Sydney: Head over heels in Australia

Australia. Well, Sydney, that is. Is it worth the effort? I suppose intrepid travellers will not need to ask themselves this question, but what about completely rubbish travellers like myself? I like being in foreign places all right, but I just can't be doing with actually getting there: the "tickets, money, passport" panic as soon as I leave the house; the "have I left the iron on?" panic as soon as I turn the corner in the mini-cab (and this, even though I don't own an iron, have never ironed anything in my life and always account for the creased look by pretending everything is 100 per cent linen, even my face); then the airport, with its queues for check-in, queues for security, 40-mile walk to Gate 945 (who ever gets to leave from Gate 1?) and then the flight itself. Now, the flight to Sydney is no namby-pamby, weak-chinned, big girl's blouse of a flight. It takes forever and then some and goes through night and then day and then night again and then this time zone and then that time zone

Australia. Well, Sydney, that is. Is it worth the effort? I suppose intrepid travellers will not need to ask themselves this question, but what about completely rubbish travellers like myself? I like being in foreign places all right, but I just can't be doing with actually getting there: the "tickets, money, passport" panic as soon as I leave the house; the "have I left the iron on?" panic as soon as I turn the corner in the mini-cab (and this, even though I don't own an iron, have never ironed anything in my life and always account for the creased look by pretending everything is 100 per cent linen, even my face); then the airport, with its queues for check-in, queues for security, 40-mile walk to Gate 945 (who ever gets to leave from Gate 1?) and then the flight itself. Now, the flight to Sydney is no namby-pamby, weak-chinned, big girl's blouse of a flight. It takes forever and then some and goes through night and then day and then night again and then this time zone and then that time zone such that, when you do finally arrive, you have absolutely no idea whether it's today, yesterday, tomorrow or a week last Wednesday. You also feel like a big fat blob. All that sitting with nothing to do apart from eat the awful food and drink lots of less-awful gin in the hope it will knock you out. Going to Sydney might not broaden your mind but, if the deep-vein thrombosis doesn't get you, it'll certainly broaden your arse.

So, is it worth the effort then? Yes, I think it is. I loved Sydney. I still do. Indeed, I even sent it a Valentine's card. "Dear Sydney, roses are red, violets are blue, I'm back in rotten old London and really miss you." I did not get a card in return. (Was Sydney trifling with my affections, do you think? The cad!). All I know is that if London is now like some grumpy old crone teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown – one alarmingly untoward event, like a snowflake in mid-January, and it's down on its knees sobbing – then Sydney is like a bright, gorgeous, sexy, young thing on Ecstasy. You don't have to look at street maps in Sydney. Just make as if to look at one and someone will approach you and say: "G'day. Where are you guys off to? Hey, I'll walk you there." And they don't want to mug you or anything! Actually, they're so open and friendly it's actually almost spooky. If it isn't Ecstasy, it must be Prozac in the water.

I don't know how to account for this wonderful "can-do" attitude. Perhaps it's just that, being a relatively new country, it's never really experienced an Irony Age. Some people hate this about Australia, I know, and think it indicates a lack of sophistication, which it does in some ways. You know, Australia has more McDonald's per head of population than any other country in the world, including America? (We managed to resist the "Billabong Burger", by the way, even though it was on special offer). And the telly is pretty rubbish. Endless, tedious in-your-face commercials of the "BUY OUR PAINT NOW!" kind. Even the McDonald's commercials haven't moved on from Ronald dancing about in his big clown shoes. We watched a bit of live cricket on telly one day, and you know what? There were even commercials between overs. How unsophisticated is that? However, I can forgive all this because, frankly, and apart from anything else, it's quite nice to have a holiday from irony. Irony is over-rated. I think this might be why I love Hello!, Britain's only guaranteed irony-free zone.

In Sydney, there is so much to make you happy. The sun, the quality of light, the current exchange rate which makes everything as cheap as chips, the trains and buses that are clean and work and run on time, the water everywhere and, of course, Sydney Harbour, framed as it is by that magnificent bridge, the ferries criss-crossing, and the stunning Opera House. Now, here's a good tip. If you get to the Opera House by 8am, you can buy a ticket for that night's performance. My partner, a Welsh boy into his music, did this and saw Don Giovanni for A$35. That's about £14. And, get this. For Christmas I'd bought him a ticket to see Falstaff at the Royal Opera House in London and you know how much it cost? Wait for it... £160. Now, ask me again why I'm in love with Sydney and wish to have its babies.

