Apparently, it does rain in Australia. And not just on the days I hang my laundry out to dry.


Today I went to see what The Rocks was all about. For some reason, the pictures I took reminded me of my pictures from York. Also my pictures from Manchester, Shrewsbury and Stratford-upon-Avon. Something about the colouring. Or maybe it's the architecture. Or maybe it's the... what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yes. The drippyness.


But I'm not complaining. Rain seems to be to Sydney as sunshine is to Sheffield. It makes a brief appearance every couple weeks and all manner of plants and animals rejoice.


Anyway, a day of sunlessness every once in a while is healthy down here. Less damaging, at least. The sun is so hot I can feel my fish-belly skin frying whenever I step outside. I keep thinking about how excited we get in the springtime back home when you finally start to feel the warmth of the sun again. And I shake my head and exclaim, "I can't believe this is winter!"

Then I go into my house, put on another three shirts and my skiing socks and wrap my duvet around myself and my heater. You know how they say everything is upside-down in Australia? It's true. Here, winter only happens indoors.