British...With A Twang

I've been living in London now for more than ten years and lately I've been thinking about forking out some of my hard-earned pounds for British citizenship. 

I have no plans to make my home elsewhere. I've blogged before about my pride in the life I have built here and I still love London. Yet there is a part of me that wonders whether some change in legislation or circumstance might result in my losing my right to live and work here (for the uninitiated, this is called Indefinite Leave to Remain in the UK).

With all of the travelling that's been going on of late, I love nothing better than coming back to London's grit, its hustle and its stiff upper lip-ness - things that I never thought I'd love given the qualities I miss most from Down Under are our laconic ease and quintessential directness. And my London friends tell me that I'm still identifiably Australian.

But in the last few weeks, meeting new people has been met with 'You sound English - but there's a twang in there? Where are you from?' as opposed to the previous 'Are you from Australia or New Zealand?'

Back in June 2011, I read an article in the Australian Times which asked Are You Losing Your Australian-ness? and at the time, I identified two things:

1. I was about 41% of the way along the list of 12 steps indicating British-ness.

2. That British-ness would overtake me after about a decade.

So it seems that the article was true to its word - linguistically speaking that is. But as we Australians can maintain our Aussie citizenship and hold a British passport, it's not like I have to relinquish everything. It will just be that my divided heart will be manifested in dual nationality. 

Life has a funny way of throwing one a curve ball and while I might be sitting in the dugout waiting for the next 'batter up!' (I'm in America at the moment so please excuse the additional third-cultural reference), previous innings have shown that it's best to be a little prepared.

So it means I have to fork out some cash and get a few details together...like details of the last five years of travelling...to complete my application. 

Now that's going to take some doing...

...because quite frankly, this is just the tip of the iceberg!

Memories of Nanjing...

Memories are funny things aren't they?

We gather so many millions and millions of them throughout our lives and somehow they all get stored away in our mind's filing cabinet. Some things we want to remember - a couple of mine include standing awestruck in the empty chamber in one of Giza's great pyramids or for something more mundane, just remembering the name of the person I met half an hour ago. Others we'd rather forget. Most retreat and end up buried beneath the constant and never-ending deluge of our life. Yet sometimes, like yesterday, they pop up when least expected. 

Blogger (and published author) extraordinaire Linda Janssen writes Adventures in Expatland and I was over there yesterday checking out the latest piece in her Expats A to Z series, C is for Committed. The post was pretty much what I've come to expect from Linda's writing: thoughtful, insightful and generous. But what I didn't expect was the evocation of a memory so powerful, it took me right back to a summer's evening in a Nanjing street almost nine years ago.

I had been in my own version of expatland for about 18 months. It had been a hard induction - initial expectations of money, home and job had fallen well short and my family and friends watched from afar - concerned, helpless and confused - as I struggled with both the practical and emotional minefield of building a new life. And whilst I knew deep down that here was where I was meant to be, there was another little voice in my head whispering, 'What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? You had a good life, it would be easier/far more sensible to give up and go back to Australia.' 

At this point in time, I'd found myself in a job that promised so much and fairly quickly became a huge disappointment but I did get a couple of amazing opportunities to travel in the ten months I was there and one of these trips was to Asia.

I'd spent a week with our local rep visiting suppliers in Taiwan, China and Hong Kong. We'd managed a casual evening in Macau, another more digestively challenging evening as guests of a supplier in Shanghai, had visited villages and great cities and had been flown and driven around for six days. On the final day, we crossed the Yangtze River for our final supplier meeting and then spent the afternoon heading towards Nanjing in order to get on our respective flights home the following morning.

With the pressure of the week finally over, my colleague suggested a stroll through the city and a 'local' dinner so fortified by a drink at the hotel bar we set off. Nanjing was full of colour and life and my local took great care of me, showing me the sights and encouraging me to share several local dishes at a tightly packed restaurant filled with the curious clacketty-clack of Chinese chatter.

As we wandered back towards the hotel, I felt a whole world away from my troubles back in the UK.

We passed a few art and craft stalls and finally stopped where a small crowd had gathered. Drawing closer, I could see a young woman surrounded by rolls of bamboo parchment, an array of small ink pots before her: she was finger-painting these extraordinary Chinese scrolls and selling them for about £10. I stood and watched her for a while, fascinated by her complete immersion in her task, wanting to imprint the moment of simplicity, purity and happy endeavour firmly in my mind.

