In four day’s time I buy a house. And so domesticity and responsibility must start in earnest. You see, for the past 9 years, I’ve avoided it. I’ve been an Australian living in London.

Not that I didn’t have responsibilities in London of course. I was a teacher in an inner-city comprehensive high school in one of the poorest boroughs in the country. 180 kids (I believed) were dependent on me turning up every day. I was middle management!

But as long as my council tax was paid on time, my marking was done, and the cleaner was paid, I could swan off to Romania or New York or a week of skiing in the Alps, without much thought to anything else.

Some time though, in amongst all this swanning, I found myself a husband and started to think carefully about the lifestyle I wanted any future children to have. I wanted them to grow up not being afraid of creepy-crawlies, to have tough enough soles to skip across a searing road from the beach to the fish shop, and know how to put up a tent in a storm. In short, I wanted them to grow up like I did, with a sense of adventure and a passion to explore.

I had many heated debates with my husband. What about coming home on a crisp autumn day to throw off your scarf and beanie and warm your toes on a radiator? What about growing up in a truly multi-ethnic community? What about strolling past the Christmas lights in Selfridges with the waft of roasted chestnuts in the air?

Good points perhaps, but I still won the argument. And so now here we are in Brisbane, about to purchase a 30 year debt. On March 28th, I will dust off ‘How to be a domestic goddess’, strap on an apron and “settle down” once and for all. Or at least until I find something else to take my fancy.

Tanya, 30, Brisbane, Australia.

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