The good bits…

The end of September heralded the arrival of our belongings that had been on a ship since 1 July.  My goodness it was so nice to have two burly blokes bringing our stuff up the stairs and into our little home. We had lots of fun unpacking the kitchen boxes first. YAY to have a kettle and all our pots and pans and crockery. We can COOK at last.  Hooray!!

By mid October I had two companies offering me work. It was an interesting time choosing between the job I thought I wanted… PA to an architect for a large architecture/interior design firm who have a global presence and offices in Sydney and Melbourne; and the government job I thought I wouldn't get in a pink fit because I don't have a Degree and my French is atrocious… PA to the Head of the London office of the European Commission. After sitting quietly and listening to the silence, the job that FELT most right was the government job in Westminster. Not knowing why but trusting my instincts, I accepted it.  I am completely out of my depth in the arena of International Politics, but my organisational skills are what they hired me for, so in that sense I am content. It's really nice to be in beautiful Westminster, oh, and being at the forefront of the whole complex topic of Brexit is kind of interesting too in this historical time. Ha !

The not so good bits…

My father-in-law passed away on 18th October. Even though we had been expecting it for a couple of years, it was a shock and a time of great sadness. Watching my husband experiencing the full tide of grief was one of the more painful experiences this life has brought us. The distance between here and home feels exceptionally large at the moment, and we just have to sink into the pain and wait till it’s been fully felt. Time does heal if you let it.

The daily commute is a challenge! The fogged up windows of the tube indicate just how many bodies are squashed inside. To be on the outside looking in makes me feel slightly queasy… to be on the inside looking out, is just wrong. In fact I can’t see out through the fogged windows, I am so squashed that I can barely breathe, and everyone else’s hot breath and morning phlegmy coughs become my oxygen. To do this a couple of nights a year on the way to the footy is one thing… to do this every day, twice a day, is insanity. This is one of the worst experiences I’ve had since we arrived.  Over the course of a few months, instead of complaining, I tried a few different solutions to try to cope. The best solutions I’ve found, apart from not going to work at all, is to go to work later in the morning, leave earlier in the evening, get on the train a stop earlier in the hope of snagging a seat, wear my cotton scarf doused in eucalyptus oil as a face mask, and escape the moment by listening to a positive podcast. I cope, but I wouldn’t call it Quality of Life.