Eventually, I asked for one to be painted for me and as I looked on, a delicate picture of ebony branches with tiny bright red flowers came to life beneath her deft fingers. It was beautiful and I was so delighted at the prospect of taking this little piece of Nanjing home with me. But even more poignant was her explanation as she presented me with my finished scroll - the tree she had chosen to paint for me was one that slept and struggled through the cold dark months of winter and then would blossom in a vivid testament to its commitment to both survive and thrive in spite of the elements.

It hung on my wall in my tiny Kingston flat for six years before getting irreparably damaged during my move to Finchley. But Linda's post yesterday brought it back to me, as vivid and delicate as the night it was created. And when I shared this story in response to her post, she asked me to share it with you.

I've built a life I absolutely love here in London and it feels like the seed that was planted ten years ago has finally blossomed. But I will never forget that moment in the dim light of a Nanjing street when, in fractured English, I was inspired by the recognition and acknowledgement of all my heart was feeling by a complete stranger.

A Daring Adventure...

Ten years ago today I arrived at Heathrow Airport. I had two large suitcases and a visa in my passport. There was no-one to meet me (he was late). So I sat in the large grey Arrivals Hall, jetlagged and scared and certain that this - whatever 'this' was - was what was next for me.

How ever much pre-work and planning could have helped me in my new and daring adventure we'll never know because I had leapt. Leapt straight out into the wilderness, albeit an English-speaking one, with not much more than two months elapsing since my decision to pack up and go. I remember thinking to myself, 'little ol' me against the world. What will I do if he doesn't show?' 

Well he did, but not for long.

So I picked myself up and built a life. And as with all daring adventures, it is never a straight trajectory. Each time I thought I was within reach of that magical brass ring (the great job and happy living situation being the two early contenders for this honour), it contrived to slide away, slipping through my fingers to shatter cruelly before me or disappearing into the ether leaving me wondering whether I had ever been close to it in the first place. 

But there's more to life than brass rings. 

So I snatched moments for careful consideration. Joyful ones, sad ones, frustrated ones, peaceful ones, excited ones and lonely ones. Scrutinised each one to find the clues to happiness, success, contentment and power in this new and daring adventure. 

I took chances and bottomed out. Made friends, unmade them again and kept the ones that mattered. Thrust myself into the thick of local life both past and present and grew to love my new hometown. Took steps forward - many of them small and unplanned - and some large ones back. Struggled with why I wanted to be here when it was just so damned hard. Laughed and cried and celebrated. Lost the love of my life and got the job of my dreams.

In ten years I built an extraordinary life.

And when I walk down Whitehall to work each morning, with Admiral Nelson at my back and Big Ben peering over the rooftops ahead and beckoning me towards the office, little ol' me says quietly to herself, 'look what I did'.

And smiles.

There's No Place Like Home...

I've been back from my holiday for a week now. Colleagues have enquired about my Christmas, commented on my relaxed face/glowing tan and shared their own festive family stories. I am starting to sleep through more than 3 hours at a time and feel hungry when I should so am hoping I'm through the worst of the jetlag. And I'm settling back into my cosy routine at Gidday HQ.

After a long week at work, I curled up on the comfy couch on Friday night to watch an old movie favourite, Love Actually. I love the opening scene: the Arrivals Hall at Heathrow crammed with expectant faces and open arms, a testament the narrator says, to the fact love really is all around. And it took me back to my own Arrivals Hall moment just two weeks earlier, walking through the doors to my own sea of expectant faces and finally into the open arms of my loved ones.

As a frequent traveller, I see a lot of Arrivals Halls but there is nothing like searching out the faces that I love in the throng, that moment when I first catch sight of them, when my heart leaps, my step quickens and my travel-weary face beams. And this search was made all the more poignant by an unexpected voice to my right as I headed towards Mum's smiling face, a soft 'hello chicky' which made me swing around with delight and in just two steps, enfold my Lil Chicky in my arms. And yes, there were tears of joy and love and relief that the long wait to see each other was over.

The 12 days in Melbourne flew by. Joined by my itinerant old man and stepmum, there were family days out - like a visit to see the Sand Sculpting and a day trip to Williamstown - and chilling out time with Mum and Lil Chicky - massages, shopping, mani-pedis and many a soy latte. I even managed to squeeze in a couple of old friends (old in the sense that it had been 25 years since we'd been at school together) where conversation flowed between like and open minds as the years between the words simply disappeared. I remember thinking how funny it was that people don't change. Not really anyway.

