Born and bred in the South East of England, I worked in London for ten years as a journalist and had a little bit of money saved which could have gone on a house deposit or a year in Australia. For reasons I may never go into, I chose the latter, buggered off and had four glorious, ridiculous years in Sydney before waking up on new year’s day aged 33 with crepey cleavage and a sudden and fierce urge to return to London to find myself a man.*
Two years later, job done, me and my man moved back to Sydney for 18 months where we became parents to BUB.1 and I became an Australian citizen. On arriving back in London I fell pregnant again with BUB.2, and six months later moved to Hertfordshire, just north of London, to have him.
Not one to sit still, eighteen months later we moved again, back to the village from which I sprung. Still close enough to London to be dignified (and to work), and close enough to my parents to allow me to get a haircut or eat an occasional meal sitting down.
*Sydney had a lot of eye candy but none of Willy Wonka’s everlasting kind for me. For the purposes of this blog, and with utmost respect, I shall herein refer to my man as Willy Wonka.