Earlier in the season, I wrote a column all about homesickness. Today I do the same thing.
At the time, it was the word on many lips of yellow and green persuasion for a very different reason than it is coming from my fingertips today.
It seems a whole different era of Norwich City lore that we found ourselves bafflingly incapable of putting points on the board at home.
May 3, 2025, was the last time I saw City win in the flesh at Carrow Road, with the cardigan-sporting Jack Wilshere in the dugout.
Now we find ourselves one of the form teams in the country and on what is, by our standards, an actual cup run.
When I made the move Down Under four months ago I promised myself this wouldn’t become an “I live in Australia” theme column.
But so much has happened since then that it has become increasingly difficult to avoid as a topic.
Not only have we had a dramatic, albeit probably too-little-too-late, change of fortunes, we’ve also had an Australian international tear up trees after becoming a Canary.
Never, when I moved overseas, did I expect a City player picking up a knock to make national news headlines in my new nation.
Which brings me back to homesickness, and the sad side-effect of City’s renewed state of being decent.
Clearly, I qualify this with the fact I’ve missed Carrow Road since day one.
The wretched run under Liam Manning clearly did make it a little easier to say “see you later”.
But it also goes without saying that the better things become, the harder it is to be away.
I’m lucky in the sense that telecommunications and connectivity are at such a high that being far away has never been so close.
And obviously not being at Carrow Road is not the only thing I miss about England.
I miss my family, I miss my friends, I miss black pudding and proper bacon (not the pathetic excuse for it that they trot out over here).
You name it, I probably miss it.
But at the same time, there is little replacing being able to soak up the big moments when things are going well.
I’m sure any of my fellow ex-pat City fans will be able to attest that the joys of being there in the flesh aren’t quite replicated by watching on a screen.
Don’t get me wrong, the joy is obviously still there and I’d never wish ill results just to stop me missing home quite as much.
And likewise, I’ll appreciate things so much more when I do come home.
It’s a fascinating phenomenon to think that two polar opposite emotions can be so directly intertwined.
The joy of finally feeling like I have my club back, jostling with the sadness of not being there to see it unfold in the flesh.
Such is the sense or belief Philippe Clement had instilled in us all, there is the smallest, smallest part of me wondering if we could actually do something in the cup.
Winning the thing? Clearly that is the most ridiculous suggestion, but the Belgian has me thinking there’s maybe a 1pc chance?
Even reaching our club’s first ever FA Cup final would feel just my luck, knowing I wouldn’t be able to make it back!
So for two, very differing reasons, homesickness is starting to feel like the biggest theme of the season.
But if the payoff of feeling more homesick is City doing well, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Sympathy for Josh
I’m determined this will be the last time I address the Josh Sargent transfer saga, which is very much best left in the history books now.
But I have genuinely found his post-move comments telling - and definitely relatable.
In a way, though, this is really what has made the whole saga such a tough pill to swallow.
Given the motives he has shared, few can really be cross at Sarge for making the call he has.
In a world where footballers are seen to be selfish, putting his children above all else bucks a trend.
But any parent knows that once you become one, you are no longer the most important person in your world.
I do get the impression, though, that perhaps Sargent has misunderstood why people have been cross at him.
No right-thinking person can begrudge somebody for doing what they think is best for their children. That is precisely why I type this sat on a train in South Australia instead of from my old desk in Prospect House.
What stings is how it all unfolded and it leaves a bitter taste.
His reasons were clearly honourable, but sadly his approach didn’t appear to be.
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