So I drank in the magic and nostalgia of Marvellous Melbourne: the people, the food, the weather, the relaxed and cosmopolitan vibe of the city I used to call home. And on a glorious sunny Sunday morning, whilst sipping yet another soy latte, feeling the warmth on my shoulders and the colourful energy of the crowds at Southgate, my heart was assailed by the most overwhelming wave of homesickness. For London. Its damp grittiness, its eclectic colour, its commuting-friendly infrastructure, its mix of cultures. And for my very own Gidday HQ with its cosy warmth, comfy couch and familiar bed. And I felt my divided heart tear - just like last time I visited. And the time before that, and the time before that.

I'm back in Fab Finchley now with my first working week back behind me. All of the washing has been done, the fridge is full and there's a vase of fresh flowers - purple and white tulips - sitting prettily on the table in the kitchen. Workday routines and weekend rituals are settling in again. And here I am, curled up on the comfy couch on a chilly Sunday night tap-tap-tapping away. The memories are wonderful and will help to sustain me between hugs and lattes.

But there is indeed no place like home.

Going Global...

Here we are at the last bank holiday in the UK before Christmas and I am ensconsed at Gidday HQ catching up on a whole lot of the must dos after a few days of fun to-dos (and not a small amount of alcohol). The washing machine is whirring in the background, the ironing pile is lurking within eye-shot - which I must address one way or the other (ie. iron or put away in the cupboard) - the UKHot40 is playing on the telly and my water bottle is within reach.

So let's start with Saturday: a day of short sunny bursts and bouts of torrential rain under a largely grey sky. And an evening of cocktails and mighty fine cuisine as four work friends painted the heart of London's Soho multicultural - at a Peruvian restaurant. This is what happens when a Turk, a German, a Frenchwoman and an Aussie, all obsessed with food, get their heads together for a girl's night out.

After a flurry of emails late on Saturday afternoon, a plan was hatched and a few hours later, four happy expat ladies were sitting at the bar in Ceviche, watching the intermittent drizzle against the window with cocktails in hand. Ceviche is new to the London restaurant scene, having only opened in February this year, and has had some terrific reviews (including one by yours truly over on Weekend Notes after our super Saturday soiree). I won't repeat here what you'll find elsewhere - suffice to say we left four very happy ladies. And it wasn't just the cocktails.

Sunday morning dawned and after a kick-start of croissants, coffee and copious amounts of water - how is it that so much drinking can be so dehydrating - I was off again, this time to the Edinboro' Castle in Camden for a farewell do.

You see, in just under two weeks time, A-used-to-be-down-the-hill will become Seattle-A. Yes, she and hubster are moving state-side to the land of the free, the home of the brave and city of highest rate of sunglasses purchases per capita in the US. They've bought a fabulous new pad, booked the movers and are starting their own round robin of goodbyes to old London town.

And yesterday, under the canopy of trees in the sun-dappled beer garden at the Edinboro' Castle, was a gathering of their wonderful circle of friends. Almost ten hours of repartee and reminiscing, of howls of laughter and a little just-between-friends political incorrectness, of re-connecting and fond farewells, to wish them well in this next exciting chapter...and to book our respective berths at Palazzo Seattle.

So this weekend has been a poignant reminder of the power of my expat friendships, both old and new, and the importance of trusting my instincts in reaching out amongst the myriad of connections I make each day, week, month, year.

Saturday night heralded the start of a 'four girls from four nations' friendship.

And while my own personal farewell with A is still to come, Sunday was a celebration of a friendship that began just two weeks into my expat journey. That's more than eight years of life in the UK together. Opening the pages of this next chapter in our friendship has me feeling a little sad, but excited about the possibilities that will follow for both of us. 

You see we, my friends, are going global.

I Come From A Land Down Under...

With the Olympics going on here in London, I've read/seen a lot of stuff about Australia and sporting heroes. 

Just last night, in the midst of profile after profile on Team GB (as is the perogative of the Host City), Cathy Freeman featured in a montage about 'The Face of the Games' for her star turn (both on and off the track) at the Olympics in Sydney in 2000 and legendary Aussie swimmer Ian Thorpe has been a key part of the commentary team at the Aquatics Centre for the swimming events.

Let's face it, there's nothing like a sporting great or two to bring out a bit of proud Aussie patriotism.

