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We will always have Paris

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Relaxed and ready to explore

Leaving Bali we were feeling very relaxed. Sounds a little paradoxical. To be leaving somewhere so chaotic in a relaxed frame of mind. But we did get to spend two hours in the bathhouse at Samanvaya in the village of Sideman. We had the place to ourselves and spent the time circling between the steam room, the sauna, the ice bath and the warm plunge pool. A perfect way to spend a morning in Bali.

Arriving in Paris on a warm spring afternoon we still luxuriated in this relaxed feeling. Which was good as we were to walk many many steps whilst exploring the City of Light. The Emirates chauffeur collected us at Charles de Gaulles airport and dropped us at our hotel in the city. A hotel that advertised our room as having a “view of the tower”. This was true. It is just how you define “view”.

Paris, explored

Paris is a city that I had visited once before, many years ago, so this felt like a first visit. It was definitely Victoria’s first visit. It was a city that I never thought I would get her to. She always had this pre-conceived notion that she didn’t like Paris. A notion that was thoroughly dispelled over the three days we spent exploring.

Hotel 12 was located in the 8th Arrondissement and our room with balcony did indeed have a view of the tower. Sat outside on the balcony, with a glass of French red and a baguette felt very “French”. Some may say cliched. We were here for the cliches. Which is why on day three, exploring Montmartre, we had onion soup and steak frites for lunch. Can you get more French?!

French is what we were here for. Travelling from Australia, or even Bali, to the UK is a long haul. Literally. Breaking it up with a stop in Europe makes sense and so we found ourselves in Paris. An iconic city with iconic sights. And over the three days we walked the length and breadth of the city. The queues and the price to enter were both enough to ensure we stayed outside the glass pyramid. Giving Victoria a chance to try and lift it up.

Travelling on a budget

The travel budget also prevented us from shopping along the famed Champs Elysees although we did stroll up and visit the Arc de Triomphe. How drivers navigate the dizzying array of options on what could be the world’s largest roundabout is beyond me. I need a glass of Cotes du Rhones just thinking about it.

One of our first stops just had to be the Eiffel Tower. We may have been able to see it from our hotel but it was still a heck of a walk. All good practice for the Camino that we would be walking in a couple of weeks. We got there and took a lot of the obligatory photos and made all the obligatory jokes about it being Blackpool Tower.

Whilst there, Paris, not Blackpool, we noticed there were food markets and so headed back on our final evening to kill two birds with one stone. Get dinner at the markets and see the tower illuminated. Vik had the biggest, and most expensive hot dog, she has ever had. A raclette and ham sandwich for me.

When in France…

Way before dinner, on our first morning, we had one job. Find our “go to” breakfast spot whilst in France. Paul’s is a chain of bakeries that served us so well on our 2022/2023 travels. We breakfast light in Europe and knew from past experience that we could pick up a coffee and a couple of croissants on the cheap at Paul’s. As luck would have it there was a large branch with indoor seats just a few minutes from the hotel.

With caffeine and food sorted we went exploring this amazing city. A visit to Notre Dame was high on our to do list and then across the Seine to Shakespeare & Co bookstore. Possibly the most famous bookstore in the world. Just walking amongst the shelves of the store created by Sylvia Beach I could feel the spirits of all the writers that had passed through.

In the footsteps of Hemingway

Before coming to Paris I re-read Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast”, an account of his time as a struggling, unknown writer living in Paris with his wife and child. Hemingway would often visit Shakespeare & Co. and Sylvia Beach would loan him books to read.

It wasn’t just the ghost of Hemingway that haunted us on our Parisian visit. Walking to the tower we came across a small memorial to the late Princess Diana who tragically died in Paris in August back in 1997. Speeding through the Pont de l’Alma tunnel her driver crashed into a pillar and the bridge now becomes the place that people leave flowers every August.

We leave Paris tired and energised. Big vibrant cities have a way of doing that to you. A change of pace is on the horizon as we head on the train, then bus to Paris-Beauvais airport. Used by Ryanair it couldn’t be any further away from the city before it would need a name change.

