Well, it’s been almost a month since the traumatic leaving of London.  The flight over was very sad and I managed to accidentally  kick my passport out of my handbag at some point during the flight to Bangkok.  After the freak out, little Thai cleaners found it a few rows forward so that was lucky I guess.  The Bangkok to Sydney trip was SO rough.  It was the worst turbulence I’d ever felt, ever.  Usually I sit quietly in my seat and pray we won’t die in an exploding fiery ball and cry a little but this time I’d taken a lot of sleeping pills and marvelled at how much I didn’t care.  Even when the lights flickered on and off and the overhead speakers were cutting out during an Air hostesses announcement.  It went something like this:
“We regret to inform you…*crackle crackle*, due to turbulence” *crackle, cut out*.  ”We have consulted with the customer service manager and due to turbulence” *cut out*”.
I honestly thought at this point they were going to tell us we had to make an emergency landing somewhere in the desert of Australia.
“We regret to inform you, due to turbulence, we will not be serving breakfast”.  Ahh.

My first day was so odd. I kept thinking, ok, I’ll just go home now, then I’d remember I’ll never be going back to my flat with my friends, then panic, then depression.  I’d forget where I was when I woke up in the mornings.  I would take the dog for a walk and wonder where all the people were.  The 2 or 3 people that might have been on the street at the same time seemed to be walking in slow motion.  The biggest thing that I’m still struggling with is I think everyone here has the same face.  Seriously.  I was walking through town with my family, gawking at passing Wellingtonions and thinking oh my god, they all look exactly the same.  Dad reminded me that this wasn’t multicultural London where it is actually hard to find people who are born and bred English.

I can hear our accents.  I burst out laughing and mocked a friend of mine for saying “liptup” instead of “laptop”.  Then I realised that’s how I sound.  I can hear my own accent.  It’s really strange.

I’ve been to a few cafes and resturants and realised I’d completely forgotten the correct paying etiquette.  You don’t ask for the bill.  You don’t sit around for hours after dinner and chat.  You don’t tip.  You get up and pay at the cash register on the way out.  I struggled to stop saying “pounds” and “quid” when talking about prices.

It’s like learning a culture all over again.  I remember what I’m supposed to do but I feel odd doing it.

Unfortunately Wellington doesn’t seem to have any good pole dance schools that A) Fucking Email Me Back B) Don’t cost a fortune C) Seem like they don’t suck but Mum is keen to get a pole in the house so might just get on the DVDs.  I also bought a hula hoop and instructional DVD after being totally inspired by a friend and have been looking at piano lessons because why not.  I want to play piano.  So I’m going to do it.  I think that’s been the biggest freedom I’ve suddenly gained, I can now do what I want.  No more jobs under the table, no more min wage, I could go to University if I wanted to.  It makes like easier when you’re not an illegal resident.

I can’t say I’m totally happy.  I can’t say I’ve totally settled.  But it’s getting better.