‘Merry Christmas. I’m so glad we married as I’ve been the luckiest girl in the world to spend my life with a loving, generous and genuinely caring man like you…’
That, of course, was the greeting I was hoping for on Christmas morning as me and the missus woke up to a scorching Xmas day on the Gold Coast in Australia. Instead I got the following:
‘How come you found coathangers and I didn’t get any, you bastard?’
The missus was looking in the wardrobe at her relative’s house where we staying Down Under at the time and, after I told her I’d simply asked her 10-year-old nephew if I could nick some of his, her line of inquiry ended. Still the anticipated moment of festive romance was forever ruined…
Christmas is Oz is a strange affair. Our week in Sydney visiting friends had been fab and included a walk up (up and not over) the Sydney Harbour Bridge, then we flew up the coast to a place near Surfer’s Paradise for the remainder of our stay to bunk down with relatives. But walking around in swimming trunks and jumping in the pool or surf around Yule just doesn’t seem very familiar to one brought up on English Christmasses.
So I’ve decided to spend then rest of the stay walking around in several layers of clothes and complaining about the weather. It may seem crazy but it will be good practice for our eventual return home…
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