Four Years and Ten Years and Tasmania, Oh My!

Yellow blooms

September has long been one of my favourite months, all the more so now I live in a place where it marks the start of spring.

It’s probably the most unsettled time of year here weatherwise. It’s entirely possible to have a 2-degree night immediately followed by an 18-degree morning, and a simple trip to the shops can involve sunshine, rain, hail, snow and then back to sun again. Thank goodness for layered clothing and rainbows.

It’s a colourful time across the city. The brilliant yellow wattle is starting to look a little tired, but there’s pink and white blossom everywhere, and when I walk through our neighbourhood I catch bursts of honeysuckle on the breeze. It’s beautiful.

This September marks two anniversaries for us. Four years in Tasmania, and ten years of marriage. I’m not sure which of those feels more astonishing now, or which was the more surprising decision in the first place. Continue reading

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One Year On

Hobart Tasmania

This time a year ago exactly, we were spending our last full day in Harpenden.

DorkySon had toddled off to his wonderful nursery for the last time, and he would come home a few hours later laden down with gifts and cards and photos of himself hugging the staff. I went for one last trawl of the local charity shops to see if I could find any bits and pieces for the flight – I got lucky, and picked up a collection of Shirley Hughes stories and a huge bag of toy cars for a couple of quid.

Our flat was a mess. The removal men had arrived that morning, and it was hard to move for all the sheets of packing paper, cardboard boxes, and enormous rolls of bubble wrap. That night, cupboards bare and crockery packed, we went for dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Somewhere between the tagliatelle and the tiramisu, immigration officers raided the place and started interrogating the kitchen staff. We headed home for an early night.

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Goodbye Autumn, Hello Winter

autumn in Tasmania

Tomorrow – the first day of June – is the official start of winter in Tasmania. I like the way the seasons are marked so precisely into three month chunks here.

Autumn has been glorious. The sunsets over the last few weeks have taken our breath away, and the daylight hours have had a real crispness to them. Most of the rain has come at night. On the few overcast days we’ve had, the river has looked all the lovelier, infused with a glittering silver light. The mist here, when it swirls like magic down the Derwent, is called Bridgewater Jerry. It creeps through the pillars of the Tasman Bridge, stealing it from sight for an hour or two, but it’s nothing like Edinburgh where the haar descends for days and chills you right down to the marrow.

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Six Months In

autumn in Tasmania

The first cool whispers of autumn are in the air, here in Tasmania. My knee-length cosy cardigan has been retrieved from the back of the wardrobe, and those beautiful sunsets are getting noticeably earlier with every evening that passes. Autumn has long been my favourite season, and I can’t wait to see how lovely this island looks when the trees have turned to gold.

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Lost in Translation

I read a post over at Life of an Expat Parent this week about some of the differences between Brits and Americans – what they say, and what they actually mean. It inspired me to dig out and finish this post which has been sitting in my drafts folder for a couple of weeks…

DorkyDad and I were sitting watching an old episode of Mock the Week a couple of nights ago when, for some reason, Jimmy Saville was mentioned.

Jim’ll Fix It?” said DorkyDad. “What the hell is Jim’ll Fix It?!

It was a TV show. He was a guy that wore shiny tracksuits and a big medallion, and helped little kids dreams come true, and then they got a big Jim Fixed It For Me medallion to wear around their neck too!” I said.

And then I realised how odd that sounded.

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