Have You Ever Wondered If You Packed the Wrong Clothes

The last thing you would expect when you arrive in Australia

I stepped out of Sydney Airport at midnight and was hit with rain on steroids.

This is how Uncle Archie must have felt when he arrived back in Scotland, only to be met by our horrendous Scottish weather. He returned to Australia on the next flight, back to sun, sea, surfing, droughts, and bushfires.

That’s what I expected when I arrived in Sydney. I was met with —

Sydney floods: Tens of thousands told to evacuate

I got a lift to a nearby hotel, exhausted after 24 hours of travelling. I curled up and slept the sleep of the dead.

In the morning, it was still raining, and the wind was blowing in sustained gusts. I could have saved myself a couple of grand and taken the train to Glasgow for this.

I turned on the news:

Tens of thousands of people have been forced to flee their homes across Greater Sydney, with 69 evacuation orders in place. The Hawkesbury, Nepean, and Colo rivers are all flooded.

“We are now facing dangers on multiple fronts — flash flooding, riverine flooding and coastal erosion,” said Stephanie Cooke, emergency services minister for the state of New South Wales.

Fortunately, I wasn’t staying in Sydney. I got a lift north to the Hunter region. I took the above image en route. It was a deluge the whole way.

There isn’t much of a culture shock for a Scotsman in Australia. They drive on the same side of the road as us (the left — that’s the proper side to drive on), they speak English — with a lazy twang, and the signage is familiar.

Liverpool 40 km

Newcastle 67 km

Woolloomooloo 95 km

Mostly, anyway.

A little rain never put a Scotsman off his food or drink. I ate and drank with №1 son. We reminisced and laughed. And before I knew it, my first full day in Australia was gone.

I pinged awake at 2 am. Lay deliberating until 5 am before checking the news. The downpour had been deadly — a man drowned in the Parramatta River.

And the all-important weather forecast:

“We are warning people that as the east coast low moves inland tomorrow we are expecting to see rainfall in the Hunter area.”

I can confirm it is pissing down in the Hunter area.

I stare out the window. My son’s house backs onto a dense area of forest. The Karri trees are tall and vaguely unfamiliar. Three noisy miner birds dance about the garden vying for the favour of the female among them.

The forest pitches up strange noises, like chattering monkeys — laughing kookaburras, I imagine. The flowers are colourful and fragrant. One is orange with tightly packed white buds, like a box of cotton buds. I’m compelled to look it up — it's called a floraly.

I sip my hot coffee and wonder what to do with myself when it is consumed. Read my book? After a 24-hour flight, it is nearly finished.

Another coffee perhaps? Some toast and marmalade? I think so. And a seat by the window. My second day in Australia has given me a glimpse of what my life will be like when I’m eighty.

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