Story telling from Australia
It was one of those moments when the world seems smaller, connections stronger.
At precisely 21:49 last night the temperature in Sydney was sixteen degrees. The temperature in London – nine hours behind Australia and half a world away – was exactly the same. So was the temperature in Bristol, on the opposite side of the UK. I checked the temperature in Broken Hill and it was fifteen degrees, which was a bit disappointing until I added up the individual digits of 21:49. Sixteen.
The world is still turning. The distance between England and Australia hasn’t changed and autumn is still creeping towards friends and family back in England while spring’s energy is tangible here in Sydney. Broken Hill is still twelve hundred kilometres away.
Last night though, that distance magically disappeared. Just for a moment.