One more step on the Aussie Gold (not yellow) Brick Road ... we've exchanged contracts on our house. If anything had a chance of tripping up our return plans, it would have been the house sale falling through. Now, however, we're signed and sealed, with delivery due to take place at the end of March. I kept waiting for one of the many surveys the buyer commissioned to come back saying: sorry, but there's a major fault line running directly under the house.
Or: sorry, but it turns out your electrical system is essentially a large paperclip chain run on magic and radioactive energy which is seeping out from the fault line under your house.
Or: sorry, apparently this is Crown land, and the Queen wants you out by Friday.
The only news which came back from the surveys were small, trifling, niggling bits, which we duly ignored. And now we've sold it.
We're now going to train ourselves for the Sydney rental market by undertaking a trial reaming in the London market. Sales might be low over here right now, but rentals are taking up the equal-and-opposite position. How much worse can Sydney be than London? Close your eyes and imagine passing a moderately-sized kidney stone; now, replace the kidney stone with a lump of red-hot coal. Why do you think Aussies are always depicted squinting? It's not the glare of the sun doing it.
