The pesky flies of summer are gone, back here in the lower Southern hemisphere, back here in Melbs. Here is where I put on a smile and greet the cashiers and waitstaff - who care to reciprocate - with a 'hello, and how are you?' Not so crowded here; the rumble of trams, especially the rickety old City Circle, bids me an odd welcome. 'I wouldn't want to be inside that,' declares N, 'not after a meal'. Aah. But you can't deny its quaintness. I am such the sucker for nostalgia and a slower pace, tram crashes and irate drivers aside.



Back to the city of mocha lattes in laneway cafes. Of bumping into a gazillion people from the Uni all in one afternoon. Of crowded Italian al fresco dining. Of sitting on the grass in the parks. Of sun scorching my cheek one moment and rain lashing the other the next. Of white peaches and more stone fruit. Of honking mad socceroo fans flying their flags and scarves and marching down the street.



Gone are the flies of summer, yes. But all I can think about is, waking up in my room back in Singas, beneath the refuge of the mosquito net, and listening to the birds outside go cu-ru-ROO and aaaAAGH. And the construction of what is to be a brand new neighbour's brand new house.