After all these years - most of my life - outside Australia it only takes the smallest thing to transport me back to my roots. A cosy cafe, Scandy-hugge, quiet jazz, the smell of baking. These are no longer signals of any place - they now read only as a likelihood of a good flat white.
On the wall hangs a photo - a random scene, hotel art - probably interpreted by 99% of patrons as something from an Italian fragrance advertisement. A touch of holiday freedom alongside the lightness of a what is probably a Calder replica.
But to me, and no doubt at least a few you, the photo is not only instantly and precisely identifiable, it carries rich sentimentality of summer, of relaxation, even some old fashioned values of openness and welcome. Although I never lived in Sydney, that image is home, and takes me back in a heartbeat.
Always just moments from home