There are some delicious cool wafts of breeze puffing through the screen door to my left as I type this post. It is not helping to erase the memory of the soggy, gluggy humidity earlier today. At this time of year I start to think fond thoughts of the early June mornings with feet thrust into Ugg boots to escape the cold chill of our kitchen floor tiles.
My father and I had an uncomfortable, soggy gluggy conversation on Sunday night. One of those important life conversations. One of those what-are-you-going-to-do-with-yourself conversations. It was a conversation that covered the full range of uncomfortable subjects from C to H (Commitment to House Buying).
He is resolutely in favour of house buying is my Dad. I am not. Every time I think about buying a house in Sydney I start to get a bit dizzy and sick. My Dad believes that if my husband and I buy a house here it will help us put down roots and give us some financial security. I think that if we buy a house here it will become a millstone around our necks. Not surprisingly, about halfway through the conversation I felt like I was playing Roger Federer at tennis with a concrete raquet.
After I got off the phone and ever since then I have been asking myself the same question:
Sydney – do I want to commit to you? Should we take our relationship to the next (home buying) level?
Before I decide this, Sydney, there are some things that we need to talk about first. You really have to do something about the humidity. I love heat. I love sunshine. I hate humidity and so do my shoes. There are exquisite shoes that I have hardly worn that have become unglued and unwearable. Shoe fabrics and elastics have disintegrated with alarming speed over the ten years that we have lived here. Not to mention that I can go to sleep with perfectly clear skin and wake up with a set of plukes* that resemble the Pyrenees.
In the summer, Sydney, I find it that there are things that I could rise above but for your humidity: getting into the office to find that my chair is 3 inches lower than it was the last time I sat on it; the fact that I can’t find my house keys; sitting behind someone on an un-air conditioned train who is both reading a newspaper and breathing …
The humidity really does get to me here – it is physically impossible consume enough water to replenish what is escaping through my pores; my sleep is constantly disturbed by the temperature going up and down like an faulty sauna on some summer nights. Last (but not least) I have to keep my Tunnocks Teacakes in the fridge and cold marshmallow tastes funny.
That said there are some good things about Sydney – the beaches, the fresh produce, the diversity of culture, the fact that you never really need to wear winter clothes and the good friends that I have slowly managed to acquire here.
Also, I do enjoy that I can wear fabric shoes like these silky Faith stiletto slingbacks more than once in Sydney without them buckling and being ruined in the rain. There is rain here but I generally take my shoes off and splash about barefoot in it when that happens. I would never be able to do that in Glasgow.
So what do you say, Sydney – should we just be friends? See how it goes… maybe in a couple of months I will feel differently.
* Pluke (also plook) Scottish vernacular for a spot, zit, boil or inflammation of the skin.