Out of the frying pan...

It's probably not fair to call NZ a cooking utensil, a cooking utensil, however hot, can't produce the likes of Lorde, after all. But crossing the Ditch to my home town (Sydney) is always a little fraught for me...



The Aussies and the Kiwis are not exactly close cousins, and fireworks of a metaphoric sort have been known to go off when this ex-pat trans-Tasman traitor attempts to return to the lucky country of her birth.
But tomorrow, when I cross this sparky gauntlet it will feel like I'm leaving behind the security of a controlled heat (aka a frying pan, turned down reeeal low) to an out of control, all out rampaging FIRE turned up full bore! Not to make light of the very real dangers of the Sydney fires, of course. So please be kind and cross your fingers for me as I make my crossing, and for all those other people, my family included, who've been living in this shit for a week already. The forecast for tomorrow is pure crap.