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During our six month cycle tour (www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/justmarried) it was very common for me to miss home. A lot. Around every fortnight I would have one day where I was fretful, teary, grumpy and anxious. And then came the nightmares where someone I loved would die, literally every time I went to sleep. And no, it wasn't hormones. It was homesickness. I was determined not to go home, though, as the common adage of 'you regret the things you have not done, not those you have' was continually said with a wink and a smile in my presence.

This came as an incredible shock to me, as I have always felt that Australia is not the place that I belong. I do not like the heat, I am an extreme arachnophobe (the word itself is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies), the outback holds no appeal whatsoever, I'm not much of a beer drinker, and my appearance just does not seem to fit (the Scandinavian blood of my ancestors all seemed to come together in the creation of a six-foot-tall, wide hipped, chunky, blonde and blue-eyed woman). All of these things have consistently made me feel as though I belong somewhere else. Six years ago, our six-week whirlwind European tour, followed by a six month university exchange in Halifax, Canada, simply reinforced this feeling. Australia always just seemed temporary.

Hence, this homesickness was completely unexpected. I missed my Mum, I missed my Dad, I missed my beautiful sister, who acts a a kind of life-balance for me. I missed my very close and very special friends, the new babies that had popped into our immediate friendship circle, my choir, going out for cocktails, going out for breakfasts, going out for good coffee, being able to read the newspaper, my music, my students, my work colleagues, all the academic and creative fervour that being an English teacher involves, my kitchen and its spices, the smell of the beach, the drive up the hill for semi-regular Sunday dinners, my wardrobe, my hair products, my jewellery, my perfume, our king-size bed... I missed a lot. And it was, at times, overwhelming.

My sister, my Mum and I at North Cottesloe Beach a few weeks before I left.

Saying all this, I am very surprised by how 'cured' I am feeling now that we have a little home here. YES I still miss all of those things, but not in a pervasive, can't-get-out-of-bed kind of way. I knew that I was tired, but I didn't recognise truly how physically and emotionally exhausted I was. Here, I can recuperate. And I am recuperating. I am getting such an extreme level of joy from activities such as baking bread and staring aimlessly out the window at the frosty world outside, as opposed to visiting another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Sure, I wish that I could transport all the people I love here to this little village, but the ache I feel from missing these things is dulling.

Seems I am more of a home-body than I realised. Time to pop on a pot of tea.