A Foot in Every Port

The trouble with leading an international life - and I am aware that this will sound like the high-pitched whinging of a spoilt child to any number of people - is that, no matter where you are, you are also missing elsewhere.

So it is, that I can lie on a beach in Sydney under a sun-drenched sky, gazing out to sea, and simultaneously long for the taste of a European snowflake on the end of my outstretched tongue.

My feet are often itchy.

I worry that this inability to stay satisfied with one continent for very long spills over into other areas of my life. What if I am, through some quirk of upbringing, unable now to ever be satisfied with one relationship, one house, one job, unless there is the possibility of another in the future somewhere?