Irony has a name

This week has been a teensy bit surreal. Not sure where it came from, why it came, or how, but I wish it would go away. Because out of the blue, for no real reason, I'm suddenly missing London.

Yep, that's right. The weather in Melbourne turns nice, I get myself set up in a great flat, I pick up my new car tomorrow and I'm in a job that I actually quite like, with the prospect of some financial security looming, and suddenly I'm missing the grey, grim life that I led for the past 2 years. Go figure.

I first noticed it last Friday, after a night out with work people. Maybe it was because it was the first night out with them that I'd had, a night where nobody I knew was driving, where I stumbled home in the wee sma's, not having to sneak around fearful of waking anyone, or hoping that there was nobody deciding that I'd slept enough. Maybe it's down to the looming thesis deadline that's evoking memories of late nights in London, or perhaps it was the arrival of some London-related mail. I know I triggered it properly by downloading the latest episodes of Spooks, and reminiscing about all the times that I've run through the Bakerloo platforms at Charing Cross Station, just like Lucas et al were doing in the most recent, trying to pick where they were filming, and getting excited when I recognised it, just like I used to do with Australian films when homesickness started to bite back in London.

Or perhaps it's really all down to L's announcement that she is definitely coming back to Melbourne at the end of this year. It's truly the end of an era once she gets back. Sure, I've still got friends there, there are still people who I would visit if I was to go back. But she is the only one that I knew over there that I also knew here before I left. And when she comes back, it is almost certain to mean that I am here for good as well. And much as I'm loving being back in Melbourne - and don't get me wrong, I love this city like no other - I'm missing some of the freedom of being over there.

Over there I didn't get nightly phone calls from my mother. I didn't feel sit around doing nothing, because it's next to impossible to pin anyone down without booking them months in advance. I was out and about, doing things on whims without having to justify it to anybody. There is a freedom to living on the other side of the world to what you consider your real life, and I miss that. I miss the adventure of wandering a city that is older than my country, older than I can contemplate, where you turn the corner and suddenly you're looking at something that pre-dates not only your own country, but the one you're standing in as well. The twists and turns, the people.

I never thought I would come back here and wax lyrical about London. Maybe it's the realisation that I really can't move back there that has set me off. I don't think I would move back. But I would pick up huge chunks of it and move them here if I could. I think I understand what it was that made the colonialists attempt to reconstruct England in Australia, at least to a certain extent. I'm glad they did.

Actually, I think I know what has set me off. It's the realisation that both of my brothers are deserting the family Christmas, leaving me defenceless on Annual Family Fight Day. I can see their point; it's the first time I've been home for the festive season since 2008, so it's about time I shouldered some of the burden. It feels strange and slightly wrong to be once again contemplating a hot Christmas, let alone one at home but without half my family around.

It's frustrating to think of just how homesick I was before I made the decision to move back here, only to find that I'm missing London now. I had thought I was settled, but it seems I've been kidding myself, at least a little. I'm not really. It's nice to have a home, it's nice to be home, but damn I love to travel. Guess I'll just have to get down to planning another little adventure...

Meanwhile back at the ranch...

So, it's been a while since I blogged. Many months, in fact. Long enough for me to have re-established myself in Melbourne and thrown myself back into working, studying, and all from the comfort of my own couch. Long enough for me to realise just how unhealthy study can be.

It's all very well when you're young and have an active metabolism to live the student lifestyle. But I'm not sure whether it's down to juggling full-time work and full-time thesis writing, but something is missing this semester. I think it's called a waistline. Sitting around while I research and write several thousand words*, mainlining coke straight from the bottle to keep my energy levels up, with a jar of Nutella and a spoon beside me for "solid fuel" breaks, I have come to realise that my study habits will kill me if I keep it up. I'm back to being sleep deprived and somewhat grumpy. I have 2 days worth of dishes piled up on the kitchen bench - I have no flatmates here to pester me into cleaning them, which is good and bad; I also have another 4 days worth in the cupboard to use before I am forced to do something about it, so I think it's mostly bad, from that front.

And what do I have to show for it? A deeper understanding of the relationship between chick lit and what went before it? Perhaps. The realisation that feminism can go round and round in circles without achieving anything other than an increasingly dense collection of theory that has little or no application in a real world still riddled with inequality? Of course. A caffeine/sugar habit and will see me getting withdrawal once again when I cut back to a regular person's intake? Undoubtedly. A new high score in Spider Solitaire. A steadily increasing BMI and a lowered ability to actually move my arse off the couch. A sudden inclination to blog once again. Beyond that, I'm not sure. Then again, I'm staring down the barrel of missing a deadline, so I'm bound to have some second thoughts about the whole process, given that I can see a month ahead with little or no sleep. Seems I have taken something away from this process. My poor time management in London was not down to the number of invitations to do interesting things. It was actually because I suck at organisation. Huh. Who woulda thunk it?

*Researching and writing of thesis may not have actually been taking place during the time spent on couch. Or, in fact, at all in any time over the past 2 weeks, with the exception of last night.

Waxing lyrical

It's enough to make a girl get homesick. Reading the Melbourne newspapers online, I stumbled across an ode to Melbourne's arcades and laneways. Sure, it's advertising. It's selling a product that is, in turn, selling the bars and shops that haunt the back alleys of the city - the hidden gems that make Melbourne a place that takes some knowing. But reading through the list and seeing so many old haunts and places that I always meant to get to but never have, as well as a few I'm not as familiar with, well, it made the yearnings to be back in the Garden State that little bit stronger.

You can read it for yourself. See if you find yourself drifting towards the allure of Koko Black (incidentally, for any non-Melburnians who stumble across this, you don't just go there to buy truffles and the like; the hot chocolates are also just as good...and in the Block Arcade there's a fantastic chocolate shop as well. Or there used to be. Please god let it still be there). They may have missed out other gems, some whose names I can't even remember (the bar on the old town square? Anyone? I know it's something-Below and was designed by Six Degrees...that it's a great place to grab a drink on a sunny day, propped up on a bar stool outside in the sun). There are places outside of the city grid just as well worth mentioning that are missed. The Belgian Beer Cafe Bluestone - whoever thought of putting a pub in the grounds of the Institute for the Blind? It's genius.

But there you have it. Homesickness in a very concise dosage. All the things that Melbourne has that aren't weather dependent, that make it one of my favourite cities, a place that you have to spend time in, to get to know, like the quirks of an old friend. I've got less than one hundred days left living in London now. In around 150, I will be back in my home town, pounding the pavements, wandering the streets, searching for a job. And I might just stop off in Degraves St on my way out of Flinders St Station.