Why do you live where you live?

I like to spend a part of my sleep time awake, thinking about things. It can be anything, nothing is too bizarre or mundane. Things like why do I have to still remind my teenagers to clean their teeth. That sort of stuff.

But as I lay awake recently, I started going through all of the places I have lived in, or spent significant time in. I even had one of those naff bus scrolls make up years ago when they were super trendy and everyone had one.

The Tufnell Park years were fun. We lived above the Tufnell Park Tavern in “Norf” London with publicans Kelly and Steve (Hi guys!). We would go out to work every day, come home to spend a few hours pulling beers. It was a neighbourhood pub so you knew everyone. Then we would save up and travel until our bank accounts were dry. Mr. Woog and I would return to the Tuffers broke, and start all over again.

We lived around the Crows Nest area for years when we returned until kids came along and there wasn’t a decent public High School around, which saw us pack up the house and move to the North Shore of Sydney. It is quite nice in that twin set and pearls, gardens, golf and God type of way, and so we shall remain until the boys finish high school. I then see another shift on the cards, but am not sure where too.

But I read somewhere recently that kids stay living with their parents these days until they are 45, so I suppose we will sort it our when we are in our late 70’s…..

It is a big old world out there, and sometimes you meet someone whose random life choices leads you to cross paths. I am a writer, I know all about me so I tend to ask a lot of questions when I meet an interesting character.

Meet Thomas.

I met Thomas last Saturday morning in the tiny township of Bigga. I have written about Bigga before.

Bigga has an excellent general store run by 83 year old Helen, who took over from her parents when she was a young lady. Helen was quite cranky on Saturday because someone had wandered in and ordered some food. Preparing food is not Helens favourite thing to so, or so her body language displayed when the young lady ordered hot chips.

But something new was happening in Bigga. Thomas had moved to town, bringing with him his wife and three kids, which immediately lifted Bigga’s Primary Schools population by 40%.

Thomas also bought with him his coffee machine and with Helen’s permission set up at the end of the bench. Barista in Bigga! Each Saturday you can now get your mitts on a fresh coffee. Now that is progress!

International Roast be banished.

But I couldn’t help thinking, how the hell does a young man from Slovakia, of all places, end up making me a coffee in the actual middle of nowhere?

Turns out they moved there because they wanted a sustainable lifestyle and grow their own food.

Which brings me to the point of this blog post. Why do any of us end up living where we live? How can you grow up in Slovakia, and end up in Bigga? I wanted to keep asking Thomas questions, but there was a growing queue for caffeine.

So instead I will ask you.

Where do you live? Why do you live there? And do you like it?