Wit and fuzzy

So we've finally arrived at Pat's...and a new life lit with sundown skies and, after Leo's jetlagged body finally slept, a massively entertaining semi-final which saw the All Blacks dirty the bludgeons of the Aussie lot. This was extremely satisfying for me, being an England supporter with strong Kiwi tendencies, seeing as I was sat on a calm train out of Richmond, Melbourne only last Friday reading a hack job on the kiwis in the shittest commuter paper ever written (like The London Paper, but printed with trashy ink that sticks to your mind after you bin it).

It would be nice to think, having taken a couple of shaky first steps into a new mother country, that some sort of scales had fallen from my eyes and you'd find me writing to you, glowing agog in the heliosphere of a meditative, vegetative calm, sprawled on the velvet cushions of Middle Earth. Not quite - but it is lovely, with beautiful bushes and trees and strange birdsong and no threat of danger in the undergrowth, and reasonable beer prices and in a place where they churn out wine and apples and pumpkins for fun. And a place decorated by black flags! With intricate little spiral designs on the coins, little tiki faces, and even gladder faces behind the counters.

It's a bit odd arriving in Spring - with trees shooting and the ground yawning for seed, blossom on the trees - and to think that Christmas will be in high summer. Odder perhaps than I thought it would be. But that is a mere sideshow. It's been GREAT so far.