Around this time every year, I start feeling a little homesick. Summer is over, the days are getting shorter, the winter coat is already out – although I’m still refusing to unpack my knee high boots in a desperate bid to pretend that it’s not really that cold. And just as I’m mourning the loss of sunshine, I start receiving updates from Oz.
“Highs of 35 tomorrow!”
“It’s sooooo hot already. Not looking forward to summer.”
“Perfect beach weather.”
I start fantasising about moving home. About what it would be like to live half an hour from pristine beaches. The six burner BBQ I could fire up every night. Wearing shorts for more than four weeks a year. Blue skies. Sunshine. The food. Oh, the food. And I’m not talking about just the amazing seafood and delicious mangoes, I’m talking about the down and dirty filth.
Twisties. Cheezels. TOOBS. Tasty Toobs!
French onion soup mix.
And don’t even get me started on pavlova.
Anyone want to send me a care package? Pretty please?