Our next stop will be the UK and will give us a chance to use our shiny new UK passports. Passports we had to buy whilst in Australia due to the UK immigration rule changes that now prevent us arriving in the country on our Australian passports. Sometimes you just have to scratch your heads and get on with it.

See you in Yorkshire.

Experimenting with memoir – Let me know your thoughts

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For some time, I have being collaborating with a fellow creator, Phil (i_am_foggy), on a memoir type book.  Writing a chapter each on how we met, and how our lives took us from Yorkshire, to new homes across the globe.  We are not sure where we will take this, but it is good to go through the process.  The posts are published to our Medium publication, but thought I would share a post here, and see if this kind of thing is of any interest.

A lot has changed over the years.  You notice this more when you get older, and start getting a little introspective.  When I say a little more, I obviously mean a lot more. I was born introspective, and have got worse with the passing of time. Birthdays have a good way of bringing this on.  As do the year ends. And for me, both come within a week of each other. Creating a natural pause in life’s usual rhythm. And it helps that I have time off work. Time to spend with friends and loved ones.  Assessing where I am in life. And making little tweaks, or adjustments to stay on course.

Not that I believe we can totally chart the course of our lives.  Life has a habit of getting in the way of our plans. And sometimes all we can do is roll with it.  But some markers help me set a little direction. And keep me focussed on my life goals.

If you have ever read a self help book, and I have, possibly too many, you will know that the most commonly asked question is a variation of, if tonight is your last night on earth, what would have regretted not doing?  Not what do you regret doing. There is no fixing that, other than learning from the experience. But, what do you regret not doing?  At the end of each year, and with each passing birthday, I allow myself a little time to think about this, and then what can I do to ensure I am not left with these regrets.

This is not to be confused with some kind of existential crisis.  Or the onset of a mid life crisis. Am I too old for this? What would you classify as mid life?  I have images of midlife crises being suffered by men entering their 40s. I’m at the stage of exiting my 40s.  Does this become a two thirds life crisis? Will people in their 50s be suffering midlife crises in a decade from now? No, my problem is not a midlife crisis, I don’t think.  It is simply an acknowledgement that we have one life, we can do what we want with it, so what do I want to do.

Invariably most of my thoughts centre around travel, and my mind scans a mental globe for the places I yearn to go to, and haven’t yet.  And it is a yearning. A deep desire to see as much of the world as possible. I once almost picked up one of those scratch maps of the world, that you can slowly scratch off the countries you visit.  What stopped me was the knowledge, the deep knowledge that I would only get depressed, and start fixating on where I hadn’t been, not where I had.

A by product of some of these travel dreams involve learning a second language.  Not only do I find it incredibly impressive hearing people seamlessly switch between languages, but I also feel ignorant, and lazy, that I know only the one.  One of my travel dreams involves living and immersing myself in the life and culture of a foreign speaking country. Preferably a Spanish speaking country.

I’m not sure I was always like this.  Or if I was, it was a latent, sleeping desire, that I hadn’t unleashed.  And didn’t get unleashed until my early 20s. Up to that point I had only left the UK twice.  Both short haul trips. Both for a period of 7 days. I was hardly Phileas Fogg. But that backpacking trip to Australia, in the summer of 1994, was the trigger.  The point I can look back on and say, you, you are responsible for the wanderlust that has been a big part of my life ever since.

Maybe I was born with a travelling gene.  Perhaps it is somewhere in my family tree.  Some long lost family member who I can attribute this longing to.  Maybe I wasn’t born with it, but subsequently developed it. But whichever way around it was, it no doubt had a large part to play in my finding myself in Dublin, alone, on a wet Monday in April back in 2006.

For most of my adult life I have done whatever I can to ensure my life includes a large element of unconventionality.  Sometimes to the point where I have pressed the self destruct button if I felt things were getting too settled. The status quo unnerves me.  I can’t explain why, only to tell you it does. If life starts to feel too comfortable, too settled, I start to feel very uneasy. Start questioning my every decision.  Start looking for ways to flip the coin again and see how it lands.

