As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly which in my case means returning to Canberra. Since I left it in 2000 (or was it in 2001?) I've only been back once for an operation. This time it shouldn't be quite so unpleasant as we're only going back for Padma to renew her passport at the Indonesian Embassy.
There is nothing else to make me want to visit Canberra which has changed beyond recognition: the migrant hostel atop Capital Hill where I lived for a few months after my arrival in 1965 has been replaced by Parliament House; Barton House where I did most of my growing-up has been replaced by multi-million-dollar apartments; and even the two branches of the ANZ Bank where I worked, in Alinga Street and at Kingston, have closed down. As for the house in Kambah where I last lived, I don't want to see it again. Too many memories, I'm afraid.
However, there's one old friend from those early days as a young migrant with whom I've kept in touch for all these fifty-nine years. He first introduced me to the Youth Hostels Association and he still lives in the same house in Canberra he moved into when he got married. Since then, we've both grown old - he more gracefully than me! - and I've just phoned to say I'll drop by for a spot of reminiscing over a cup of tea.
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