Tuesday announces our outing to Winchester, and its famed cathedral. We walk to Woolston station, in the first stage of a carefully-planned day. I am reminded of how much I love trains, not so much for their mechanics, as for the way they support a community at work and leisure. Social norms are reflected in public transport, in the way people share close quarters with one another, although, here, I spy nothing of particular note.
Easter Sunday brings a heavy hangover and, mercifully, a late barbeque. Our driver is cooler than us, and mans the stick shift like a weapon. As we tear down Southampton’s streets, I try to pinpoint the key differences between the suburbs here and those at home, and particularly those in the inner west of Sydney, where there is a multitude of terraces and space is at a premium. I am familiar with the narrow streets and limited parking, and the compact rooms and squares of outdoor space. It is different here
‘We’re going on a little walk’, my cousin announces, as I open the front door. Marley, her enthusiastic Labrador, pushes past me with an excitement that I struggle to match.