Kerry and I had built up a nice collection of Christmas traditions in the seventeen years we’d lived in our old house.  Bublé and Baileys went hand in hand as we got the decorations up, while a night away in the van to Keswick, with its magical Christmas light display, cosy pubs and plethora of eateries, was guaranteed to bring bags of festive spirit.  One year we woke to the most glorious covering of the white stuff, triggering our old dog Gary to lose his tiny mind as he tore up the blanket of snow over Fitz park and the charming Keswick cricket ground.

Memories like that last a lifetime.

Now, I can be a Grinch like when it comes to the modern Christmas which has been corrupted to our consumer society but I absolutely love gathering for a feast with family and friends in the depths of midwinter where sunshine is virtually absent and the bitter darkness lingers.  There’s something so melancholic about those short days that makes Christmas magical and binds us to our pagan ancestors.  It’s a time for remembering those who are no longer with us and the sunshine they bought to those dark days.

Our final tradition, if the weather permitted, was a wander around Ennerdale on Boxing Day to burn some energy and make room for those Christmas day leftovers.   

So, I guess what I’m saying is that I like my Christmas cold and cosy and I’m not thrilled at the idea of sweating through a thirty-five-degree day where the way we used to do things won’t work.  My childhood Christmas’s were very much dominated by old school Scottish immigrants, who stuck with their roasted meats and three veg, topped off with  a helping of whisky and shortbread despite the heat.  And I can’t but help feel I have a better understanding of what Christmas meant for them in their adopted country.

But I’ve spent plenty of Christmas days in Australia, I think we’re both pretty adaptable and we’ll make a good go of the unusual Christmas menu that includes a freaking mango salad and chunks of pork cooked for hours on the smoker.  Oddly, pigs and blankets don’t really seem to be a thing in Australia, I can’t live without those, and I’ll be making my own.

The air conditioned shopping malls of Australia don’t blast out the cheesy songs of Wizard or Slade but then I preferred the pessimism of The Pogues anyway and Australia has its own tragic tune from Paul Kelly.

However, it’s not just the day, it’s the whole run up to Christmas.  The days aren’t dark and I’ve played plenty of golf the last couple of weekends, my work Christmas party was on a sweltering hot Friday night at the harness racing, we’ll spend an evening watching Big Bash cricket in Geelong and I’ll be joining tens of thousands of other Aussies in their Christmas tradition on Boxing Day to watch the Ashes at the MCG.

Our traditions will soon adapt, some we’ll battle to keep, others will disappear into memory and many new ones will be made.  In a life where the only constant is change you kind of have to go with the flow.

2025 has been a topsy turvy year for Kerry and I, not to mention Chloe.  It began in cold depths of the Cumbrian winter which was replaced by glorious sunshine throughout Ireland and Cornwall.  We were thrown back into the tail end of a Victorian winter before winding up into the Aussie summer to finish off the year.

Wherever you’re reading this, whether you’re keeping your Christmas entirely traditional, or mixing it up with something completely new, both Kerry and I hope you have a great time and wish you a Merry Christmas and a very happy new year.