Because, heads or tails, life goes on.  Sometimes in a different direction. Sometimes in a better direction.  Sometimes, worse, at least for a while. But rest assured, life does go on.  And by throwing away what I have, opens my life up to what I don’t have. If I keep doing this, how can I possibly experience that, is how my mind works.  To date, my life has been full of amazing experiences. I have had the love of some amazing people. Some still love me. Some would probably prefer I was dead.  Most are probably ambivalent. A lot will have forgotten me. But I have made these choices. And probably will continue to.

I could churn out cliche after cliche for you, but I don’t need to.  I only need to tell you how I feel, and what my life philosophy is. My life could end at any point.  Literally. I hope it doesn’t, but accepting that knowledge frees you to enjoy life more fully. I buy into the Buddhist philosophy that life is just a phase, in the same way that death is a phase.  You can’t have one, without the other. I am reconciled to this knowledge. I am not saying that everyday is a holiday. Or that I don’t have any responsibilities. I do. That is part of living too.  But I like to keep any responsibilities to a minimum. And I like to keep my possessions to a minimum, where possible. And in between working, to pay my way in life, I also like to apportion a large part of my income to travel plans, and life experiences for the next 12 months.  Why 12 months? I believe that this is a manageable horizon to plan against. The next 12 months is close enough to be able to make tangible plans and really believe they will come to fruition. Beyond that, life tends to take over.

Sure, I could try and have grand plans for later years.  Try and provide an answer to the asinine interview question that asks “where do you want to be in 5 years?”  I don’t know, I want to shout. How do any of us? Should I just get my head down for a number of years and enjoy my life when i’m retired?  No thank you. That approach is not for me, for a number of reasons. Amongst them is the number of people, friends and family, I know that have had the same “plan”, only to not then be around to enjoy their freedom.  And if they were, would they be in the physical shape they wanted to be to travel and enjoy the hardships that travel brings?

So for now, my life remains a precarious balance.  I do a job that I would rather not do, just so I can earn the money I need to do the things I like to do.  The ideal scenario is to get a job, or vocation, that I enjoy. And yes, that dream still burns. I would love to get out of the offices that I have spent over 20 years in.  Actually, today is my 29th anniversary of starting work.  Shit, where has that time gone?

I would love to create something. I recently read that the fabulous author, E. Annie Proulx didn’t write her first novel until she was 57. I can still dream. I would love to be my own boss.  As with all my plans, these remain on the list, and hopefully, one New Year’s Eve, when I am pencilling in my plans for the following year, these make the cut.

Would you call these a bucket list?  I do. Even if in the truest sense of the phrase is that you know your destiny, your departure date, and there are things you have a time limit to complete. I call mine my annual bucket list.  Things I want to experience, accomplish, and see before I know i’m dying. Well, I KNOW i’m dying. We all are. We just don’t know when.

I am obviously older than I think, according to a new story published by the Lonely Planet.  Apparently, Thailand have introduced a new level of long stay visa, to attract “seniors” in the autumn of their life.  The starting age for these so called seniors? 50. Yup, in 3 and a bit years I am officially a senior in the eyes of the Thai government.  The jury is still out on whether this is a good thing or not. One thing I do know is that I could live a lot more cheaply in Thailand.  The more I think of it, the more it appeals.

 

Berowra Waters Inn

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I was trying to remember whether I had heard of this place.  I have eaten at a lot of great restaurants in Sydney, but somehow, I found it hard to recall any memory of Berowra Waters Inn.  If I am totally honest, which I like to think is my default position, I don’t think I had heard of Berowra, or, as it turns out, its very pretty cousin, Berowra Waters.  I feel I should have read of it, being so close to home, and housing a restaurant that gets glowing reviews all over the world in various travel and food publications.  I do have a vague recollection of being passed a magazine article, whilst on holiday in the UK.  Somewhere I was told I would enjoy.  Of a restaurant in Sydney that you get to by seaplane.  

