Having just spent two weeks in NZ I have been pondering what home is and whether or not it's greedy to have more than one. Homes, I mean, not houses. I wouldn't mind having a couple of houses to suit my different moods. Somewhere dark and cold for grumpy Penelope to hide in as she sulks and kicks the furniture. On the surface, Palmerston North would probably fit that bill - except it was all lovely and sunny when I went there (I can hear your gasps of amazement from here) so I'll have to find another place to practise my Eyeore impersonation.
But, PN is home. And so is Wellington. And now so is Sydney. Manly, really. Mantown. Where wearing Speedos down the Corso is acceptable. London was home, but it always felt a bit short term. Ditto Xiamen and Homeashil-Dong (I don't think I've spelt that right but it's so bloody small I can't find it on a map). And working backwards we eventually wind up in Christchurch. Home for three years and I when I left I said I could never live there again because we were a little incompatible despite how good we looked on paper - and while that still holds true it didn't stop the tears after the quake. Or the guilt. Having had the good fortune to have flown out of Chch the day before, the feeling of total helplessness and worry has not gone away, despite having received cheerful emails from people there. Who all seem to be making the most of their dwindling booze supplies.
Anyway - NZ is home but once again so is Australia. For reasons I can't explain and cannot be arsed even bothering to look into, Sydney has grabbed me like Melbourne didn't - and I loved Melbourne. Mocked Sydney. It would be rubbish. Like Auckland (another place I'd prefer not to live again - I am picky, no?) but it's not. Oh how my taunts have fallen into tiny little puddles of embarrassment. Although, given I live in Manly, someone is bound to try and drink them.
I was asked if I would move back to Wellington and the answer is of course yes. Because it's, um, home. But I couldn't say when because Sydney is home. But if I have kids would I want to bring them up here, and sweet baby jesus, deal with them having true blue Aussie accents? Which probably suggests that much as I love Sydney, perhaps it's not quite as much home as I think it is ... will learn to embrace the accent eventually I'm sure.
As is no doubt obvious by the nonsensical babble above, I got back to this home from visiting my other home a bit sad and confused. However, I was cheered no end by getting to my new place with Nic, Kajal and Ratty at 10pm to discover the girls had made my bed for me - which given they moved houses without me as well, seemed awfully nice.
However, there is one small snag to our nifty new place - the combination of our wooden floorboards and the baby downstairs. We've been told off twice. Given we're not holding parties, playing footy or using our drum kits, I'm not too sure what we can do about this. We'll get rugs, yes, but basically, four people in an apartment make noise. Maybe I shouldn't have put the washing machine on at 7am this morning.
Birthday this weekend - and I'm spending it doing what spinsters love to do best, aside from eat stale crackers and drink sherry out of tea cups. I'm going to Mike and Skye's wedding. I asked Skye what she wanted for a wedding gift and she replied 'get shitfaced and misbehave'. She's pretty much the perfect bride. Although, as her mother-in-law is my Sunday School teacher, I shall be on my best behaviour - which means I shall try very hard to only talk about polite things (which will be hard as I just read this article about Japanese toilets and I want to ask people about it). I'm pretty sure the other guests, which include my brother, Kruse and Bibby, can provide plenty of excitement though.