G and I have returned from our sadly very brief holiday in Perth. We arrived back in London on Monday with golden tans, a stock of cherry ripes and tim tams and, less happily, terrifically bad jetlag. A few days on and we are returning to a pasty white colour, have consumed all the cherry ripes and tim tams but, happily, have almost recovered from the jet lag.
The trip did not get off to a brilliant start. The 22-hour flight from London to Perth is never pleasant, but this flight proved particularly bad. We were on Singapore Airlines, normally known (at least by me) for its great inflight entertainment, decent food and service. Sadly, perhaps because we had only paid 400 pounds each for these return flights, all of those aspects were missing. We found ourselves with a dire selection of movies; after trying (and abandoning) such cinematic delights as The Ugly Truth and The Time Traveller's Wife, I gave up on the inflight entertainment. I also discovered my newly purchased book was dreadful, so the flight was spent largely with me blankly looking at the back of the chair in front of me or trying to entice G into a game of I Spy (he refused, after pointing out that there are only so many times you can spy a chair, fold-up tray and seatbelt before the game becomes boring). G had also, with the best of intentions, requested a special meal to accommodate my seafood-eating vegetarianism. Unfortunately, rather than ordering the vegetarian meal for me, he ordered the seafood meal. As I discovered, this was a meal exclusively of seafood. And not just any seafood, but overcooked, inedible seafood. Given that in the current security-conscious climate, airplanes are unlikely to stock steak knives, I decided that eating my seafood meal would prove physically impossible, and so concentrated my efforts instead on stealing G's dessert and crackers. As a result of all of the above, I suspect that G's enjoyment of the flight was approximate with my own.
Thankfully the holiday in Perth was significantly better than our flight there. We celebrated our birthdays, caught up with dearly missed family and friends and succeeded in gorging ourselves on food and wine, thanks to those very kind family and friends. We were also able to reintroduce ourselves to an adorable niece and two nephews. Aside from a minor incident involving me setting off my uncle's house alarm by breaking into his house (who knew?) all went very smoothly.
While it was wonderful seeing our friends and family, I confess it was strange returning to Perth. It took a little while from when we arrived for me to acclimatise myself to the place. Being now used to the incredible human traffic in London, seeing entire streets devoid of any visible people took some getting used to. I also made the mistake of (very innocently) being surprised at a dinner party when someone mentioned the West Australian had a food critic, and before I could stop myself blurted out "but are there enough restaurants to justify a food critic?". Not surprisingly, that latter comment was not met well, and I quickly found myself trying to backtrack and explain, honestly, that what I meant was that in London, there's a new restaurant opening every minute due to the enormous population, but surely there couldn't be that many new restaurants opening every week in Perth. Admittedly, the comment made me sound like a pretentious tool. It also served to show me (and this is a lesson I ought to have learned by now) that I need to find a way of disconnecting that part of my brain that causes me to blurt out whatever I'm thinking without screening it for sense and soundness first.
I love Perth. I love the beach, I love the weather, and I love the sense of space (once I get used to it). But I have to confess, I missed London while I was gone. While I was very sad leaving Perth and my family and friends (and there were more than a few tears shed for those I was leaving behind), I was also looking forward to getting home to London. And for the first time, I realised I was calling London home and really meaning it.
Thankfully the holiday in Perth was significantly better than our flight there. We celebrated our birthdays, caught up with dearly missed family and friends and succeeded in gorging ourselves on food and wine, thanks to those very kind family and friends. We were also able to reintroduce ourselves to an adorable niece and two nephews. Aside from a minor incident involving me setting off my uncle's house alarm by breaking into his house (who knew?) all went very smoothly.
While it was wonderful seeing our friends and family, I confess it was strange returning to Perth. It took a little while from when we arrived for me to acclimatise myself to the place. Being now used to the incredible human traffic in London, seeing entire streets devoid of any visible people took some getting used to. I also made the mistake of (very innocently) being surprised at a dinner party when someone mentioned the West Australian had a food critic, and before I could stop myself blurted out "but are there enough restaurants to justify a food critic?". Not surprisingly, that latter comment was not met well, and I quickly found myself trying to backtrack and explain, honestly, that what I meant was that in London, there's a new restaurant opening every minute due to the enormous population, but surely there couldn't be that many new restaurants opening every week in Perth. Admittedly, the comment made me sound like a pretentious tool. It also served to show me (and this is a lesson I ought to have learned by now) that I need to find a way of disconnecting that part of my brain that causes me to blurt out whatever I'm thinking without screening it for sense and soundness first.
I love Perth. I love the beach, I love the weather, and I love the sense of space (once I get used to it). But I have to confess, I missed London while I was gone. While I was very sad leaving Perth and my family and friends (and there were more than a few tears shed for those I was leaving behind), I was also looking forward to getting home to London. And for the first time, I realised I was calling London home and really meaning it.
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