Busy day, laundry day.

About mid-week on my breaks I usually emerge from the hedonistic glee of not having to do anything or be anywhere, with a hunger for proper food. It's all very crazy. My body-clock is programmed to snap awake at the first hint of daylight, and I usually lie wrapped in my white bedsheets (very David) and allow my eyes to focus on the empty pizza cartons and beer cans strewn about the loft. Don't get me wrong, I don't live like a pig, but after eating Dry Mess food for a week you tend to come home craving what I call "City food".

After a hot shower I get dressed and check my phone for messages. Then the resolve builds in me to clean my place up. I start with cardboard rubbish, and then I enter a full-on spring-clean mindset, clearing out old bills, faded receipts and the like. It takes about twenty minutes each week. I love my place - it's so low maintenance. Or maybe I'm just a guy. Either way I can get the job done in no time. Then I sit down with a cup of tea and set about the week's chores - bills to be paid, work emails to return, and the odd visa form to complete. Seriously, since I've been here I don't think I've had a single week where there isn't some work-related medical to attend, some police clearance form to post off, some kind of mine-site course to attend. Actual breaks are hard to come by. I suppose it's my fault though - I chose to start this new job with this new company. Today I had to gather various forms because I'm changing over my visa from one kind to another. It's all very grown-up really, it makes my head hurt.

So, off I set from the port-city of Fremantle (my home away from home) to Perth (a bit nyegh) to shake hands and talk shop with the HR crowd regarding my contract. I took a picture of the train station canopy on Wellington Street for you all to see! It's one of the oldest standing structures in Perth. Everything else nearby got knocked down so they could build more furniture shops. And that's very Perth - lots and lots of furniture shops, car shops, office supply stores, and I kid you not, a store that sells nothing but metal chests, in Victoria Park.

Don't get me wrong, I like this place. It's laid-back and sunny and in Perth the idea is you just don't do much. I actually like it. But here's the thing about this place- I went to the 7/11 store around the corner the other night to get some milk. It was 6.30 pm. They were closed. The shop is called the "7/11". And that's Perthy, very simply.

Or, perhaps it's just not Europe, which is fine.

Today, I also did some hand-washing. Which is a good thing because whenever I come into contact with a washing machine, clothes seem to get shrunk. And I have a grey jersey cardigan that I really like and don't want to shrink. So it was up with the sleeves and out with the elbow grease today! I felt very cool actually. It's kind of.... broadly speaking it was one of those moments where I saw a snapshot of myself being a twenty-something year old guy. It was all very boring, and perfectly fine. So I never became a rock-star. Whoopsy-daisies n' all, but doing my washing in my utility room sink is actually slightly more cool, I find. A bit less cliched, a bit more me.

Then, I bought a very cheesy album called "Songs of Ireland" for $12 dollars in a nearby second-hand record store, near where I get coffee most mornings. I must take a photo of that stretch on High Street for this blog... it's got an amazing atmosphere, between the cafe, the record store, and the bookstore. Plus that artefact store that I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend a disgraceful amount of cash in someday. But whatever, I was talking about the CD.

The CD reminded me of those nights when the gang used to sit in Carberries in a Wednesday and knock back pints of Guinness, while the old folks in the Big D used to walk in one by one with their fiddles and guitars, and we'd sit drinking till about one in the morning, then stumble home in the frosty air. That memory is one of my most golden. Carberries 4 Life!

I also remember sitting in the Ferryman, looking at the Liffey, and thinking that it was a very nice place. I remember feeling very home, and sure why wouldn't I because it feckin' was my home. And I remember thinking that I couldn't have imagined a nicer home, and that when I left this place at some stage to go off and do "career stuff" I'd miss it very much.

And I do, every day. That's the truth. I know it might sound sad, and like I'm not making the most of my situation out here, but that's not how I see it. I'm actually proud that I miss Dublin. I'm proud that I miss my family and friends because it says to me that I belong to a very good group of people. I could and probably will be doing a lot of travelling with my work before I finally get to land in Dublin Airport again. Heck, now that I think about it, it's all I've ever done. I first boarded a plane at the age of four to live somewhere else...

But jaysus lads, once I've had enough life experiences out here, it'll be nice to finally be home.