So where the bloody hell are you?

Or more accurately, where the bloody hell were you? I know, I know! My first post in over a year was about a tree in the garden of my rental with not so much as a “cooee, remember me?” No explanation for my absence – nothing!

So where the bloody hell are you? was an Australian tourism ad campaign launched in 2006. It caused controversy at the time with the use of the word ‘bloody’ and, I thought it rather crass, being a relative newcomer to these shores and lacking in Australian colloquialisms.

So, where have I been? In the doldrums would be a reasonable explanation. This isn’t the time nor the place to go into specifics but needless to say, Chief and I are living in separate tribes now.

Two years ago, I upped sticks and moved back to my adopted home town in South Australia. It meant I was in a good position to take up my first grandparenting duties with the arrival of our son and daughter-in-law’s baby boy in May 2021.

I set up my temporary camp with my daughter and partner together with their two dogs, who before long, had me wrapped around their wagging Kelpie/Border Collie tails.

After eighteen months and the imminent arrival of my daughter’s first baby (double Granny duties!), it was time for me to look for my own place. I went to stay with a gorgeous friend who put me up for six weeks while I searched the impossible rental market for a roof over my head. After umpteen viewings, applications and rejections and more viewings and applications, I finally secured a little cottage close to Adelaide CBD. Only it wasn’t just me, you see, my parents in the meantime had been plotting their escape from the UK having decided at the ripe old age of 80 to up their own sticks and move to Australia.

That was last November and as I write this post, I’m delighted to share that I have purchased my own house! Settlement isn’t until the beginning of June, so a little wait to collect the keys. Fate has taken me back to where we lived in the Adelaide foothills before we moved to Brisbane. My new home is just around the corner from our old place. It’s not weird though. Neighbours have moved on and houses have been modified and renovated so it feels different. I’ve come full circle.

So how do you uncouple yourself after 32 years of marriage because that part of your relationship isn’t working anymore? We couldn’t stay together broken just because we were frightened of change. And change we did – it’s just taken two years to do so but we did it.

So that’s it in a blog-post nutshell. That’s where the bloody hell I’ve been. It’s time to move on. Please join me in a toast ‘to new beginnings’.

To New Beginnings!