Being a regular

One of our Saturday morning routines is to have breakfast at a local cafe, Satchmo. They open at 7am on a Saturday morning and we’re usually there around that time as it’s less busy and crowded and we can be assured of getting a seat. I love eating their Louisiana Gumbo for breakfast.

Yesterday when we got there one of the staff members brought M his umbrella. He’d been looking for it all week and couldn’t figure out where he might have left it.

“I think this is yours,” she said to M. “You left it last week and we knew you’d be back today.”

I love being a regular. We’ve been living where we are for 13 years now, and I like it that staff at the post office, chemist, supermarket and Satchmo recognise us. Many of our neighbours have been living in the neighbourhood for as long as we have (or longer), too. We’ve watched children grow up, relationships break up, people die, the whole works. As an immigrant it took a long time for me to feel like I belong here; after living in Australia for 37 years I think I finally feel like I do. When your contemporaries talk about their childhoods in Perth or other parts of Australia, and your points of reference don’t coincide until your teenage years, it used to sometimes feel a bit alienating for me. Nowadays though, I love that I can bond over eighties music, and other popular culture, and I’ve definitely been here long enough to remember lots of local historical events and food fads.

P.S. If you’re ever in Perth, I highly recommend a visit to Satchmo!