In Bendigo, and everything is running in slow-time.
Right now I sit at the dinner table, quietly digesting a roast chicken sandwich and drinking a Foster's Light Ice while I think about how to describe my time here so far, and "slow-time" is, I think, most appropriate. Whether it is due to the long daylight hours, the wide-open sky or the natural pace of country Victoria, each day has seemed to last an age: long days with little to do (and that's alright with me, Jack) and nowhere much to go in a hurry.
The contrast to working-life in London couldn't be more striking, and I'm revelling in the "late" mornings (8am) and brightly lit days, where the sun melts into pastel pinks then burnt reds at around 9 o'clock at night. The nights, too, are warm, balmy rather than the oppressive muggy heat of the northern states. I help Mum when (and how) I can, but really, walking down to the supermarket for groceries is more a pleasant stroll than an onerous chore; indeed, it gave me a chance to get a snag in bread from the sausage-sizzle outside the market in the name of supporting the Eaglehawk tennis club. Even yesterday's task -- giving Dad a nice, peaceful day at home -- resulted in a trip to the local pool with Lisa and the kids. We splashed, we played, Jared jumped off the diving boards and I got sunburnt. There are worse ways to spend your day.
I miss Dee, of course, but I can't say I miss London, nor that I miss work. We talk on Skype each morning, evening for her, but this is already the longest we've been apart in over eight years. No doubt it's good for us in some way.
I want to come back to Australia permanently now.