I have three lives. Not consecutively like a two-thirds-lived cat, my lives are sliced and spliced together like one long kebab. There’s my Real Life, based in London, occasionally accessorised with work, happily decorated with culture and a wide range of friends, both fellow Londoners and visitors from overseas. Then there’s Edinburgh, back to my roots, a tranquil, easy existence, with lots of fresh air and friends who knew my parents, my childhood home, my past. There’s a timelessness to this life, and it’s a welcome blast of sanity after the hurly-burly of London. Then there’s Australia, my escape from the northern hemisphere’s winter and the mundane responsibilities of Real Life, where I can pretend that I too may lay claim to the big skies, the wilderness, the endless vistas, the hopping wildlife. Australia isn’t a
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