Beaches and cream

Sydney is an opium den for lifestyle junkies, a hotbed of food-loving, sun-seeking sport enthusiasts. I realised this the first time I went to Bondi Beach. Unless you’re armed with a soya latte, yoga mat, designer bikini or designer in a bikini, you won’t make it past the BMW-filled car-park.

I had none of these when I moved to Sydney last year. I moved to get a break from London, which is cool and great for old buildings but also grey, expensive and generally dirty. Living in London isn’t easy. Living in Sydney is. It’s among the sunniest, cleanest and best-looking cities in the world. And full of Brits like me. They’re everywhere, overcaffeinated and sunburnt. Sod congestion-charging and the M4 at rush hour — they want the smell of barista-made coffee in the morning and warm melanoma-spawning sun on their skin.

I decided to give myself a year out of the rat-race to live in corpulent comfort.