Aurora, Sydney

Actually I was having a good time in Western Australia. Travel is just as much about experiencing differences but, being human, we present them as: our way, right; their way, wrong. The whingeing (apart from the one about noisy bastards) should all go down with a pinch of salt. Or sugar. There is an enjoyment to be had from self-righteousness.

Sure, when travelling, bad stuff does happen, exacerbated by the absence of familiar support systems. As I type this, the skies have been clear of contrails for days thanks to an Icelandic volcano shutting down most North European flights. That’s bad. But consider the alternative.

We could all stay at home. Instead of soaking up the Albany sun, I could have been shivering through a British winter. Another year could have passed devoid of fulfilling my childhood fascination with Australia. I wouldn’t have been seeing parrots and honeyeaters and woodswallows and kangaroos and eucalypt forests and mountains and…

That list is far longer than any number of complaints I could register. So, remember that, dear reader, the next time I have a wee moan. Anywhere. Even back home.

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