AS I DRANK wine in my narrow South London garden with blaring reggae beats from three neighbourhood parties, I dreamed of going home to Australia, to the land of light and air and space.

I tore myself away from my job, my high-flying friends and well-connected colleagues, culture on tap, a diverse media. It was a huge wrench and I couldn’t help fearing that all the reasons for leaving would come flooding back the moment I landed. The front-page headline on The Gold Coast Bulletin did nothing to allay my concerns. It read, “Netballer banned for punching opponent”. This was not the information I needed.