It's just on 16 months since we upped stumps in Sydney for a quieter life in the majestic Illawarra.
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In that time I've transitioned from working full-time in a cubicle in a madhouse metropolis to (sorta) working part-time from the comfort of my kitchen on a lovely stretch of coastline.
I've swapped crowds for open spaces, I quit the rat race for better relations with the human race; I've stopped chewing my nails and grinding my teeth and I've felt myself becoming a better person day by day.
But it wasn't until a few weeks ago that I felt the transformative power of my sea change reach deep within me - right down to the nitty gritty that a gridlocked city can make a person shitty.
It happened one afternoon after I'd picked the Hendertwits up from pre-school.
Driving home I found myself waiting at a T-intersection behind an older gent in a silver Camry who was also indicating to turn right onto the Princes Highway.
Astonishingly, I wasn't the slightest bit perturbed as he sat there for minute after long minute, passing up multiple opportunities to turn as he held out for completely empty lanes in both directions before making his move.
After a bit, four-year-old Katie piped up: "Why are we just staying here Daddy?"
"We're just waiting our turn honey," was my surprisingly Zen reply.
I honestly shocked myself. Did I just say that? "We're just waiting our turn?" Was it really moi - the battle-scarred Sydney road warrior - who let the old bloke in the car in front take as much time as he liked? Could I possibly be free from Sydney Driver Syndrome (SDS)?
I had honestly thought SDS was incurable and for the first year I was aware I'd brought the affliction south with me. Here are some classic symptoms of SDS, many of which I visited upon the good folk in my part of the Illawarra:
■ The 1mm fuse: This entails, for example, completely losing your shit if the old guy in the Camry doesn't take what you deem to be the first available opportunity to turn, regardless of his reflexes, eyesight or age.
Leaning on the horn is optional but throwing your hands up in exasperation, banging the steering wheel, shaking your head as if to say "I see it but I can't believe it" and shrieking obscenities for the benefit of yourself and your passengers is compulsory.
■ The optional speed limit: Where I come from, 50km/h means 70km/h and 80km/h means you might as well be pullin' a tonne. At least that's how I used to drive.
When I first moved south I thought people were waving at me in recognition - until it occurred to me I didn't know anyone here and I noticed none of them were smiling. Also, they were waving in a downwards motion, as in "Slow the feck down you idiot."
■ The optional red light (also known as the police green): After 30 odd years driving in Sydney I got to know where dozens of red light cameras were and, if I knew where they weren't, I'd sometimes treat red lights as give-way signs.
I'm not some renegade maniac here - I've seen plenty of people do it. It's 6am, the surf's pumping, there's no one coming along the road to your right, you're stuck at the red and time's a wastin'. A quick check for cops and through you go.
Now I live in a town with exactly one set of lights and I respect the bejesus out of them. Because there are pedestrian crossings tied up in the equation, I want everyone in town to think that goateed fellow in the green Hilux is a very careful and considerate chap, which I am becoming, slowly.
■ The Mercedes merger: This used to be one of my faves, and it works with Mercs, Porsches, Ferraris, Jaguars or any luxury car worth more than $80,000. Wanna enter a line of traffic or "merge" into rich boy's lane, just barge over - he'll slow down and let you in every time 'cos he loves his car more than he loves his wife and kids.
Not that the new, conscientious and law-abiding Hendo would do this nowadays, but that's also because there are no Ferraris in Ulladulla.
■ The brake-light stomp: Being tailgated by P-plated hoon-boy in his lowered Commodore? No sweat, just jump on the brakes for a second and scare him witless; the threat of him dinging said Commodore works a treat at lower speeds. If you do it out on the highway, the terrifying notion of a high-speed collision will also see him back off.
Nowadays, of course, I just let tailgaters tailgate me until an overtaking lane appears. I've gotta admit tailgating is rare down here though.
Which brings me to Wollongong. I have great mates in the Gong and spend a fair bit of time there. Lately when I visit, though, I have flashbacks to the traffic war zone that is Sydney. I've been tailgated, Mercedes merged, honked at, screamed at, spat at and more.
Sorry to say it, but Wollongong drivers are in real danger of developing a new strain of the affliction - WDS.