It’s hard belonging to two countries, it’s like having an unworkable affair – you are never really whole in either place.
In England, I was an Australian who always missed my family and spent the dark days of winter yearning for the sunshine and long Sundays of home.
But after almost eight years in London, I turned British (officially) and that lover weaved its way into an unshakeable part of my heart.
I married Britain’s park-life, London’s long summer days, the European holidays along with my expat family.
London embraced me from the moment I landed and it gave me everything I needed - except familiarity and nostalgia.
After years and years in a city where everything, including myself, was new, I never ran into anyone who had known me as a child, or knew my family or knew the suburb I grew up in.
It was an unfamiliar place, with no familiar lawn-cutting smells and the time and pace was so different to my original home.
I could divert around British class culture as easily as an alien. I was at home anywhere and everywhere - because I had never existed there before.
My accent didn't give me away to a class, no one knew if I had a private or public school record - I had an underclass of Australiana, and it was an opportunity.
Back at home it was different, I knew my place and I felt others did too.
In Australia, I don't have that feeling of freedom that comes from escaping your blueprints. I never had that feeling of endless opportunity that comes with anonymity and re-invention.