Today I was reading a post by Aussie-in-Doha, Kirsty Rice called The Fine Print In Your Passport. Just as the company you work for tells you that you are a representative of that company and are expected to conduct yourself as such, Kirsty reveals that same admonishment exists in the pages of your Australian passport. (For those of you that have one that is - the rest of you should check your own fine print.)

For many years, Australian airline QANTAS has run an overseas television campaign featuring Peter Allen's I Still Call Australia Home, the unofficial anthem for any self-respecting Aussie expat. The line 'no matter how far or how wide I roam, I still call Australia home' has always moved me (and most other Australians I know) and reminds me of the enormous pride I feel in being an Aussie amongst the ecclectic cultural melting pot of London.

But today Kirsty's post unearthed a new gem and for me, an absolute pearler that covers the two places I'm lucky enough to call home... 

So just you remember, I come from a land down under...

...you'd better run, you'd better take cover.

A Happy Little (expat) Vegemite...

There is some exciting news at Gidday HQ today.

My fellow expat afficionados over at The Displaced Nation asked me to write a bit of a travel yarn about my recent trip to The Eternal City and it's now live over there for your enjoyment.

If you can possibly bear to read one more thing about my Roman Holiday, you can meander over by clicking here.

While you are there, you might also like to have a little fossick around. I can confess to a particular addiction to the It's Fiction series, Libby's Life....

I am one chuffed expat!

ps...if you haven't been keeping up with my travels of late (and shame on you if this is the case), here's the Rome series for you:

The Gods of Rock...
A Holy Trinity...
All Roads...

Father's Days...Or Should That Be Daze?

Today we will be taking a little break from my recent travels to explore the concept of Father's Day.

It's been prompted by the fact that the UK and the US (and a lot of other countries apparently) celebrate today yet we Aussies wait until the first Sunday in September to pay tribute to the Old Man. 

It doesn't even align with Mother's Day, which we celebrate on the second Sunday in May (same as the US) almost 2 months later than here in the UK. It's mighty confusing. And in pondering this very issue out loud with my hairdresser yesterday, I made a pledge (she did have scissors in her hand at the time) that getting to the bottom of this sticky question would be my priority for the remainder of the weekend.

Father's Day is a relative newcomer to the 'holiday' calendar (although who gets a holiday?) first appearing in the USA 102 years ago when, following a sermon in Spokane in 1909, a young parishioner, who had lost her mother in 1898, asked for a way to honour her father. Originally suggesting her father's birthday, the 5th June, the eventual date was set for 19th June 1910. And whilst Father's Day was born, it took until 1972 for it to take hold when Lyndon Baynes-Johnson declared the third Sunday in June a national holiday.

The third Sunday in June is the Father's Day of choice for many countries - USA, UK, India, Canada, China, France, Greece, Hong Kong, Pakistan, Singapore, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Switzerland and Turkey. But other countries choose different dates to honour fatherhood. Russia celebrated on 23rd February this year and Thailand will take its turn on the 5th December. Spain, Belgium and Italy celebrated on the 19th March, Germany on May 17th (always on Ascension Day the Thursday forty days after Easter) and Sweden will on the second Sunday in November. South Korea had Parent's Day on the 8th of May (so one day for all parents instead of two separate days) and Brazil will celebrate the day of fathers on the second Sunday in August.

You can see why expat life can be very confusing.

For the record, Australia and New Zealand pay tribute honour make an effort on the first Sunday in September. I have googled and googled and there is nothing that tells me why this is - which makes for a rather uninteresting and pointless post. So I decided to look at what else happened on the 2nd September in the vain hope of finding something.  No cigar but here are a few of the more interesting things I found:

In 44BC Pharaoh Cleopatra VII of Egypt declared her son co-ruler as Ptolemy XV Caesarion.
In 911 Viking-monarch Oleg of Kiev-Russia signed a treaty with Byzantines
In 1666 the Great Fire of London began in Pudding Lane
In 1859 gas lighting was introduced to Hawaii
In 1929 Unilever was formed by merger of Margarine Union & Lever Bros
In 1945 Japan formally surrendered to the Allies, bringing an end to World War II
In 1969 the first ATM to be installed in America started dispensing cash at Chemical Bank in New York City.
In 1993 South Africa celebrated its Day of Peace
In 2003 it was happy 100th birthday to the Harley-Davidson motorcycle
And in 2011 Apple won in court in Dusseldorf banning the sale of the Samsung Galaxy Tablet in Germany   

And what about 2012?  Well, Venice (the one in Italy) will stage their annual regata storica parade as prelude to the regatta, Vietnam will celebrate its national day, the inaugural Poptronik Festival will take place in Sitges, Spain and the annual Butter Trail Run will be held at Tatamagouche, California.

