Another country, another set of rules to learn. Australia isn’t totally different to Ireland, I suppose. Same language, and people are always getting our accent mixed up with that of a close neighbour. Still, emigrating is such a huge hassle, in so many ways that no one warns you about. I have to get a new phone plan, sort out all my addresses for direct debits, wade my way through the process for renting a place without any referees, open a bank account… I could go on, but I haven’t even reached the end of my first to-do list page, and there are several.
Work wants me to get a car as soon as possible, so now there’s everything to do with THAT to deal with. Car insurance, rego checks, pre-purchase inspections, chasing down the car logbook and finding a reliable mechanic for general car servicing. Ringwood must have at least one that won’t take advantage of the fact that I’m new to the area. People from Australia are generally very decent, though, so I’m not as worried as I could be. Not a much as if I’d moved somewhere else.
It still feels like a lot to sort out. First I have to find a car, and after that I get the joy of working out how a roadworthy certificate inspection works over here. It determines if your car is roadworthy; I get that much, but is it a long process? Days, months, minutes? Seconds would be nice, because I have to be in for a meeting tomorrow at 8am and I think borrowing the company car is making everyone nervous. You’d think there was some sort of stereotype surrounding the Irish and driving, but I don’t think there is. Basically, if I find the best RACV mechanic Ringwood has on its books and they still keep casting me furtive glances, and I hear them whispering something about Guiness, then that will be confirmed.