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No. I didn't want to leave Poland.

No. I didn't want to come back to the responsibilities of home ownership.

But now I'm here, I'm discovering that odd things give me pleasure.

Lounging about in my dressing gown, one of the few things I missed on my pootle through Eastern Europe.

Washing up with a plug in the sink: I never acclimatised to the lavish use of water in a plug less wash-up.

Preparing food with a bench top larger than a chopping board: mind you, I didn't actually do much food preparation while I was away.

Shopping without worrying about currency: I can actually hand over the right amount without offering my hand to be pecked at.

Living in the same time zone as most of the people I love: no more phone calls at strange hours.

And this morning, bizarrely, pegging out the washing. I haven't handled a peg since I left Australia in mid-May, nor has my washing dried in outside air. Right now, it's on racks on the deck: mottled by sunlight shining through the callistemon, twisting in a useful breeze, held in place by faded multi-colored pegs. It's those pegs that are the real source of my peculiar and puny pleasure this morning.

 

 

 
 

 

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