Melbourne, may we meet again

In ‘98, I knew. Then in 2006, I left Sydney behind and made the move South of the border. I was younger, fitter, blonder and my teeth were most definitely whiter.

Nine years later, with a respectable dependence on coffee and red wine, I'm leaving as a true, wintery-city convert. I may miss Maroubra beach and my few absolutely excellent friends, but I never seriously considered moving back to Sydney in all that time. Now, as I prepare to head off on a new adventure, it probably comes as no surprise that it’s London I’ll next call home.

Melbourne has been great. It’s been sad and difficult too. But mainly it’s been great, and I’d live here again in a heartbeat. And, luckily, amazingly, I’ve shared the experience and met and been influenced by some awesome and interesting people along the way who are a big part of this mass of memory I’ll carry with me. We worked together, lived together, danced together, played soccer together, laughed, I’ve probably cried, we’ve talked shit, watched films, and eaten, cheese, lots of cheese. Together.

A pretty privileged kind of life really. So thanks.

First stop, a month in Sri Lanka with RR and baby A, then onto London mid-July to prepare for a Masters of Philosophy which kicks off in October. I’ll be studying at Central Saint Martins in the same building as the famed Fashion MA, so it’s time to leave the house clothes behind and become a lady.

International departures… where only one thing is certain.