When we first moved to Paraburdoo I wrote here about how one of the things I've really enjoyed about my life over the past few years, is the experience of stepping from one world into another; something which requires little more than a job offer, the will to do it and the cost of the air fare.
The Pilbara outback couldn't be more different to the Oxfordshire countryside; they are both beautiful and unique in their own right and I'm so lucky to have been able to live in both.
But moving to the UK was a daunting prospect and one I'd been avoiding for years. There's something predictable and prosaic about Irish people in need of work moving 't'England' and I squirmed at the idea.
Having spent my first ten years in the UK I was well acquainted with the Irish clubs and Paddy's day celebrations spent eulogising about home. I'd been to the pubs of Cricklewood and Neasden where the long-termers spoke with that funny half Irish, half English brogue.
For me the term 'expat' has glamorous connotations of gins on the veranda and exotic heat, it's not really a term used for living a forty minute flight from home.
I was also worried about what the UK would actually be like. My impression of the place - gleaned from watching countless gritty dramas on the telly - was of a horribly overcrowded, unfriendly, tired-looking place, over run with shopping centres and retail parks.
And yes, parts of the UK would certainly fit this description, but happily my experience so far has been completely at odds with my low expectations.
The part of northern Oxfordshire we've moved to is breathtakingly beautiful, with village after village of old stone cottages and thatched roofs. I had thought that these sort of places were few and far between - a touristy charade reserved for culture-hungry Americans or film crews. I hadn't realised that entire counties looked like this. Our new home is surrounded by fields and the village school is a two minute walk for the children. As for the people, despite expecting them to be inflexible and unfriendly we've been met with nothing but kindness and helpfulness.
But boy do they drive fast and with purpose! I had become used to the relatively laid back roads of WA - (particularly after the insanity of the UAE roads); everyone here has a mission and the roads are fast and busy. I guess this is a good metaphor for the country as a whole - 'busy' - which is why I presume it has survived the recession in a way that Ireland simply couldn't.
But what I hadn't expected at all was to feel instantly at home here. Having been raised with the 'them and us' mindset many of us have in Ireland, I never expected to feel almost as if I was in Ireland. It is so similar to home here - especially if you've come from the Pilbara! - verdant, wet, rural although far less wild. Ireland has a rawness to its beauty; harsh and unyielding at times.
The village itself has little more than a school, a pub (the Griffin, which myself and DH escaped to last Saturday night!) and an enormous 13th century church, but with the market town of Banbury just five miles down the road there is everything we need on our doorstep.
But already my perception of distance is altering. London feels as if it is very far away although it's not much further than Tom Price is to Paraburdoo - a journey I made at least once a week to do my shopping without much of a thought. One local described the village as being 'far from civilisation' and I had to snort with laughter at that. And the barmaid in the local pub told me she wasn't local, but was from two villages over!
My passion for Cath Kidston fabrics - something I developed a decade ago - is unremarkable here. The girls' cloakroom at the kids' school is a sea of ditzy florals (helped no doubt by the discount Cath Kidston store in nearby Bicester Village) and the school even holds an annual Joules Clothing sale - a fact which sold the place to me instantly. And they don't hold Tupperware parties here, but Boden parties - yes you read that correctly. So you see, dear reader, I've found my spiritual home.
So it's all good and we're in the honeymoon stage of our old friend Culture Shock. Decorating the house and discovering our surroundings is fun although I may start to get a little vexed with the house if the so-called and inappropriately named 'handy man' doesn't quickly become handy. There is hardly a door that closes or a window that opens properly although I don't care, I am in love with this house, although DH wears a morose and vaguely suicidal look every time he thinks about the cost of renting it.
The Pilbara outback couldn't be more different to the Oxfordshire countryside; they are both beautiful and unique in their own right and I'm so lucky to have been able to live in both.
But moving to the UK was a daunting prospect and one I'd been avoiding for years. There's something predictable and prosaic about Irish people in need of work moving 't'England' and I squirmed at the idea.
Having spent my first ten years in the UK I was well acquainted with the Irish clubs and Paddy's day celebrations spent eulogising about home. I'd been to the pubs of Cricklewood and Neasden where the long-termers spoke with that funny half Irish, half English brogue.
For me the term 'expat' has glamorous connotations of gins on the veranda and exotic heat, it's not really a term used for living a forty minute flight from home.
I was also worried about what the UK would actually be like. My impression of the place - gleaned from watching countless gritty dramas on the telly - was of a horribly overcrowded, unfriendly, tired-looking place, over run with shopping centres and retail parks.
And yes, parts of the UK would certainly fit this description, but happily my experience so far has been completely at odds with my low expectations.
The part of northern Oxfordshire we've moved to is breathtakingly beautiful, with village after village of old stone cottages and thatched roofs. I had thought that these sort of places were few and far between - a touristy charade reserved for culture-hungry Americans or film crews. I hadn't realised that entire counties looked like this. Our new home is surrounded by fields and the village school is a two minute walk for the children. As for the people, despite expecting them to be inflexible and unfriendly we've been met with nothing but kindness and helpfulness.But boy do they drive fast and with purpose! I had become used to the relatively laid back roads of WA - (particularly after the insanity of the UAE roads); everyone here has a mission and the roads are fast and busy. I guess this is a good metaphor for the country as a whole - 'busy' - which is why I presume it has survived the recession in a way that Ireland simply couldn't.
But what I hadn't expected at all was to feel instantly at home here. Having been raised with the 'them and us' mindset many of us have in Ireland, I never expected to feel almost as if I was in Ireland. It is so similar to home here - especially if you've come from the Pilbara! - verdant, wet, rural although far less wild. Ireland has a rawness to its beauty; harsh and unyielding at times.
The village itself has little more than a school, a pub (the Griffin, which myself and DH escaped to last Saturday night!) and an enormous 13th century church, but with the market town of Banbury just five miles down the road there is everything we need on our doorstep.
But already my perception of distance is altering. London feels as if it is very far away although it's not much further than Tom Price is to Paraburdoo - a journey I made at least once a week to do my shopping without much of a thought. One local described the village as being 'far from civilisation' and I had to snort with laughter at that. And the barmaid in the local pub told me she wasn't local, but was from two villages over!
 |
| Cath Kidston handbags are de rigeur here |
So it's all good and we're in the honeymoon stage of our old friend Culture Shock. Decorating the house and discovering our surroundings is fun although I may start to get a little vexed with the house if the so-called and inappropriately named 'handy man' doesn't quickly become handy. There is hardly a door that closes or a window that opens properly although I don't care, I am in love with this house, although DH wears a morose and vaguely suicidal look every time he thinks about the cost of renting it.
No comments:
Post a Comment