Between the worlds
The car is finally packed. In a couple of hours I will have to unpack it. The transhumance of an Australian summer; leaving the suburbs for the coast. A journey between the world of work and the world of play. In the time between the packing and unpacking we will remember what we have forgotten. We have boxes and bags, books and balls, but no hair brushes, no beach shelter. And thankfully no work – that box has been left behind in another place, in another time, in another world. The memory of unmarked marking, lying in the corner of the room to remind me that I never really could leave work makes me shudder and laugh at the change. A memory of a search for perfection that was futile, all encompassing and ultimately mind breaking. When I get to that thought I stop laughing. The stop start of the traffic soon fades into the long sweep of flowing freeway driving. Out past the sewage works, out past the market gardens being sold for housing, out past houses with no shops, no trains and cr...