I’ve always been quite spontaneous by nature.
When my hubby (then boyfriend – how weird to even call him that) asked me to come live with him in New Zealand when we were just young ‘uns, I barely battered my smitten eyelids.
That was 10 years ago, and we’ve been on the road ever since.
Often I come across people that ask me how the hell I do it. You know, leaving family, friends, work… life.
And I always answer that very question like this: I’m an adapter. I can adapt to change.
I mean. I’d have to be, right? After all, how else would I be able to move and settle and move and settle and move and settle in 6 cities in 10 years?
In many ways, we’ve been very fortunate. We lived in Europe and travelled. We went on weekends to France and overnighters to Belgium. We caught trains to Switzerland and we booked a flight to Madrid for 4 Euros (excluding taxes but still, 4 EUROS!)
So while my hubby was doing his football thing, I was working in corporate Europe and we had a fantastically unsettled lifestyle.
But one thing that has always been miraculously consistent throughout our nomadic journey is… routine.
I know. You’re thinking: wait, what? Routine?
Let me explain.
With every destination we’ve called our temporary home, we ensured we had a little routine in place. I guess this kinda made us feel more settled than we actually were… because like every footballer (and their significant other) will tell you, things can change sooner than you can book your flights the hell out of there.
In Auckland we had our Green Tea of an evening (every evening), and movies in Takapuna on a day off.
In Holland we had our Sunday (every Sunday) train rides to Amsterdam where we would spend all day and all night. To the point where our legs would be positively aching.
On the Gold Coast we would have our afternoon walks to Surfers Paradise from our home in Main Beach and our morning coffee at the same coffee shop every. single. day.
In Adelaide (where it was colder) we had our weekly visit to the gorgeous Central Markets and we would frequent Marion shopping centre so our active toddler could have a play indoors. This is also where
our my obsession with the Real Housewives of Every City started and so therefore it also became part of our kid-less wind-down evening routine over wine or tea.
In Newcastle we had our weekly (mostly Wednesday) brekky at the Organic cafe and we would frequent Charlestown Square for a coffee followed by a play at one of the indoor or outdoor play areas. We would also go for fish and chips at the bomb diggity of fish and chipperies at least once or twice a week.
And of course, it goes without saying (especially if you are a reader of my blog) that our Real Housewives obsession continued quite intensely here.
So now, here we are, at our sixth – and likely final – stop, Cairns.
Routines are obviously still under construction given we’ve only been here a couple of weeks but yesterday, some unexpected and disturbing news came in regarding the Cairns Routine Front.
Shockingly, the Real Housewives and all my other excellently terrible reality TV shows will not be following us to the tropics. Because the damn building we’ve moved into does not have a Foxtel satellite dish and they do not plan on installing one.
The devastation I feel is severe.
Disclaimer: If you do not appreciate trivial, superficial complaints about #firstworldproblems do not read any further. Because I might sound like an arsehole.
So, back to the Real Housewives.
I mean. How will I ever survive without my Foxtel IQ? How the hell will I cope without the delicious excitement that usually follows my two girls sleeping soundly of a night?
You know, the excitement that involves all my reality television series links and a Foxtel remote?
And that’s when I realised. My me-time has vanished. My time to unwind and not think has been tragically, heartlessly, and selfishly taken away from me. The time where I force my husband to participate in Real Housewives analysis has come to an end and I fear, oh how I fear, free to air television ever so greatly.
All because this damn body corporate will not install a Foxtel satellite.
Luckily, this abode is temporary, as we plan on buying a house in our new city. One we can actually, properly, build a life in and start beautiful, maybe permanent, routines.
Routines that involve Foxtel and Real Housewives and every other crap show that makes my house a home!
Are you one for routine? What is an absolute deal-breaker in your daily?All comments read, appreciated and responded to. So thank you x