OK, a few things to do and a few to definitely skip. First off, the Imax cinema in Darling Harbour. Hey, only teasing. We saw some kind of 3D film that was so boring I thought my watch had stopped. However, I suppose it's useful to know it's there if you have kids (we had our 10-year-old son with us) and it's chucking it down, which it does sometimes. (And rain in Sydney is no namby-pamby, weak-chinned affair. It comes down in bricks). Actually, Sydney is great for kids, particularly if they are sports mad, as our son is. Take a cricket bat, say, to any of the beaches or wonderful parks and, within minutes, a million other kids will jog up and ask to play. My son was well made-up by this as it meant he could dispense with my services. "Face it, mum," he said. "You're a useless bowler, pathetic batsman, rubbish fielder and the world's worst wicket keeper." I retired gracefully, if not enthusiastically, and felt I had no alternative but to go shopping. Oh, the shopping! Lots of tat, of course. Lots of didgeridoos and stuffed koalas in cork-dangling hats, but also all the groovy surf wear (Mambo, Quicksilver, O'Neil, Roxy) at a third of the price you'd pay here. (The hubs are the Pitt Street Mall in the Central Business District, Paddington Market and The Queen Victoria Building. The Queen Victoria Building is like Brent Cross. Only on Ecstasy).

Of course, it's essential to catch a ferry to one of the beaches, although not Bondi (where the ferries don't go anyway). Bondi is to Sydney what, say, Carnaby Street is to London: tourists feel obliged to see it even though the natives know it's not so hot these days. Bondi is overdeveloped, noisy, overcrowded and unsuitable for children because of "the rip". Far better is Balmoral Beach. Balmoral is elegant and sheltered, with clean sand and two netted enclosures suitable not only for kids, but mums like me who are afraid of sharks. (Honestly, even when having a shower in our hotel, I was still on shark alert. And spider alert. And snake alert. In fact, I never saw any of the S's but once, when walking back to our hotel at night, I did see a cockroach the size of a Pickford's removal van. If Sydney and I ever marry, we are gong to have to have words about this). Other highlights? Well, we really enjoyed Featherdale Wildlife Park. Featherdale houses one of Oz's largest collection of native animals, and you can pet the wallabies, the kangaroos and even the koalas which, until now, my son thought existed solely on the end of pencils. My favourite, though, was the Tasmanian Devil which doesn't look at all like Taz. Instead, it looks like a very sweet cross between a rat and a dog.

Lowlight? Well, the telly, as I've mentioned, and The Blue Mountains. Actually, not The Blue Mountains themselves, which are magnificent. Within striking distance of the city, the mountains are so-called because of the blue haze which forms when the sun shines through the fine droplets of oils released into the air by the eucalypts that cover the area. Trouble was, we went on an organized sightseeing tour that was an off-the-coach-to-take-a-pic, then quickly back-on-the-coach affair, packed with Japanese. The Japanese even took pictures of all the information boards. Hey, why read about these things while we are here, when we can read all about it when we get back to Tokyo! The thing about the Japanese is that they are so busy trying to capture the moment they never capture the moment. The Blue Mountains are dazzling. But hire a car or go by train.

OK, so Sydney and I? We're definitely in love. That Valentine's card I never got? It must still be in the post. If not, then I think I'll just have to storm back through night and day and then night again and what? Hit it across the Opera House? I guess so. I'm sorry, but I just won't be played with in this way.

Traveller's guide

Getting there: Deborah Ross flew to Sydney as a guest of Malaysia Airlines. This is just one of the many carriers that operates between the UK and Sydney. One advantage of its services is the option for a free side-trip from Kuala Lumpur on the way to or from Australia, for example to Penang, Kota Kinabalu or Singapore.

If you book before 15 March, through a discount agent, you should be able to get a deal for under £500 for travel before the end of June. From the end of March, Garuda, Indonesia, is re-launching flights from Gatwick via Bali to Sydney and is offering good deals to stimulate business.

UK passport holders travelling to Australia need an Electronic Travel Authority; this is normally issued by the agent or airline.

Seeing the sights: call the Sydney Opera House box office on 0061 2 9250 7111, or visit www.sydneyoperahouse.com, to find out what's on. You can book on 0061 2 9250 7777. The box office is open from 9am to 8.30pm daily except Sunday. To buy a ticket for that night's performance, you should get to the Opera House by 8am.

Balmoral Beach: the best way to get to Balmoral Beach is via the Taronga Zoo ferry which leaves regularly from Circular Quay. The ferry stops at Taronga Zoo Wharf, where you can get the 238 bus straight to Balmoral Beach.

Featherdale Wildlife Park: lots of coach tours to the Blue Mountains stop at Featherdale. You can also get a CityRail train which departs regularly to Blacktown. Call 0061 9622 1644 for more information.

More information: call the Australian Tourist Commission on 0906 863 3235 (calls cost 60p per minute) or visit www.sydneyaustralia.com.