Now, there can’t be many restaurants in Sydney, fitting this description, even though I do know that the seaplane, based out of Rose Bay, does serve several restaurants up in the Northern Beaches area.  At over $600 a trip, it is somewhat of a luxury.  As we were staying on the water for the weekend, our arrival was a little less dramatic, yet still highly memorable.  At 1.30pm, a full hour after we were initially told to be ready (river time, apparently), we spotted Andy, our water taxi, in his little boat, coasting towards our mooring.

At least we guessed it was Andy.  With each house having its own private mooring, if somebody was heading in your direction, there was only one place they could park.  Outside our house.

A bit of a character, sporting a bedraggled pony tail, and a shaggy, somewhat out of control beard, Andy had the air of a man who has never had to don a suit for a work interview.  Quite a romantic notion for me, who has spent all his adult working life in this manner, toiling at various large, faceless corporate organisations, to earn the funds that feed my insatiable travel appetite.  A kind of modern troubadour, signing for my supper, to anybody kind enough to listen.

Transferring to the Berowra Waters Inn took us all of 5 minutes, quite an improvement on the 20 or so minutes it had been taking us to pass it when out, bobbing on the water, in our own little tinnie.  For the uninitiated, as I was before this weekend, a tinnie is a small boat that you can drive without a boat licence.  That turned out to be an adventure in itself.  Today’s journey, in a much faster boat, consisted of Andy regaling us of tales of life on the river, and the various occupants, which include no other than Cate Blanchett and Paul Keating.  In different houses.  Obviously. 

Berowra Waters Inn

Other than the 3 private moorings the restaurant has, one of which was currently housing a boat that would set you back a cool $2m, and cost up to $20k to fill up with fuel, the Berowra Waters Inn is a very unprepossessing place.  No signage giving any hint to what is behind the floor to ceiling windows that stretch the length of the restaurant.  It is the smartly dressed guests sat at smartly laid tables, drinking flutes of champagne, that hint of the wonders inside.

We were greeted on the pontoon of the restaurant by the manager, and whisked through a very large brown wooden door, up the 12 or so stone steps, and into the restaurant.  With today’s lunch service only doing 16 covers there felt a kind of serenity that you don’t usually associate with restaurants that have a very open plan kitchen, as the Inn has.  The chefs appeared almost graceful, perfecting their works of art, before sending them out to hungry diners.

Our menu, as was everyone else’s, was a set 7 course degustation menu, and was presented like a little origami puzzle, so perfect that it felt wrong to open it.  As we were perusing the food we were about to experience, and that is the right word, experience, we reflected on degustation menus.  Different to the a la carte type of dining, the degustation menu forces you, if force is the right word when discussing world class food, it forces you to try things you probably wouldn’t ordinarily order.  I know for a fact, one of our party of two, and it wasn’t me, wouldn’t have ordered oysters, even though it was an amuse bouche, and definitely would not have ordered the “hapuka, mussels & herbs”, not being much of a fan of mussels.  What she wouldn’t have known beforehand, was that this would be her favourite course of the whole afternoon, and the “mussels” were dehydrated, if you can get your head around what that is.

Perfectly presented menu

Even before we had a morsel of food, we had our first drinks.  And it might possibly have changed my life.  The restaurant sells a selection of 3, custom made signature cocktails, in little inviting bottles that are hard to resist.  It was even harder to resist, nay, it was futile, once I discovered that one of the 3 cocktails was made on a base of single malt whisky, aged in Pinot casks.  Adding some lemon, and paperbark, (I still don’t know if this is an actual thing.  I would appreciate your input), a drink was produced that I will remember for a very long time.  The whisky was subtle, yet distinctive.  And whether it was the lemon, or the paperbark, or the combination of the two, I need to know how to make this drink.  My afternoon was made, and we hadn’t yet started on the food.

