Lesson 40

Do you believe in them?
It feels like something of a time gone by, right?
To say “There is a curse on that house!”
And yet…
I believe I am cursed.

I emigrated from Australia to the UK just over three years ago now.
I have been back to Australia three times within that time frame.
My first return to the land down under was an unplanned work visit, only a month after departing.
The day that I boarded a plane back to the UK, unfortunate lady timing took over.
What was supposed to be a straightforward – but long – flight, now had the extra pressure of annoying everyone in my row for more regular bathroom breaks and the wonderful joy of stomach cramps and nausea in a pressurised air cabin.

The second time that I returned to Australia was two years ago, it was for a wedding and a general visit.
The day before I left Australia that time, my mother was kind enough to give me the gift of the flu.
What was supposed to be a straightforward – but long – flight, now had the extra pressure of trying to appear as though I wasn’t too sick, because I didn’t want people to think I may have Zika and quarantine me.

This recent trip to Australia, it was a long awaited return to see my friends and family and to spend with my nieces and nephews.
It was a lovely, long, luxurious three weeks.
This time, I’d managed to contract the flu before my holiday, so I was feeling pretty smug that I’d be fine.
My flight departed at 1am on a Monday – which meant that was basically Sunday night.
I awoke on the Sunday morning with a slightly painful lump under my jaw.
I expressed concern to my parents.
We went to the chemist down the road as we thought that the queues for a doctor on a Sunday would be ridiculous and the doctor would likely confirm whatever the pharmacist told us.
The pharmacist said it was just a lymph node infection.
Take some painkillers and it’ll sort itself out in a few days.
“Are you sure? I don’t want it to get worse with altitude…”
“I’m sure. It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”
I’m calmed.
By the time I get to the airport that evening, I’m exhausted.
It’s been a long day.
The painkillers are kind of working, but my appetite has gone and so I’m being grumpy and short with my parents.
While I’m waiting in the gate lounge, I get an allergic reaction to Melbourne’s pollen (on top of everything else) and – in this fun way that it has done on the odd occasion previously – my left eye begins to swell.
So I pop an antihistamine as well.

What was supposed to be a straightforward – but long – flight, now had the added pressure of everything.
I fell asleep almost immediately.
Probably a good thing.
I refused so much food that, without prompting, the staff put a “do not disturb” sticker on my seat and left me alone.
By the time I got to Changi, and was staring down the barrel of an almost four hour stopover, I was still struggling to keep my eyes open.
I was worried that I was going to fall asleep in the middle of this airport, miss my flight and be robbed.
I did make it onto my second flight, luckily, but barely ate on that one either.
My teeth had started to hurt by the end of the first flight and I didn’t know what was happening, nor did I like it.

We landed 45 minutes early and I have never been so thankful for my UK e-Passport in my life, because that was the quickest queue you have ever seen and every other queue looked likely to take way over an hour to get through.
My luggage was there when I got to it, and my car was early.
I got home.
I got to bed.
I was in excruciating pain.

So guys, it turns out I have an impacted wisdom tooth.
And a severe gum infection to top it off.
And the dentist was impressed that I wasn’t in even more pain.

What have we learnt?

Lesson 40

There is a curse on Rabbit Ash.

Maybe it’s a Jewish mama curse…
Maybe I need to ask Ruthy to use her Jew-Jew joo-joo to remove it…
Maybe it’s because of my irreverant teachings to you all…
Maybe it’s because I accidentally stole some greens out of a witch’s garden and now she’s exacting her revenge…
No, that’s not it, that’s the beginning of “Into the Woods”.
But, whatever the reason, I’ll tell you this much – if I’m destined to suffer more and more each time I return to the UK, I’m not likely to want to come back to Australia for a while.
This is not a nice curse.
Sure, curses aren’t supposed to be nice, I see your point…
But, why?

I’m just trying to be a good little girl and come home every once in a while.
Shouldn’t that be rewarded?
It definitely shouldn’t be punished.
And I’m not the only person who’s ever left Australia for England.
I shouldn’t be punished for that.

I guess the real lesson of today is that:

a) Curses are real
b) Curses suck
c) I’m going to need someone to put a protection spell on me before I book my next jaunt home

There were still plenty of people I didn’t get to see or spend much time with while I was in Australia, and I am sorry to those people.
But to those who did get some #tashtime…




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