During the 25 hour trip from London’s Heathrow (Via Seoul, South Korea) I had plenty of time to think about what arriving in Sydney would be like, and by the time the plane had touched down in the southern hemisphere, I had been expecting to walk off the plane straight into a Ramsey Street pool party, complete with Dr Carl playing his guitar, Toadie throwing some shrimps on the BBQ, and Felicity Scully handing me an ice-cold beer; instead I was met by a lengthy immigration form, a man wanting to know everywhere my shoes had been in the last six months, and a journalist who interviewed me for Sydney radio.