In the UK, the Christchurch Medieval Festival in Co. Dorset happens over first weekend in September, the 22nd Stormin' the Castle at Witton Castle, Co Durham will be winding down, while England and South Africa will play cricket at Lords and Olly Murs will play Chelmsford.

And at Gidday HQ, I'll be wishing my Dad a Happy Father's Day...again.

So to my old man, hope you have had a brilliant Father's Day (in-waiting).

Your 2012 Five A Day - April

It's April already. Seriously peeps, just where has the year gone?

This month's Violent Veg theme is acceptance, a topic much written about by expat experts the world over. When does your new country/city/town/suburb/street become 'home'? And what's important - speaking the lingo, making friends with the locals, finding your patch?

Maybe it's all three.

Eddie strayed onto the wrong patch, where some rotten vegetables...
...gave him a nasty veggie.

I've read that it takes 18 months to 2 years to feel settled in a new home. My own experience of moving to London echoes this with happy contentment arriving about 18 months into my foray into expat life.

So it would seem that my recent 'upping sticks' to Fab Finchley is still in its honeymoon phase and by my own reckoning, I have about 13 months 'to go'. But in lunching with an ex-Fab-Finchley-ite friend yesterday, I've suddenly discovered a few nooks and crannies to add to the list of fabulous-ness that I need to explore here. Beautiful gardens, stately homes and even a weekly soiree of the ballroom dancing kind may just be on the cards.

Just hope the natives I find there are friendly!

Turkish Delight...

Not a week has passed in this magnificent new year and already Gidday from the UK is bringing you delight from around the globe - Turkish Delight that is.

Jack Scott is a fellow expat - an Englishman in Turkey (Bodrum in fact) - and he's written a book. His blog, Perking the Pansies is his catalogue of daily thoughts on the world of two gay men in foreign land - in turns thought-provoking and funny, always witty and honest. 

And now there's the book...

This is not just a collection of blog posts. Rather Jack weaves the tale of the dichotomous life of an expat with poignancy and humour. The wondering where you belong, what 'life' to build and how to bridge the gap between life BE (Before Expat) and the unfamiliar 'now' remains as relevant to me now as eight years ago when I arrived in the UK and I look forward to finding out what happens next for Jack and Liam.

So without further ado, I am proud to present Gidday's first guest for 2012, Jack Scott.

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Gidday from Turkey

Here on Gidday from the UK you’ll read about an Aussie girl’s life in Blighty and beyond, her thirst for reading and her need to scratch those itchy travelling feet. Her writing is eloquent, varied, fun and informative. I’ve always got along with Antipodeans. We share similar cultural roots and laugh at the same things, but our cousins Down Under aren’t afflicted with the same level of debilitating cynicism that stalks many Brits these days. I find this refreshing. To my eternal shame, I’ve never been to Oz. My partner, Liam, has. He loved it and wanted to stay. Forever. He even considered re-training as a hairdresser to gain enough points to emigrate (crimpers were in short supply at the time, apparently). From civil servant to coiffeur would have made a dramatic career change. He thought better of it when he realised it was a gay cliché too far. That was before he met me, of course.

When Gidday writes about London, it’s like a magical trip down memory lane for me. I enjoy our current lives as a wanton Lotus Eaters here in Turkey, but London Town is my home town and it’s where my heart is. I love Turkey but I’m in love with London. This ‘here and there’ tension is one of the recurring themes of my new book, Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey. Were we insane to sell up, chuck in the jobs and move lock, stock and barrel to a Muslim country? Well, we’re still here but it’s been a rocky road. When I was recently asked to sum up our time in Turkey, I struggled to paraphrase the complexity of our experiences and emotions: ‘misery and joy, bigotry and enlightenment, betrayal and loyalty, friendship, love, earthquakes, birth, adoption and a senseless murder.’ Life in the Smoke was never this eventful. You couldn’t make it up.

Thank you so much to Gidday for featuring Perking the Pansies on the Book Nook list. I’m in elevated company. If you like what you see, the book is available on paperback and Kindle at Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.
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ps...If you want to see what I thought, pop over to The Book Nook and check out No. 57. Alternatively, if you are looking for a veritable pantheon of praise, I and many others have spread the word on Amazon so you can click here for that.

