THE JOY OF CHRISTMAS…..
I had a pretty big weekend again – culminating in a superb barbecue Sunday afternoon, which I am presently paying dearly for. I went down to Fisherman’s wharf in the morning and bought some seafood off Mr Barra – a kilo of King Prawns, a dozen oysters and some Threadfin Salmon fillets. I made up my famous Lemon Butter prawns (who’s recipe I conveniently stole from my sister-in-law and now claim as my own). I could see trouble ahead in the synchronisation of barbecued prawns and grilled Oysters, both Kilpatric and mornay. However, much to my relief (and probably everyone else’s gastronomical delight), one of Phoebe’s mates turned out to be a chef. So he did the oysters in the kitchen (didn’t even have to read the book!) while the barbecue smoked away outside, under the careful eye of Damon (Phoebe’s boyfriend), while I drank beer and watched contentedly on.
At first, I believe it was through courtesy, that no one commented on the Christmas carols I had pumping through the speakers but after I brought it up, it seemed they had plenty to say. I still suspect a hint of sarcasm in Phoebe’s sweet praise and singalong attempts. Chefboy brought his fiance Jane, along and she proved a lovely girl – admired my Snowy River poster, prancing horse and stockwhip behind the bar. When the second round of carols sparked up, Jane inquired as to whether it was Garth Brooks – I said no it wasn’t, it was in fact Alan Jackson, but fear not – Garth was coming on next.
She then confessed to being a huge Garth fan – loves country music (I started wondering how committed a fiance she was to Chefboy). I told her I had about 200 country CD’s inside, if she’d like to burn any – Chefboy protested with much vigour.
After some beer, bourbon, rum and wine, I decided what we all really needed was a salty, gutful of slushy Margarita. So in I ducked and set too with the blender – half a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a healthy dose of Cointreau and a smallish measure of Margarita mix. I churned him all up with a jugfull of ice, generously salted the fancy glass rims, and whisked them out back to the anxious punters. They went down a treat, though the merits of the salt remained a matter of contention till the end. I, however, was unanimously declared a masterful barbecuer (though, to be fair, I actually swiped the margarita idea from my brother the selfsame night I pilfered his wife’s prawn recipe).
Earlier in the afternoon there had been much playful banter and repartee as we commenced a few rounds of Bocce in the backyard. Unfortunately due to an earlier tropical downpour, the pitch was deemed a “Heavy Track”, so along with the other contenders, we had to endure long grass, leaves and soggy soil. The quality of play was variable at best but it was generally enjoyed as a novel way to build up a thirst.
I’ve really enjoyed the build-up to Christmas this year but while I always look forward to the big one, I’ve had reservations in the back of my mind about Christmas Day coming round this time. I put this down to my not wanting the silly season to be over again, because I’m enjoying the good times so much.
I’ve had carols playing in my car since the start of December, bought some flashing lights and decorations – even stuck some lights up at work. I usually don’t do any of this – I’m usually in Sydney by now, with all my family and friends. But this year, another bloke jumped in early and took holidays over Christmas, so I have to stay in Darwin. For the last few years my brother has come down from the Gold Coast before Christmas, with his family and we’ve all been together in Sydney and had a ball, but they go back before Christmas Day. Normally I stay at the oldies, in my old room, and my sister brings her husband Johnny and their three kids around to sleep over on Christmas Eve. That way, though it’s a bit of a tight squeeze, we all get to share the excitement in the morning. We run through all the old routines – taking photos through blurry, slightly hungover eyes, whacking the old carols on, leg ham and fresh garden-grown tomato on toast for brekky with a cup of tea. Chicken and pork and turkey and ham for lunch, hugs and kisses and presents and playing with new toys etc. I love every part of it.
Driving to work the other day, I noticed how a lot of the Christmas songs have the “coming home to the family and friends for Christmas” theme. I usually love this aspect, because that is exactly what I do, and Christmas to me means family, but I won’t be there this time. It made me realise that perhaps my reluctance for Christmas Day to roll around might actually be the inner dread of waking up alone in my five-bedroom house on Christmas morning and trying to sound happy and excited, chatting on the phone to the kids.
The feeling very much reminds me of Paul Kelly’s “How To Make Gravy” – a song from the perspective of a bloke stuck in jail over Christmas.
Okay, enough sooky-la-la, the upside is that I actually have five weeks off and head to Sydney on the Qantas red-eye on the 29th December, so I’ll be there for New Years and a fair while after. I’m also spending Christmas day at a mates family party, with good company and plenty and tucker and drinks, so it’s not half as bad as I made out, just missing the family I guess.
So, I mentioned my recently purchased flashing lights. I scored these little suckers from Coles for the princely sum of ten bucks a box, which appealed as fair value, given there are 206 globes on each string (though I remain perplexed by the decision to attach such an odd number of globes together?).
I also had to buy two packets of brass hooks – as there was nothing from which I could hang the cable. So up and down the ladder with a hook and a drill every three feet – it felt like the step routine from Aerobics Oz Style, only they didn’t have to dodge a recently arrived, bulbous-eyed, smiley-faced staffy-dog every time they stepped down.
Then, after I opened my two boxes of treasures, I stood dumbfounded after discovering the little fairy lights were clear globes, not the coloured ones I thought I had! That and the cable was green and not white, like all my paint.
I decided to go with it anyway, I was already hot and sweaty and wanted to see some kind of reward for my effort – apparently patience is not among my strong suits. So back to the ladder. I finally got all the lights up and, feeling quite proud of myself, went to unleash my festive glory by connecting the power…
Now, these magnificent flashing displays come with a very special transformer-box-type contraption that plugs into the power outlet – unless you have an outdoor/exterior waterproof-type outlet, like me – then, much to your delight, you’ll find the boxy transformer body butts up against the wall and prevents the pins from actually slipping into their slots! So now I’ve got a 45 metre, thick, black extension lead coiled in the corner, which said staffy-dog finds very comfy to sleep on – not sure of the repercussions of dozing in a haze of electromagnetic radiation, but she sure seems to spend a lot of time facing North these days…..
