Australia Day has different meanings for different people. For indigenous Australians it has always been steeped in unpleasantness, but that’s not what I’m here to discuss. I’m here to tell you that Australia Day for me was never about the arrival or subsequent invasion of the British. For me, Australia Day has, at least from when I was a teenager, been about the Hottest 100.
Because I’m a simple little thing.
Business class… it’s a magical place that we all dream of, but rarely get to experience. When I arrived in Australia on my last trip, I excitedly checked my frequent flier miles, knowing that I would (hopefully) have enough to upgrade one of my flights home.
I was 625 miles short.
Disappointed doesn’t even describe it.
None of which, by the way, I saw on my recent trip to Australia.
I hadn’t meant to go back to Oz at the end of the year, but with hubby’s new job, I suddenly found myself a-flush with more leave than him, and we decided it was a good chance for me to take the trip on my own.
So off I tripped… for a whole month… just cause I could.
In three sleeps I’m flying to Australia for a month.
I’m so not ready.
I enjoyed a busy summer of visits this year… just two short weeks after one of my besties visited, along came my parents.
My folks have visited three times now, and it’s already their second staying in our house. Luckily the house is big enough (for everyone to have his own bedroom if they so choose).
When I met my friend Jodie in Budapest in August, it was my third visit.
The first time was pretty much unsuccessful – not Budapest’s fault.
The second time was also relatively unsuccessful – again, not Budapest’s fault.
The third time’s the charm.
In August I was lucky enough to have a visitor – one of my best friends in the world was undertaking her very first Eurotrip and after a 14 day cruise from Amsterdam to Hungary I met up with her in Budapest.