Friendships Are Made Of This...

There's nothing like a special guest to make a new pad feel like home. Apart from the opportunity to welcome someone into your new space, it also makes you get your a*** into gear with that last little bit of unpacking. You know, the pile you have left in a corner and avoid making eye contact with, the half empty box you've been walking around while muttering 'I must get around to doing that...'

Anyway, last night Gidday HQ played host to its very first guest - A-down-the-hill (the down-the-hill bit a reference to the place I lived before). The guest bed was made up, living room cushions plumped, cosy blankets draped over the couch (our friendship has a history of much 'vino, cosy blankies and a movie') and the place was all ready for her arrival.


Gorgeous house-warming flowers from A-down-the-hill.
The thistles are fitting - hubby is Scottish!

A-down-the-hill was my first 'London' friend. Fresh off 'the boat' in 2004 and with only her email address to guide me, our friendship has been a rock for me - ups and downs 'n' all - over the last eight years and outside Mum and Lil Chicky, she's the person I feel closest to on the planet.

By the time this post is published, she will have featured a dozen times on Gidday from the UK, appearing the first time on the 29th June 2009 as 'A' in Muscles & a Minor Heatwave and most recently at my latest birthday bash, Pukka Picnic & Polo Ponies.

In between, there have been BBQs, baking, and bicycles. I've been a Hot Chick to her Hen, and an Emergency Handbag. We've been Ladies Who Lunch and we've even Kew-ed the Music together. She was also the one who inspired my Kindle-envy, culminating in my abandoning my bookish faith and embracing the pure, electronic loveliness of Audrey.

And she's another Happy Little Vegemite and Australian Abroad, an enduring fellowship for those of us who've made it beyond the initial couple of years here to 'settle', whether by marriage (her) or by sheer bloody-minded declaration (me).

So, A-down-the-hill was my first guest, a fitting tribute to all sorts of new chapters we've seen each other through over these last eight, London years. And to welcome her last night to Fabulous Finchley was...

...well...

...fabulous.


ps...today we also hugged each other Merry Christmas as we said goodbye as we will not see each other again before the big day. This provided little ol' moi with a timely reminder to let you all know that there are only 8 sleeps to go.

That's right, we are down to single figures peeps. Are you ready?

The Silent Letter...

One of the things any Australian coming to the UK feels assured of is the ability to speak the language. You know, to communicate, be understood, that kind of thing. And after almost eight years here, despite some early faux pas (the use of words like pants and thongs come to mind), I don't find myself thinking twice about the way I speak.

However, working for a global business, I am surrounded by colleagues whose first language is not English. My team mate is French and a close colleague who sits across the partition from me is Turkish. Within a couple of desks away are three Germans so by the time you add the erstwhile Aussie to the mix, the locals represent less than 50% of the seating arrangements in our area. 

There's often much hilarity as sayings go a bit awry with regularity. We've had the dog barking at the wrong door (vs up the tree), don't let the bugs bite (the bed just went amiss), cookie (vs brownie) points and my personal favourite, a 'one pony trick' which leads the mind in a significantly different direction from the one trick pony!

But on the train home today, I was reminded what a real minefield the 'English' language can be, particularly when it comes to place names.

It's not just the longer prefixes to the shires that trip one up on this green isle - I mean how do you get 'wooster' from Worcester - or the fact that words tend to dribble away here as opposed to the emphasis-on-every-syllable pronunciation employed by my lot (eg. Bir-ming-ham rhymes with 'I eat SPAM'). 

It's the presence of a letter.  A letter that just sneaks in there, quiet as you like. And upsets the natural order of things.

The letter 'W'.

It's a dastardedly affair. The 'W' sound is happy to lead off, loud and proud, at the beginning of a word - Walthamstow, Windsor, Worthing are fine examples. 

But the rules seem to differ when that little 'w' ensconces itself right in the middle of things. So Southwark is pronounced 'Suthick' (vs my fresh-off-the-boat South-walk all those years ago), Harwich is pronounced 'Harrich'...

...and today, I automatically corrected my collègue français' Flitwick - without skipping a beat - to 'Flittick'.

My family keep telling me I sound more and more English every time I speak to them.

I think they may be right.

Turning Points...Blogging and Beyond

One of the best things about blogging is that you get to open up your world to all sorts of amazing, generous, interesting and talented people that you just might not bump into when immersed in the minutae of day to day life. Linda Janssen is one such person for me - amazing that is, not minutae!

