The Grass Is Pretty Green, Actually.

We arrived in the UK ten years ago, in July. Here in late September, we've crossed an unexpected threshold. As a couple, we have now lived in the UK longer than we ever lived in Australia. Of course, that's only true for us together. I spent most of my life in Australia before we moved. Even so, it feels significant. The country we moved to has quietly become the place where we've spent the greater part of our life together.

Quietly is perhaps the most appropriate word. We live in a small village just outside Lincoln. From our front window I can see trees, old stone cottages and a church which has parts dating back to the 11th century. When I go for a walk, people stop to chat. They know me by name, and are genuinely interested when they ask how I am. They fuss over the dogs, lend me books, and wave when they see me from afar.

It's only a few hundred yards from our house to open fields. Along the paths there I often see squirrels running for the trees, hares sitting in the fields, and pheasants doing whatever pheasants do. The dogs love those walks. There are plenty of fresh smells to investigate. Window shopping, I call it. One of them, our rescue, often pauses and stares into the fields, apparently seeing some life that we can't.

There is a sense of community in villages that feels different to anything I experienced in the suburbs back there. We rarely saw some of our neighbours and knew only a few by name. Part of that was geography. Australia is much more of a car culture. People often commuted longer distances, shopping was centred around larger retail precincts serving wider areas, and there were simply fewer opportunities to bump into the same people day after day. Different places, different geography, different histories, different cultures.

Of course, I suspect life would feel much the same in and around many of the larger cities here in the UK. Some of what I've come to appreciate isn't England as such, but village life.

I sometimes see people who have moved from Australia to the UK complaining about this or that. Equally, I see people who have moved from the UK to Australia complaining about something else. Despite our similarities, there are differences.

When we move, we often notice what we've lost. And it's usually the small things. The snack foods we grew up with, the brand of cling wrap we prefer, the television programme that isn't available online, or the shop that we always visited when we were nearby.

The big things, we notice. The 1,000 year old Cathedral, the chanting crowds at a football match, the more diverse weather. Some people can never settle. I know of people who have moved back and forth several times, and still can't find what they're looking for. There are aspects of both countries they love, aspects they miss, and neither place seems right. I often wonder how the grass can be greener on both sides of the fence. For me, I feel at home here. There's not much I miss. Family and friends, of course, but I can watch my AFL live (although, the way Essendon has been going, who would want to?), I have greater access to the music and books that I love, and I have my wife's family around me. A couple of times a year I get a hankering for a Chiko Roll, or a dim sim. Sometimes I wish I could hang out with a friend or two, or just sit and talk to my brother over a glass of scotch. But this passes, and I find that I love the life we're building here. This isn't a comparison between the countries, but this is where I have made my home. And I feel settled. Australia gave me so much, and the UK, where my roots lie, where I was born, and where I have always felt a strong connection, gives me a life I love.

Homesickness can be a terrible thing. Loneliness too. I'm fortunate that I have friends here, and no strong yearning for Australia. But I do know people who have returned because they missed home too much, and I completely understand that. Not every move works out. Not every place is right for every person.

Others, though, seem destined to spend their lives looking over the fence. They can always see something better in another place. The opportunities, the weather, the culture, the lifestyle. Whatever they have, something else appears more appealing.

People say the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. I wonder if sometimes we're so busy looking over there, we forget to look down at where we're standing. As I write this, a man is pushing a mower around the churchyard across the road. From here, the grass looks pretty green.