The first cool whispers of autumn are in the air, here in Tasmania. My knee-length cosy cardigan has been retrieved from the back of the wardrobe, and those beautiful sunsets are getting noticeably earlier with every evening that passes. Autumn has long been my favourite season, and I can’t wait to see how lovely this island looks when the trees have turned to gold.
We are moving house again. Not a little move, but a big one.
We are moving from the UK to Tasmania.
I can tell you the exact moment that I made my decision.
It was a beautiful sunny day. I was sitting on a bench in a playpark, the sun on my face, drinking a cup of tea and making easy conversation with another mum – someone I’d met all of forty minutes earlier. Her young son was gurgling contentedly on a picnic blanket at her feet, while mine had just jumped off the slide and was running up a small hill towards the swings, when suddenly he stopped and shouted.
‘Mummy! Mummy! Come and look at this! It’s a parrot! Lots of parrots!’
I walked towards him, and sure enough, there were five or six brightly coloured rosellas walking around, squawking and pecking at the grass.
DorkySon was enthralled, and something flicked in my head at that moment.
Yes, I said to myself. Yes. We can do this. We can move to Tasmania.
And so we are.