Prawns, lobsters and cheesy marmites

OK, so no lobsters apart from the British and Irish backpackers, but it’s been a partly sun soaked Aussie Christmas of immense proportions making my proportions immense. There is of course something totally and utterly wrong about an Aussie Christmas yet also something rather fine... mostly the two weeks off work at the height of summer when spirits are high, days are long and life is comfortable. The spirit seeped in during the week leading up to Christmas Day, with sunny Canberra days bringing with it a few holes of golf, pleasant evening walks and the commencement of indulgent eating.





With sausage rolls and cheesy marmites baked, $45 worth of cheese safely acquired, beers stacked and esky filled, the pilgrimage to Sydney on Christmas Eve was underway. It was murky and cool, the car heating peppering my chilly feet at times and a repeat of 2009 weather seemed inevitable. But in between a final shopping trip for yet more food in Randwick, the grey turned to blue, the mercury rose and things were looking good. Perfect timing for an afternoon lie on the beach followed with a couple of beers at the Coogee Palace.



Darkness finally enveloped Christmas Eve, again spent down at the beach eating that most traditional of Christmas Eve meals... fish and chips. And then the Christmas Eve TV... no late night episodes of Casualty where there is some miraculous birth in a barnyard and carol singers await outside A&E singing in a strong Bristolian tone; instead a terrible movie that was either so bad it was good or so bad I would like those two hours of my life back please Channel Ten.

And so, rather quite joyously, Christmas Day dawned with clear blue skies and pleasant warmth. Take away the sand and the heat and in many ways Christmas is the same... too much food, a few drinkies, some more food, board games and chatter, chocolate, a few more drinkies, all leading to a warm glow and overwhelming feeling of excess. There are of course a few quirks with this. Breakfast involves food on the beach, some broken Pavlova in fact, a good intake of fruit and dairy to start the day, with a shot of caffeine on the side.

Presents are opened in shorts and thongs, sparkling fizzy stuff laced with alcohol to keep hydrated. And then, just to keep going before dinner, a picnic lunch under a shady tree, resplendent with cheese and dips and prawns and pastry and salad to the sound of the surf. Scattered around in shady clusters are families and friends and backpackers and barbecues. Alcohol and cricketing endeavours seem to take hold, a cooling dip in the Bronte waves keeping the lifesavers on edge.







Later in the day it was – mercifully – a bus back up the mountain to Waverley and time for some pre-dinner games... a deranged Australian themed hunt for utes and BBQs and blue heelers, winning money by achieving a [insert drongo stereotype] from a [insert fair dinkum cliche] . I would be more critical, but given I bought the goddam thing and there were a few vino fuelled giggles from it, I shouldn’t [insert raw prawn style saying].

And finally, in a pretty toasty kitchen, the nod to the northern hemisphere with roast turkey and all the trimmings including brussel sprouts sadly. Despite this, it was very fine and capped off with my unintentionally broken Pavlova bits, cream, ice cream and oodles of berries.

The following days brought with them some rain and drizzle, accentuating the joy and luck of Christmas Day, but it wasn’t without a few sunny interludes and blue skies. Boxing Day meant a walk back to pick up the car, but when the walk involves a stroll along the eastern coastal suburbs it’s not too much of an ordeal. Facing more of an ordeal were the many yachts streaming southwards as they ventured their way from Sydney to Hobart. And even more of an ordeal, Australian batsmen.





Boxing Day mostly involved eating leftovers, but the next day it was time to eat out again, a last minute decision to head over to Manly for some scrumptious breakfast opposite the beach, the spots of rain failing to dampen the sweet potato and corn fritters. Being now northside, I decided to take the road up to Palm Beach, stopping at Collaroy for a pleasing read of Ashes disastrousness and coffee along the way.

At Palm Beach it was mostly cloudy and drizzly, but not too bad for a walk up to Barrenjoey Lighthouse, possibly spotted by some of you before in Home and Away.



A soaking soon followed in the afternoon but this abated back down in the north shore, and another little walk in one of the many pockets of bushland lining Middle Harbour ensued. Sydney really is blessed with a quite remarkable geography, especially when you are really in to geography and places and rocks and stuff. Much of the north shore seems to me to be one big national park, just with staggeringly expensive houses dotted precariously on sandstone cliffs and hovering in the midst of a lemon and frangipani fragrance. Not really the smell of Christmas but then that comes as no surprise in this topsy turvy land down under. As Roy Walker may have once said on a special Christmas edition of Catchphrase, ‘it’s good but it’s not right!’