wallowing in my own filth

I have often posted on here how similar life in Sydney is to back home, but I got the most startling demonstration of this at the weekend - but it had nothing to do with the place and everything to do with me.

On Friday nights it is quite typical for me to wander down to the Opera House Bar for a drink after work. Whether the sun is shining across the clear blue water, or the magnificent Harbour Bridge is lit up, there can scarcely be a more spectacular set of surroundings to enjoy a cold beer after a day in the office. On this particular evening after a very difficult day at work, not even the magnificent view could relax me. I drank my drink quickly, felt pissed off with the events of the day and marched off home where I wasn't in the mood to do very much at all.

Now, it's not unusual for me to row with people at work, be unable to forget about it in the evening, drink too much and feel unmotivated to do anything constructive with my spare time. And therein lies the point. Last weekend I had slipped back into the frame of mind and behaviours of back home - the sort of mindset that made me come away in the first place.

I consequently spent my entire Saturday just walking around Sydney thinking about this. What the fuck was the point in this trip if I was just going to replicate the day to day mundaness that made me come to the other side of the world? Surely I should get the fuck out of here and to the north of Oz - where it never gets cold - as soon as possible.

A very big contributor to this way of thinking was my home life. I live in a very nice flat with a friendly flatmate. We get on fine. But here comes the 'but' bit. Matt is a part-time student - one day a week at best - who otherwise spends all of his time in the flat, on his computer, either trying to resolve his visa situation (he's American) or on MSN talking to 'friends'. He hardly ever goes out. His computer is also the only one connected to the internet (through ADSL and not wireless) meaning I hardly ever get to go online when I'm at home. This sounds trivial, but there are are so many things to do online now that we take for granted.

It had reached the stage where I dreaded coming home, which after a day spent in the office - or indeed any office - is hardly ideal. You just cannot relate to somebody whose entire mood when you walk through the door is dictated by whether or not he's close to picking somebody up through the internet. You cannot sympathise with somebody who says they've had a crap day when they got out of bed several hours later than you to then do nothing, even if they do feel genuinely down.

In the end though, I decided that a premature departure from Sydney was not a great idea. For a start, I need the $1,000 deposit on the flat which would be jeopardised by a hasty retreat. For seconds, I need the money from my job and - most importantly - a reference from my employer. If I ever want to come back to Australia, experience of having worked here and a referee to vouch for it are as important as a visa. Furthermore, even if I do stick it out here for as long as planned, I am still scheduled to spend between now and mid July a total of one week in New Zealand, two to three weeks exploring the north of Australia, followed by two weeks in San Francisco and New York. By anybody's reckoning there isn't that much hard yakka to be done in the short to medium future.

In making the decision to stay in Sydney - a city, I should stress, that I still totally love, even if it is getting a bit chilly - I decided to make my home life a bit better. So I went into an electrical shop, and said the equivalent of 'Hi. My name's Matt and I know fuck all about computers. My flat mate has an ADSL connection to his, but he's always on it looking for casual sex. I've got a laptop with a wireless card, is there some gadget I can buy so we can both be online?'

$109 on the credit card later, I had a shiny router thingy that I was assured would give me what I wanted. I got home, enlisted the help of my flatmate, and after a lot of swearing at instruction manuals and a white wine fuelled outburst from me about how people working in IT deliberately make these things complicated to protect their own jobs and hide their innate stupidity, we got it working. I am posting this from my own room on my own laptop!

I cannot describe how much a personal internet connection matters - particularly if you are on the other side of the world. I can merrily view Norwich City goals, music on youtube, porn, Prime Minister's Questions, the fourth series of Peep Show, more porn and much more.

In many respects, my recent despondency was inevitable. I'm doing a temporary job in a temporary home (sleeping on a fucking sofa bed) but, after more than three months here, living a permanent lifestyle. In short I'm having the downsides of travelling without the upsides.

Oh, and my Mother has been in hospital this week for an operation in Norwich. It was routine and long planned, but things like that don't feel 'routine' when you're as far away as I currently am.

Oh well. All is ok now.