An American living in The Hague in Holland, Linda is the lady behind the fabulous blog Adventures in Expatland where she charts her particular journey as someone who wants to make a difference: as an expat, a wife, a mother and as an aspiring writer. 

But wait...aspiring no more. She IS a writer. And as you know, I love to support those who are brave enough to reach for what their deepest heart desires so I am both completely thrilled and deeply honoured to play host to her virtual book tour here at Gidday from the UK.

So here's to you Linda - chin chin! And for all you aspiring...well anything you want to be's ...out there, read on to see how inspiring reaching for your dreams can be.

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Blogging and Beyond

by Linda A. Janssen

On the latest stop of my 'virtual book tour' I'm here in London at Gidday From the UK. I'm visiting  a number of my favorite blogs to share a little about the writing journey that has led to the publication of a book to which I've contributed. 

Specifically, I'm in Fabulous Finchley in Northern London today. A big thank you to Kym for hosting me in her new abode so soon after moving, but she's a brave gal and not one to let a recent move keep her from having company.

Last week was the launch of Turning Points: 25 Inspiring Stories From Women Entrepreneurs Who Have Turned Their Careers and Their Lives Around, and it's been a roller coaster ever since. The book is edited by Kate Cobb, a women's business and executive coach (www.movingforwardyourway.com) and Brit now living in France. Our publisher is the formidable Jo Parfitt (www.joparfitt.com) who runs Summertime Publishing, a niche publishing house that specializes in fiction and non-fiction books by and about expats and international living.

I'm new to the publishing arena, and while I did a fair amount of research beforehand into what I could, should and would do to help get the word out about the book, I wasn't entirely sure how it would all go. The answer in a word is fabulous. But I would credit the book's concept for that more than anything else.

Turning Points is an inspirational collection of uplifting personal essays in which women from all over the world, living different lives and working in various fields, reach a pivotal moment or series of events that triggers within them the acknowledgement that they simply cannot continue on in the same manner. Change in their professional and personal lives is demanded and inevitable.

Each woman shares her own situation, how her particular turning point came about, and  the manner in which she responded. Even better, each contributor offers the resources (books, websites and the like) that helped her implement change, and lessons learned along the way.

I've been reading Kym's posts for quite some time now, and it's difficult to point to just one aspect that pulled me in. She's witty and amusing with an eye for the absurd yet isn't afraid to display her romantic side. She's a voracious reader who kindly shares her mini-reviews; I enjoy the range of titles and authors, constantly adding to my own 'must read' list. I'm drawn to her story (arriving in the UK for love and courageously choosing to stay when it didn't go as planned) but am liking her ending even more.

When I started my blog, I was in the early stages of 'coming out' as a writer. I'd hidden my dreams and aspirations for too long, and knew that in order to move forward I'd have to put my writing and myself out there for all to see. Like Kym, I started writing articles, book reviews and interviews and slowly began to build up my published portfolio.

We can't do it all. In truth, who can? So we choose to do the things that bring us closer to our goals. I'm writing a non-fiction book about the importance of emotional resilience in living in countries and cultures other than your own. Contributing a chapter to Turning Points was a fork in the path, an opportunity that presented itself, another decision point.

I helped start a writers' group along with some other wonderful writing women here in The Hague, and over time I've come to trust their instincts and feedback. Now I share my deepest secret with them in the form of sections of a novel I've begun to write. The pace is slow, almost glacial at times, but just the fact that my words are seeing the light of day is enough for now.

Blogging is the public portal through which many a writer now steps. As Kym states herself in her Gidday bio, sharing bits and pieces of everyday life has 'reignited her passion for writing and she now wonders where it all might lead.' With a writer as talented as Kym, it will be fun to watch.

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If you'd like to find out more about our book, please take a look at the website www.theturningpointsbook.com, or follow along on Facebook's The Turning Points Book page or on Twitter @Turning_Points. A portion of all sales will benefit www.seedsfordevelopment.org.

A Tale of Two Cities...

It's official. Melbourne, my home town, is the world's most livable city.

The Economist Intelligence Unit's 2011 Livability Ranking has placed Australia's Melbourne city as the most livable city in the world, with a score of 97.5. Austria's Vienna and Canada's Vancouver were ranked on the second and third places respectively among 140 cities. Source: www.economist.com

For those of you who haven't been to Melbourne and are wondering why it won, here are a few snaps from my trip last Christmas.


