybe was time to see the Doctor... What a woman! And honestly, I fully expect for her to live forever. That may not be a realistic way of looking at things, but - it's what I hope for when it comes to the people I love.

So what's the message of this post? Possibly 1) Is that Babs' doctors should watch out. 2) Is that from thinking a new haircut was the scariest thing that could happen to me, I had a rude shock to the system. And 3) is that - however much time passes, you never forget the distance between what will always be your home, and the people you love. Illness is a great way of reminding you just how many miles and hours of travel there are between you - but the distance doesn't stop how you caring, or thinking about the people you've left behind (so to speak).

Talking to ex-pats over here, from the ones who've been here a month to the ones who've been here a decade - we all agree that home is always home. And your friends - wherever they are - are always your friends, and always in your heart. Hair grows. Friendships develop. My hair may sometimes get covered in a paper bag, but my friends never will be (and if you understand what I mean by that, then you're doing better than me. I just wrote it - I have no idea what it really means...)

On that note - I bid you farewell for now.

With love

Belle x

Hair and Homesickness

Cat Stevens, back in the day - before he became Yusuf Islam - sung perhaps one of the more profound songs of the 20th century:

The first cut is the deepest
Baby I know the first cut is the deepest
But when it come to being lucky she's cursed...


And so it goes on. Oh Cat - your understanding of emotional complexities is peerless. 


You see, if I can apply his DAM (deep and meaningfuls) to my own life, they take on a whole new level of meaning. Gentle reader, it is now over 3 months since I left the UK. That means many things: 3 months since I have tasted real chocolate (most of what we get over here is made with chemically altered dairy products, modified so as to be able to withstand the Australian heat and long journey to get here). 3 months since I have seen my friends,  family and "London Massive". 3 months since I was in the same timezone - let alone the same room - as some of the people who mean the most to me. But this is nothing, nothing in comparison to the final insult of the last 3 months: that my hair has not been trimmed, cut, masqued, or otherwise maintained. No - I have not had my hair properly cared for since leaving the UK. And that was in August. Yes, August.


Reader, I have had my trust in people thrown back in my face in a variety of ways over the course of my 24 years on this planet. But never, never has this been done more viciously and with more traumatic results, than by a hairdresser. So you can see why I would hesitate before I would ring a salon, and make that appointment. The comeback could be (literally) hideous.

I mean, I'm all for booking a oneway ticket halfway around the earth, to an unknown city, to begin a new life, with no plan more specific than "that could be fun, let's see how it goes" - but having a hair cut without doing the appropriate research? What do you think I am - crazy?! So you will understand, bearing that in mind, that it was with a sense of great trepidation that I recently picked up the phone and dialled Hair Rescue (a number disconcertingly found under "Got Possums?" in the White-Book Phone Directory).

Now, before you write in to express your shock (I am, after all, not the kind of girl who has ever been associated - even by phone directory proximity, with anything related to possums, let alone personally having them) - Hair Rescue has a stirling recommendation. A recommendation from none other than a JSAP. (To those not in the know, that's a Jewish South African Princess). And my oh my - if you've not encountered a JSAP, they really know their stuff. Do not mess. Any recommendation from them I would value more highly than a good bar of Dairy Milk right now (and that's saying something).

As of today we are on a countdown of T-4 days (that is Time to haircut: 4 days), and as the big moment approaches I feel sweaty-palmed with anticipation. Will I end up less Belle de Sydney, more Tacky of Target (Target being a low budget store, of the Primark "reputation")?

Only time can tell. But with a JSAP on my side, let's hope that I can't go wrong. And if the worst happens, and I emerge with a mullet of the calibre that would make the 80s cringe - I will take a deep breathe, count slowly to 10, and remember Cat Stevens...

With love,

Belle x (who may not be a JSAP, but is nonetheless a Princess, and proud.)

A London Girl gets homesick

Boys and girls, its now been 3 months since I left the UK for the distant shores of Oz.

During that time, I've cried (and not just at my bad dates...), enjoyed experiencing sunshine for more than 4 consecutive days at a time (yes, really! Sunny Sydney is quite a contrast to London), had my first sunburn Down Under (and boy, that hurt), changed my vocab (yes, I admit it. I now say "dude" and "far out". Don't judge me), and - to summarise - have undergone a completely new way of living.

On the surface, it feels like very little has changed over the last couple of months since arriving here - I still live with family. I still work at the same job (which is good). I'm still attempting to create a social whirl for myself (to varying success). And I'm still acclimatising, in general, to life in a different hemisphere, twelve thousand miles from home.

But - and this is a big but - I've hit the wall. The three month itch, apparently common amongst ex-pats. The novelty's worn off, but the real settling in hasn't begun. Instead, I'm in a weird halfway position, where I miss home - yet feel out of the loop with life back there - and simultaneously feel out of the loop with life Down Under. It's like I'm an iPod, and the Cloud hasn't yet synced me (where that simile came from I don't know. Enjoy my brain's randomness, that's all I ask of you).

So, where does that leave me?

Pining for home, admittedly.

At the same time, unwilling to go back any time soon (just for a visit), because I have the very strong (and probably correct) notion, that should I do so - coming home to Sydney will be exceptionally difficult.

So that means I stay in Sydney, pull my socks up, jut out my stiff upper lip, and fall back on that famous English Reserve to get me through. Either that, or a large glass of Pinot Noir should do the trick.

But no - seriously. The effect of The Wobble has meant a pause in proceedings. A break. A chance for my brain to take its own version of a KitKat (have a break, have a ...). And so - the planned house hunting has stopped. Instead, I'm re-appreciating the joys of staying with family, not having to cook my own meals (a mixed blessing, in truth), and having that bit more support.

It strikes me that this process - because it is definitely a process, and not something that ended with boarding the plane, or getting a job, or any of that - is ongoing in a way I really hadn't imagined. The good days and bad days come and go - still with far more good days than bad - and the settling in will take a while yet.

Upsides: I ride a ferry to work. Living with family means I have emotional support, the chance to buy my own car (rather than spending that money on rent, and thus having to rely on the pretty poor public transport system), and yet total freedom to what I want, as and when I want. I'm making friends. Work is good. Skype is the world's best invention. And I don't have to fly Qantas to go home...

Downsides: There's 12,000 miles between me and some of the people I love the most in this world. What more is there to say than that?

Folks, I leave you with one parting thought.

As Dorothy said (ironically, in The Wizard of Oz...) "There's no place like home".

Love to everyone, at home and abroad

Belle x