We arrived in London on 23 October after crossing the Channel by hovercraft. For the next few weeks, we based ourselves at my Auntie Shirley and Uncle Tony’s home in Lewisham. Dean and I had arrived in the UK with working holiday visas. Our original plan had been to find work in London and base ourselves there for up to two years.
However, after six months on the road, we were both exhausted. Dean was also incredibly homesick. We were also shocked by the cost of living in London. As a result, Dean decided to return to Australia. I debated staying on alone. I’d clocked up a huge debt on my credit card and thus desperately needed to clear it. I didn’t hold out much hope of saving money while living in London. I ultimately decided a Summer in Sydney, earning Australian dollars, was far more appealing than scraping by in the UK.
Dean and I decided to make the most of our final days in Europe by exploring all that London had to offer. We also spent a week exploring Scotland, based in Inverness. Our trip to Scotland split our time in London neatly, with eight days in town before heading north, followed by another eight after our return.
Like all good tourists, we ticked off all the bucket-list sights, including Tower Bridge, the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London, St Paul's Cathedral and Trafalgar Square. We watched the changing of the guard outside Buckingham Palace and explored the British Museum. Check out the photo above of Picadilly Circus. First, Foster's beer was a huge brand in the UK at the time, and second, every sign was a traditional neon billboard. The neon is long gone, replaced by high-resolution digital video screens.
My cousin Hilary also managed to secure a tour behind the scenes at Westminster Palace, otherwise known as the Houses of Parliament. I can’t recall the exact occasion. I think she was attending an event, or possibly hosting a corporate event in one of the building’s public spaces. She invited me to join her. I vaguely recall climbing a staircase lined with heavily lacquered wood panelling and a landing on the stairwell framed by a soaring wall of stained glass. It was all wonderfully ornate and undeniably Victorian by design.
At the time, Hilary was the Public Relations Manager for Scotia Pharmaceuticals. During our visit, she was promoting a new Evening Primrose Oil (EPO) supplement. This included a media event hosted in The Wellcome Galleries at the British Science Museum. These galleries display artefacts tracing the history of medicine from ancient times to the modern day. As I recall, she was promoting new research on the benefits of EPO for alleviating premenstrual syndrome (PMS). I also recall being suitably impressed that she'd scored an interview with The Lancet, the world's premier medical journal.
I joined Hilary for the day, helping her with media interviews and final preparations for her evening event at the museum. I also manned the registration table, greeting attendees and handing out press kits. It was literally my first public relations event, and my first PR job. Little did I know that three years later, I’d join a technology PR agency and spend two decades working in the public relations industry. A career that culminated in me becoming the Chief Operating Officer of a global PR company.
I recall Auntie Shirley taking Dean and I on a walking tour of London’s lesser known sights. This included a visit to Temple Church, an iconic circular church built by the Knights Templar in the 12th-Century, the Royal Courts of Justice and the Old Bank of England. Shirley was determined to infuse some cultured British history into our otherwise backpacking, box-ticking tourism endeavours. I’m glad she did. Her passion for more obscure history was a timely reminder for me to look a little deeper wherever I travelled in the years ahead.
I joined Hilary for the day, helping her with media interviews and final preparations for her evening event at the museum. I also manned the registration table, greeting attendees and handing out press kits. It was literally my first public relations event, and my first PR job. Little did I know that three years later, I’d join a technology PR agency and spend two decades working in the public relations industry. A career that culminated in me becoming the Chief Operating Officer of a global PR company.
I recall Auntie Shirley taking Dean and I on a walking tour of London’s lesser known sights. This included a visit to Temple Church, an iconic circular church built by the Knights Templar in the 12th-Century, the Royal Courts of Justice and the Old Bank of England. Shirley was determined to infuse some cultured British history into our otherwise backpacking, box-ticking tourism endeavours. I’m glad she did. Her passion for more obscure history was a timely reminder for me to look a little deeper wherever I travelled in the years ahead.
A final comment regarding my UK-based relatives. The first photo above of Shirley, Tony and me was taken at Crofton Park station. The second shows Tony trying on Dean’s classic Akubra hat much to my aunt’s amusement. These are the only photos I have of my Uncle Tony. Sadly, I never saw him alive again. He had long since passed away by the time Garry and I relocated to the UK in 2005.
I don’t recall much of our time in London beyond the experiences I’ve already outlined above. However, a series of ticket stubs I’ve kept shows that we visited the Imperial War Museum, Westminster Abbey and Madame Tussauds. We also visited the Guinness Book of Records exhibition, where entry cost the princely sum of GBP4.00. I’m sure I was excited to visit this attraction. For many years, I received a new hardback copy of its annual edition for Christmas. It was always one of my most treasured gifts.
Likewise, I loved seeing all the famous tombs inside Westminster Abbey. Weeks earlier we’d visited the tombs of Michelangelo, Galilei Galileo and Christopher Columbus. This time it was recognisable names like Charles Dickens, Sir Issac Newton, David Livingstone, and Charles Darwin. I was surprised to discover that Queen Elizabeth I is also buried here.
On 15 November, Dean and I caught the Tube to Heathrow (that’s us above waiting for the train) and boarded a flight bound for Singapore. Our life-changing journey through Europe had finally come to an end. Along the way, we’d visited 22 countries, travelled as far north as Harstad, more than 300km above the Arctic Circle; as far south as Meknes in Morocco; as far east as Varna on the Bulgarian Black Sea coast; and as far west as the Strait of Gibraltar.
I’d just turned 25. It was time for another life-changing adventure. This time, establishing myself in Sydney, Australia, the city that ultimately became my home for more than three decades. I’d eventually return to London on business in 1998, stopping off in Beijing on the way there. I’d continue to return time and time again on business until the present day.
In hindsight, the decision not to use my UK working holiday visa has served me well. My life in Sydney has been filled with wonderful memories, friendships and once in a lifetime experiences. My career has flourished, frequently paying for me to literally see the world. Fifteen years later, I’d even fulfil my dream of living and working in London. Although, as friends often point out, Garry and I enjoyed a backpacker’s experience in the UK but did so on a champagne income.
I’d just turned 25. It was time for another life-changing adventure. This time, establishing myself in Sydney, Australia, the city that ultimately became my home for more than three decades. I’d eventually return to London on business in 1998, stopping off in Beijing on the way there. I’d continue to return time and time again on business until the present day.
In hindsight, the decision not to use my UK working holiday visa has served me well. My life in Sydney has been filled with wonderful memories, friendships and once in a lifetime experiences. My career has flourished, frequently paying for me to literally see the world. Fifteen years later, I’d even fulfil my dream of living and working in London. Although, as friends often point out, Garry and I enjoyed a backpacker’s experience in the UK but did so on a champagne income.
No, I never met Yasser Arafat. This photo was taken at Madame Tussauds. As an aside, the padded jacket I’m wearing was purchased years earlier in the USA. I’d bought it to survive a snowy winter in upstate New York as an exchange student in 1983.
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