Three nights in Newcastle, New South Wales

Newcastle New South Wales as seen from Nobby's Lighthouse.

Some Australian cities – Hobart, Melbourne, Adelaide – make it so easy to fall in love with them. Others… well, others make you work a little harder to uncover their charms.

Until recently, all I really knew of Newcastle, a coastal city in New South Wales around 150 kilometres north of Sydney, was that it holds the title of Australia’s biggest coal port. I’d seen the footage of courageous climate protestors in kayaks, blockading the harbour and preventing the movements of the 250-metre-long bulk carriers that head out into the Tasman Sea, carrying coal to China, Japan, and elsewhere in Australia.

We have started a lovely tradition in our family of taking it in turns to spend a weekend of the school holidays in a new city with DorkySon. He and DorkyDad went to Canberra; he and I went to Adelaide; and then he and DorkyDad went to Melbourne. Last weekend, he and I went to Newcastle. Or Newy, as I now know the locals refer to it.

I had wondered how prominent the heavy industries would be. The road in to Newcastle from the airport on Friday afternoon provided a quick and easy answer – very. We passed huge bulk carriers, coal conveyor belts and storage silos, production facilities for explosives and plastics and fertilisers. As our cab made its way along Hunter Street to our hotel in the East End, passing what felt like literally hundreds of shuttered shopfronts and empty buildings, DorkySon and I exchanged glances. What had we let ourselves in for?

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Three nights in Melbourne

Street art that depicts the Aboriginal flag with a man and a bird

Many years ago, long before I could have even pointed out lutruwita/Tasmania on a world map, my friend A moved from the UK to Australia.

I thought she was extremely brave, making a life for herself on the other side of the world, and I was very proud – if a bit sad that our close friendship would be reduced to an occasional, often glitchy Skype call.

(This was long before the days when we all became Zoom experts!)

More than a decade on, A remains in Melbourne, and I’ve ended up in Hobart, so we are now just an hour’s easy flight from each other. The responsibilities of work and family mean that we don’t live in each other’s pockets… but every couple of years one or the other of us makes the trip.

This year, it was my turn!

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It’s the end of the year as we know it… and I feel fine.

Well now.

The out-of-office response is on. The school year is finished. The Christmas tree is decorated. And I have no plans for the next fortnight beyond dog walks, naps, and an obscene number of those delicious little gingery things with jam in the middle and a crispy dark chocolate coating.

How marvellous. And just in the nick of time, honestly.

Every year, around early November, I find myself feeling a bit… well… crabbier than usual. Despite the fact this has happened every year for the last ten years, it always takes me by surprise, and I spend several weeks trying to work out what’s going on.

Is it the long, looming list of things I need to get done before Christmas? Is it tension from constantly hunching up against the winter cold and the spring wind and rain? Do I need to tweak my supplements, and bump up the Vitamin D for a few weeks?

And then, as always, it dawns on me. I’m tired. Just a bit tired.

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DorkySon Takes Flight

A teenage boy sits at the controls of a Cessna above Tasmania

DorkySon is learning to fly.

I don’t mean in the metaphorical sense that people so often use to describe teenagers – becoming more independent, testing boundaries, working towards personal dreams – although I suppose these things are also true.

I mean that every second Saturday, weather permitting, we drive him to a small aerodrome a few kilometres east of Hobart, where he sits at the controls of a Cessna 172 and learns how to keep it in the air.

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The one where it doesn’t quite go to plan

Sometimes when it comes to writing a blog post, I don’t quite know where to start. When that’s the case, there’s only one thing to do. Begin at the beginning. So here we go.

Earlier this month, I dropped DorkyDad at Hobart Airport. He was heading off on his first solo travels in a long time: three weeks in North America, starting in Georgia and ending in Toronto, with a further five stops to see family and friends along the way.

It wasn’t a long goodbye. We hugged hard, mindful of the lane attendants and their zealous clock-watching.

“See you in 22 days,” I said.

“See you in 22 days and 16 flights,” he laughed. “Love you.”  Continue reading