Late Sunday morning, after spending time with another cousin, we left the caravan park and headed back to Eltham. We got stuck in a traffic jam only a few miles from my cousin's home. It seemed to take us for ever to cover that short distance.

Before we left for England, I had arranged to meet two fellow Anne Boleyn devotees for a pilgrimage to Anne’s last resting place at the Tower of London. By the time I arrived in England, the arrangements had taken on the flavour of a true family affair. Alan, my husband’s cousin (and also our son’s godfather)had kindly set into motion a very special, behind the scenes tour of the Tour through one of his friends – a bon fide Beefeater.

After meeting up my two online friends at the scaffold, we raced off, with moments to spare, to a re-enactment of Richard III's coronation. Alan joined us then with his friends. Whilst the re-enactment was purely an entertainment for tourists, it still included a bit of history and was a lot of fun to watch.

After that, we were taken back to wait for Alan’s friend to finish work. Once he did, we ended up having one of those ‘pinch me, am I dreaming moments?’ life moments. Our own private Beefeater took us to the prison chamber of Sir Thomas More. I will never forget walking in this chamber, thinking I was actually in the place Sir Thomas spent the final days of his life. I am still in awe just thinking about it. But that was not the end to the day’s excitements.

On our first morning in London, I came down to my cousin’s kitchen wearing my pink hat. ‘You’re not wearing that!’ she cried.

‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’

‘You look like a tourist!’

‘But I am a tourist!’

‘You look like an America tourist!’

I laughed. ‘That doesn’t matter!’

‘A silly American tourist!’

I really love my pink hat. I deliberately bought it for the trip because it is bright and bold – and my son would be able to see me easily if we were ever separated from one another. The hat also offered a way for my online friends to identify me without any trouble. It turned out my cousin wasn’t really putting down Americans, only that my hat might cause me to be mugged. Not a nice thought. But I’m too much of an Australian to go out on sunny days without a hat. Every day so far in England has been blue skied and warm. It feels like a very warm autumn to me, but it is really an English spring.

The first day in London day was purely and simply for my son. We went on a flight on the London Eye, listening to a New Zealand guide as he pointed out all the famous places from our high vantage point. No matter in what direction we looked, the city of London was spread out in all its glory. Then we met an online friend of mine for lunch, before heading off to meet my cousin and her children at the London Dungeon. That’s another place my hat got me in trouble. It got me a starring role in one of their mini plays when I found myself in the docks and being accused of running naked and acting in a strange and witch-like manner at Bexley Heath. I pleaded insanity (citing hat proof of that!) rather than go with the suggestion of baring my breasts for public inspection.

My cousins have been giving me very hard time about my Tudor obsession. Even so, they drove me hours and hours to Petersborough just so I could visit Katherine of Aragon’s last resting place at the beautiful Peterborough Cathedral and took us to Dover Castle for exhibition on Henry VIII. Dover Castle was not too far away from the park where my cousins have a caravan.

The day and a bit we spent there was earmarked family. Strangely, I have never met my cousin's mother - who is actually my real cousin. We have a complicated web of family in England that extends out far and wide. When we first came out to England in '94, my uncle put the word out and asked who would like to put us up for a week of our time in England. The cousin I'm staying with now is the one who kindly invited us into her home. She and her family have stayed with us in Australia a few times since then, and the bridge between our two families has strengthened over the years.

Anyhow - - it was really time I met her mother. At first, she was unable to see the markers of kinship between us. But soon she was able to identify lots of physical traits common to the family. Funny how much that comforted me. I am feeling so much at home with my English cousins they might find it difficult to get rid of me!

April 5th

Nowadays, the word ‘Journey’ is bandied around so often I sometimes wonder if we tend to over use it. But 5a.m. in the UK, listening to the songs of English birds greeting the dawn, journey is the word I am mulling over in my mind. This overseas trip is taking me on so many different journeys.

First, there is the journey of leaving your own country for another land. If I remember right, journey comes from the French for 'day.' It took us far longer than a day to take us from Melbourne, Australia to my cousin’s home in England. The last time I travelled to the UK was in '94. Then I was with my husband and our three older children – all now grown adults. This time it is only me and our youngest child. He is almost the same age our next youngest was when she came with us to England in ’93. I must say, so far my son has been a delightful travelling companion. Only in the last two hours of our flight to England did he jokingly begin to chant, ‘Are we there yet?’

Travelling in the discomfort of economy hasn’t changed that much. Casting my mind back all those years, I think smoking was allowed then. Thank God that has changed! I also remember BA being very generous with their alcohol consumption. In fact, all their drinks seemed to be on tap. That was the time you could summon a flight attendant to your side and ask them for snacks and drinks. My older three enjoyed this so much that soon one wise flight attendant showed them where they could get go and get there own stuff. This time, they served you one spirit drink and, if you wanted it, gave a small bottle of wine to have with your meal.

Of course, the last time I went overseas was before 9/11. Now going through customs has given us a few interesting moments. We were sent off the plane in Singapore (first and business class could stay put, while those economy, like it or not, had to gather all their bits and pieces for a wander around the Singapore airport.) They assured us we would hear the announcement when it was time for us to return to the plane. We didn’t. I think we were just fortunate that we decided to do a toilet stop and opted for the toilet closer to where we would board the plane. I was busy in the 'ladies' when I heard my name called for the flight. Subconsciously, I think I have always wanted to hear my name called for a flight…as long as I didn’t miss it! But it did put us into a fluster, and the fluster became more so when my glasses set off the customs alarms again. This time I ended up with feet apart, having a nice customs girl check me over with that strange hand device. I dashed off without my handbag, and customs were nice enough to chase after me to hand it to me. Then in the plane we couldn’t find one of the UK passports. My heart started thump rather crazily, thinking we might end up holding up the plane while we went to find it. I breathed a very long sigh of relief when my friend found it amongst her travel papers.

I am also journeying in another way. Writing any kind of book is a journey in itself, in so many different ways. Sometimes I wonder if the journey has really just started.