Amuse-bouche is served

Over the course of the next few hours we had spanner crab, the afore mentioned hapuka and mussels, pork with apple and bacon, wagyu beef, goats cheese, and a frangipani sponge that took my breath away.  A 2015 Walsh & Sons Cabernet Sauvignon from the Margaret River in Western Australia was an excellent accompaniment.

Hapuka and dehydrated mussels

Beef, onions, and tarragon

Holy goat, roasted figs, and honey

Almond and plum cake

Whilst time had been passing blissfully, the sudden arrival of the seaplane, coasting down the river, to the restaurant’s pontoon, brought into sharp relief that it must now be past 4pm, and almost the end of lunch service.  A lunch service that I was very lucky, and very grateful to have experienced.  Sadly, it was time for us to leave

As Andy whisked us home we were left reflecting on an experience that will live long in the memory, and long on the waistline.

The Melbourne Open and the Yarra Valley

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Having been two years since our last visit to Melbourne, we thought it long overdue that we visit again.  And what better time to go, apart perhaps than for the Formula 1 grand prix in March, but at the end of January for the Australian Open, which is exactly what we did last time.  It has to be said our previous semi final lasted longer than this one proved to be, but more on that later.

Leaving a day later than our previous visit, this time flying on Australia Day (January 26th), coinciding with my first anniversary of being an Australian citizen, we set our alarms and made sure there were no hiccups as we negotiated first the big yellow bus, then train, to Sydney Domestic airport for our 7.55am flight.  Flying with JetStar, the antipodean equivalent of Ryanair, you are never quite sure what to expect.  On this occasion our short flight, under 2 hours, was on time and very painless.  However, unlike last time when we flew into Tullamarine, today’s flight on the big orange airline had us landing at Avalon, some 60kms from Melbourne CBD.

From the big orange plane, onto the big red Skybus (I’m sensing a colour theme), and for $42 each for a round trip, we were transported the 45 minutes in to town.  Transferring to a cab by Southern Cross Station, I was glad the ride was short, as we had Walter Mitty driving us.  Not only did he provide free advice on how much I had been ripped off by the Skybus, but also regaled us with tales of him being very senior in the Israeli military, how he was the most senior person, and therefore in charge, of the planes he flies on, and also that he was a life saving paramedic.  I tried telling him I was an agent of Mossad, but this cut no ice with Walter.

View from the apartment

Our accommodation, in South Melbourne, was a fantastic apartment booked via Airbnb.  Twelve floors up, a few wines were drunk on the balcony that had sweeping city views.  The Eureka building dominates the city skyline in the CBD, and across to the right, the magnificent Melbourne Cricket Ground dominates.  If I had to gripe about one thing, it would be advertising a coffee “pod” machine, as a prominent selling point on your Airbnb listing, then only providing 2 pods. 2 pods! For 4 people, for 2 nights.  Are we on rations?  If any landlord, in any city knew how important coffee is, surely a landlord from Melbourne would know more than most.

We were lucky that the weather improved from the cold, grey skies that greeted us on arrival. In fact, there was a bit of a heatwave whilst we were there, and judging by colour of some people’s skin, present company included, more sunscreen would have been a good idea.


Unlike Sydney, Melbourne really knows how to put on a sporting event.  The Open is so well organised, you could easily spend a full day just soaking up the atmosphere, and enjoying the entertainment outside the actual stadiums. With hindsight, maybe we should have done that.  From the off it was obvious that it was going to be a routine win for Federer.  From entering the big blue, very blue, court, there is that colour theme again, the speed with which he dispatched the first set was pure Roger.  What we, or the rest of the Rod Laver arena, didn’t expect was the match to be over before all the sets were played. When Chung pulled up, and retired, there were audible gasps all around the stadium.  Gasps were replaced by expletives by one of our party. Understandably upset, the booing wasn’t appreciated by the lady in the row in front.  Oops.