Melbourne City View from South Bank (January 2011)

Eureka Tower at South Bank - a new addition since my last visit

The Palais at St Kilda - and that's Luna Park in the background

Mentone Beach - lying on a beach towel (it was 26C and deserted, far too cold for the locals!)

There were also a few fond memories that the locals are likely to appreciate a little more than your average tourist:

Hamer Hall? The Greatest Show On Earth?  What a tribute!

Love is in the Air - The Myer Melbourne Christmas Windows featured The Nutcracker Suite last year

The best chips on the planet (yes chips, not crisps..bloody Poms!) - Burger Rings and Twisties!

But those of you who read my meanderings regularly, or know me well, know how much I love London:

Harrods from the top deck of the number 14 bus, a regular drive-by after a night out on the town

Tower of London - it was just there for the taking

View of the Thames from Putney Bridge (from another bus)

Richmond Park - splendor in the grass and right next door

Another delicate sunset - from the front window of my flat

The ice and snow last December - from my (then) office building

Footprints in the snow - where I've been

So in the livability stakes, it's a tale of two cities for me.

The first is the one left behind laced with nostalgic and happy rememberings. 

And the second is the one where I am quietly proud of the new life I have built for myself. The one where, despite it's lower ranking, I feel like I've come home.

Life's Classroom...

Every week I get an email newsletter from Australian Times.  It keeps me in touch with what's going on with Aussies in London and also with some of the big stories Down Under.  But this week's article by Adrian Craddock, Does Being Australian Make You Less Employable? hit a particularly sensitive spot.

I arrived in London at the age of 34.  I had achieved a great many things in my career up to that point and my move to London, while sudden, was a permanent one as far as I was concerned. I had great references and could give many examples showing the results I'd achieved and how I'd 'managed' to do this. I'd qualified easily for my work visa under the Highly Skilled Migrants Programme. Note that this was not the 2 year working visa, or youth mobility visa as it's now called, that most Aussies who are under the age of 30 and without UK ancestry come on. I'd sold my apartment and had a shipping container of furniture on the way. 

No-one actually said anything but as I trawled the recruiters and the job boards and built my networks, I felt an undercurrent of disbelief from the locals.  Had I actually done all of those things at such a 'young' age?  Was I really here for good and how could they count on me not to get homesick and flee back to Melbourne? And for that matter, why hadn't I stayed in Australia if my career had been that great?

On top of this, I was faced with the constant refusal to believe that the skills and experience I had put to such good use in Australia (and in dealing with suppliers and customers in overseas markets while based there) could possibly be transferred to the UK.

And the longer this went on, the more difficult it got.  Added to the great unspoken was the question, 'Why aren't you working yet?'

My networks were gone - the Australian ones I'd left behind could do little to provide any pragmatic help and the new ones, while delighted with the opportunity to ask me 'what I was doing here', proved a bit of a closed shop.  I didn't resort to spending my time fulfilling the common view of Australians as hard-working wanderlusts, ready to 'make the most' of the plethora of multicultural experiences just a couple of hours and a few quid away across the Channel.  I kept working - temping and working in the kinds of roles I'd worked in 8-10 years prior - trying to get a foothold in the market and earn enough to pay my bills and build my life here. 

Seven and a half years on and a whole rollercoaster of ups and downs later, I've learnt a lesson or two.  

The first is around dogged hard-graft, relentless persistence and above all, emotional resilience.  It's tough to start again.  Really tough.  And it's destabilising to be without those taken-for-granted ways of life, the unconditional daily support networks and, not to put too finer point on it, money.  It made me dig deep to find new ways to keep going and new things to embrace about my life. 

Which leads me to the second lesson: humility, integrity and faith that it would 'happen' for me.  There is no such thing as being 'too big for your boots' when doing the coffee round for the office was helping me to pay my bills.  I was employed to do a job, whether I liked that job or not. And I'm someone who always wants to do a job well, sometimes in the face of much cynicism and comments like 'why are going above and beyond? No-one cares!'. (I am not a proud, proud Leo for nothing!) 

I'm emerging from a 2 year dip now, enjoying the sunshine (so to speak) as I climb to the top of the hill again.  It's good to feel inspired and hopeful.  Everywhere I look, the future is looking bright and shiny. 

And the best part?  I feel grounded, like I can deal with whatever comes, and lucky to have such valuable lessons from Life's never-ending classroom under my belt.