Toto, we’re not in Africa anymore.

Date: 7 May. Happy election day!

Location: Holborn Grind. Flat white required.

I know I'm metamorphosing, shedding my sunburnt Australian chrysalis for a softer, downier London coat. I know this because:

  • My ears prick up when I hear the word 'antipodean' because someone is probably talking about me.
  • I no longer understand people who aren't at least in somewhat of a massive hurry.
  • I measure distance in Pret Stores. Within 1 Pret Store it's a doddle. Within 2 Pret Stores it's feasible for a lunchtime sojourn. If it's more than 3 Pret Stores away you should wear flats.
  • How far is 'Riga?' 'Oh, it's a long flight. 3 hours or so.' All of Australia scoffs.
  • I feel everything should be deliverable. Laundry, kitty litter, brunch. On Sunday's I sit on my couch, lazily sip coffee watchers ugh the front window as my two mid-thirties, able-bodied male neighbours get their groceries delivered and think, 'I should get into that'.
  • My resting bitch face is no longer resting. This is an active expression because I actively disapprove of what you tourists clogging Oxford Circus/The British Museum/King's Cross tube escalators are doing.
  • I know that the word 'pint' has more than one use. 5% of the time it refers to milk!
  • When the person in front of you orders a flat white and so do you, you exchange knowing smile and a quiet, “Australian?” “Australian.”

In other news, Chandler now has his own blog. 'A Fools Guide To Minding The Gap'. Let's all raise a flat white in celebration.






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