We resolved to make up for the disappointment by getting suitably inebriated on the wine tour of the Yarra Valley the day after.  If you fancy doing something similar I would highly recommend Chill Out Wine Tours.  Starting the day with a typical Melbourne breakfast, well, one of us did, at Bowery to Williamsburg, we then met the bus at 9.25am, by the side of St Paul’s cathedral, opposite Federation Square in the city.  A quick roll call and we were soon on our way for the short 1 hour trip to the valley.  As always with these trips, the driver does a great job in getting everybody talking.  At the start of a wine tasting day, most people are very quiet.  They either haven’t woken up yet, the caffeine hasn’t kicked in, or are displaying natural shy tendencies. I fall firmly into the second camp.  Or maybe the third!  No such issue on the way home, when everybody was best friends forever, and were getting invited to a pool party!  Yes, you had a very “interesting” job, of designing door handles.  In fact, you were probably the first designer of door handles that I had met.  But do I want to sit in your hot tub with you, in your bathers?  That’s another question.

Our first stop on the trip was at Domaine Chandon, which turns out to be a sister vineyard of Moët (yes, it is pronounced with a hard t, with name being of Dutch origin, and not French), one of several around the world.  Part of the global holding company LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessy).  The famous Moët is not made here.  As you know champagne can only be produced in the Champagne region of France.  What they do produce at Domaine Chandon is some very good sparkling wines.  The vineyard, as you would expect, is somewhat of a commercial behemoth, so it was refreshing to move onto Soumah wines.

Named as a derivative of South of the Maroondah highway, this is a boutique winery, one of those that seem to produce a full range of excellent wines.  The question that always makes me smile when wine tasting is “so, what wines do you like?”  My answer is the same every time.  All of them.  Which is 97% true. Soumah was one of those special wineries where I enjoyed every wine on the testing menu.  White, red, and dessert wines.  All excellent.  It is these type of tastings that I blame for me having more wine at home than I have books. Yeah, I know, hard to believe right?

After an excellent lunch at Soumah, a pasta dish that is possibly in my top 5 ever, and I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy, we moved on to Di Bertoli for another great tasting.  The day was finished at Yering Farm, probably my least favorite wines of the day.  It is not often I meet a wine list that I wouldn’t buy from.  I did that day.  A very pleasant tasting, with a very knowledgeable lovely old mature lady, but the wines did not match my palate.  As rare as that it, it happens.

Skipping the pool party, we had our final night in Melbourne, starting with drinks at Pony Fish Island.  A great little bar, in the Yarra River, that was first discovered by us on Instagram.  Don’t all the best bar / brunch / dinner recommendations come from your Insta feed?  Drinking as the sun set, we weren’t in the mood to explore much further afield, so we had a very good dinner at Teatro, on the river, eating, drinking, and chatting about the great weekend we had.

We were a little blue, to be leaving on the red bus, to catch the orange airplane. A red wine on the plane, and a commitment to return capped off a great weekend.

Maybe Alanis was right…

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From a distance, the fields look very green. Lush. As you slowly approach, the verdant green starts to fade, and when you are at the fence, it looks as though the grass isn’t green on either side. Typical.

Life has a way of changing on you when your back is turned. Your thoughts and attitudes change with the passing of the years, without you realising what profound effect they are having on your psyche. What looked a good idea a few years ago, looks less so now. The things you enjoyed become less appealing. When did this happen? It’s as though we slept through the changing of the guard. As we silently passed the dark hours, somebody came into the living room of our heads and rearranged the furniture. And when you wake up, it takes a while to notice. What is different?

That is how it happens. Silently. Stealthily. Before you know where you are, all the angst of youth seems a distant memory and you are happy with yourself. Happy in yourself. Just happy. Since reaching 40 I have never felt more comfortable with being me. Just like that. Without consciously thinking about it. Without making any changes. Without suffering a midlife crisis. I still don’t have a red Porsche, a Harley Davidson, a Rolex (yet) or a Playboy bunny girl as a live in lover, and yet, I’m happy.

