The Christmas just been was the first one that I have spent with my family in the last four years. The previous three Christmases had been spent in three different countries, usually with friends, but not with family. So it was a nice return to a more traditional Christmas. Especially since I really couldn’t say where I’ll be for the next three Christmases.
My Northern Hemisphere readers will have a different view of Christmas, and will no doubt think of it as strange that we celebrate Christmas in the middle of summer – long hot days and balmy evenings. But really, it’s not that much different to here. The routine here was similar to the usual, starting out with Dad’s Christmas lunch at the pub over the road from home. Years ago this started out as my father and a colleague having lunch together just before Christmas. He’d buy Al a jug, Al would shout him one, then they’d say righto, see you next year, and off they’d go on holiday.
Somewhere along the way that grew, and it seemed to become the de-facto Christmas function for the various self-employed tradesmen of Whangarei, and other assorted hangers-on (that would be the category I fit into). It became something of an institution. Nothing fancy, just KT bistro food. No big corporate budget either – if you were lucky Dad would shout you a jug. But every year, usually around about the last Friday before Christmas, the Kensington Tavern was the place to be for a seafood basket and a jug of Lion Red. Obviously I’d missed a few attendances over the last few years, but I wasn’t missing it this time.
The follow on from there is to go out on the town in Whangarei on Christmas Eve – many people around my age have moved away from Whangarei, to various points, and this is the one time of the year most of them are back. So there’s a good opportunity to catch up with people. Things have changed a bit though – most people around my age seem to have kids now, and not so many people are going out on the town. Ah well. At least I made it home by around 2:00am – my younger brother was a couple of hours later. This means that Christmas Day is a little bit slow – I had the one nap, I think Jackson went back to bed for at least three separate naps.
My older brother Cameron, along with his wife and children had also joined us in Whangarei. This of course meant kids in the house on Christmas Day – not what you want if you’re trying to sleep in a bit. But they were quite good, and we didn’t get up at too early an hour. The usual cooked breakfast, some bubbles, presents, and family friends visiting. Then off to visit some of the neighbours, followed by a rest in the afternoon, then a big dinner, including turkey. See? Not really that different to a Northern Hemisphere Christmas. Except that we went fishing and scallop diving on Boxing Day, not something one tends to do when one lives in Edinburgh.
There was one wrinkle to the Christmas Day celebrations – on Christmas Eve, we went to get the ham out of the beer fridge in the garage. Except it wasn’t there. Hang on, it was in there yesterday. And where’s the turkey that we had started defrosting? And the bottles of bubbly? What the…? Turned out someone had taken a turkey, most of a ham, a few bottles of wine, and a bucket to carry it in. On December 23rd. Bastards. Leaving one day to get some replacements, when almost every available turkey in town had been sold. A bit of running around, and Dad managed to track down the last two available turkeys – and paid suitably for them. But no matter, it all worked out well in the end.
One side note – the police came around that afternoon, to investigate, and took elimination fingerprints from me – it turns out that my fingerprints are quite faint, and don’t leave good clear prints at all. Perhaps a new career beckons for me?