I would even go as far as saying that I feel quite settled. Yeah, you heard that right. Settled. My friendships have reached a level of maturity whereby the friends I have are the friends I want to have. And they are great friendships. The times we have together leave me with lasting memories and a smile when I reminisce about them.

And yet, shortly, I’m leaving all this behind. Packing up the great home I have. Leaving the work I’m doing, after finally, after all these years, starting to work for myself as a freelance project manager. And leaving family and friends behind to lift and shift it all 11000 miles away, to the land down under.

Why? It’s not just for the Vegemite sandwiches and pints of Fosters. It’s because I’ve harboured this dream for a very, very long time. To live in Australia. The eight visits there haven’t diminished, or diluted this dream. I’m very excited to go and start a new challenge. I thrive on change and challenging the status quo. But, it has to be said, when I set out on this journey, over 2 years ago, I wasn’t in the same place, mentally. The metaphorical furniture was upturned, I wasn’t settled and did indeed suffer the odd pangs of angst. So, back then, the grass did in fact look so much greener.

Like I said, maybe Alanis was right, it is a little bit ironic, don’t you think?

Forget the olympics, now the real countdown begins

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Despite knowing for a long time this is what I was going to do, it was still surprisingly hard to press the “proceed” button. Having searched for, and found, exactly the flights I wanted, I just needed to enter my credit card details and it would all become real.

Then why did the butterflies immediately kick in? Why did a tsunami of indecisiveness wash over me? Maybe it is the reality that the clock now starts ticking. Each day that passes is one less that I will live in the UK. Knowing that I do really now have to start tying up the loose strings of my English life. Closing down bank accounts. Cancelling memberships. Packing up belongings. Saying those emotional goodbyes to family and good friends. Not really sure of when I will be seeing many of them again.

Or maybe it’s not that at all. Perhaps it is just the fact that I now realise, and it’s starting to sink in, that I will have to rescind the season ticket for my beloved Manchester United, the team that I first watched live in the late 1970s. In the days when football was football. The Theatre of Dreams was simply, Old Trafford. And the glory days of Best, Charlton and Law were nothing but a distant memory. Long gone, with me continually suffering through the 80s at the hands of the red half of Merseyside. That, of course, was until the day at Crossley Heath school in 1986 when I heard that big Ron Atkinson had been sacked and a dour Scotsman called Alex Ferguson was on his way south. The rest, as they say, is history.

So, I have my flights. On 1st August i will be leaving these shores and heading down under. And yes, it’s a very long flight, so i’ve pushed the boat out (on a plane?) and for the first time ever I booked business class seats (in keeping with ticking things off my life bucket list). Singapore Airlines will be taking me, via Munich, to Singapore, a city I’ve visited on a few occasions, always enjoying the great restaurants, and (exorbitantly) expensive nightlife. Little wonder that Nick Leeson had to resort to being a rogue trader to fund his flashy lifestyle and late nights in “Harry’s Bar”.

Three days later I will be headed to Perth. Glorious Perth. Gateway to beautiful Fremantle, and quite possibly some of the best fish and chips in the whole of Australia, from Cicerello’s by the marina. Afterwards, washed down by a delectable home brewed beer from the Little Creatures micro brewery. I will also take a side trip to Rotto, Rottnest Island, and visit the famous little quokas. It was the quokas that gave Rottnest it’s name, as the early Dutch explorers sailed past, thinking they could see large rats, hence coining the sobriquet, Ratnest Island.

After my week in Perth, and catching up with family, it will be time for another bucket list item. One of the world’s greatest rail journeys. One that many people think I’m mad for doing and look completely perplexed when I say I’m choosing to do. The epic Indian Pacific train journey from Perth to Sydney, taking 3 whole days, leaving just once a week, and rocking into Sydney every Wednesday morning. Can’t you just get a flight and do it in 5 hours, they ask? Well, even if you need to ask that question, we have a very different attitude to travelling.

There we have it. Plans made. Countdown starts. My days in blighty are, literally, numbered.

Will I become a “Pom in Paradise?” Watch this space.