Happy Boxing Day.

Well, Christmas was great. It started off bright and early in the traditional way, waking up to see what presents Santa had left under the tree. Then Iris and I got dressed, went and picked up the kids from their mum’s and we skedaddled off to the airport to pick up my sister Susannah, arriving for her Christmas visit.

On the way back we drove through the new tollway tunnel, which they’ve at last pumped enough water out of that you don’t need scuba gear to enjoy it. So down far below the Yarra we drove, then up again and out the other side. Yep, I thought it was definitely a tunnel.

We stopped off back at my place for a millisecond to pick up my allocation of the Christmas food. I guess my culinary skills were judged fairly because I was allocated to buy the ice-cream. However, I made the extra bit of effort and also managed a very passable chocolate banana cake, which got the thumbs up from all concerned.

So we and the food headed over to my mum’s house, where we proceeded to eat, open presents, eat, play backyard cricket, eat, chat, eat, watch the Queen’s Christmas Message, and eat. And eat. Actually we probably didn’t do all that much eating, but a merry time was had by all. The presents Iris and I had bought for people all seemed to be hits, and we got plenty of great stuff too. The kids were drowning in Lego and all the rest of the stuff they got by the end of day.

There were more presents waiting for the kids when I got them home, which kept them occupied for a while. When the time was right, I tried to ring the rellies in England to wish them a happy Christmas, which was confusing at first because I managed to get the number for my Uncle Kevin wrong, but the woman who answered the phone sounded just like his wife Liz. She wasn’t Liz, but sounded cheerful enough, so I wished her a happy Christmas instead.

I eventually got hold of my grandparents and another uncle, who were also pretty cheerful. The kids had a word, then got back their new toys. By the time they got to bed, long past their usual bedtime, they were tired, but thoroughly happy. Yep, everyone had a great Christmas.

On Saturday we went where no sane person dares to go at this time of year: Chadstone shopping centre. Yes, to The Mall.

I wouldn’t normally bother even trying to shoe-horn myself into the place in late-December, but I had a $50 Chadstone gift certificate I needed to dispose of, preferably in exchange for goods and/or services. One way to do this, I reasoned, would be to buy some Christmas presents.  

Now, fact is, even with Chadstone’s 7000-odd car parking spaces, it can be absolute murder trying to find somewhere to park at Christmas time. I know someone who swears blind he spent HOURS driving around there once trying to find somewhere to park, and that was in the middle of the night. So Iris and I decided to do the sane thing and catch the bus.

When we got there, it seemed like the population of Melbourne, and some of their friends, had decided to come along too. But we dived in, and after much roaming around, managed to find a couple of things for my mum and her boyfriend. I won’t reveal what they were here because they might be reading, and I wouldn’t want to reveal a surprise. Especially as one of the things really will be a surprise, as for once I was able to think of something to give them all by myself. I hope they like it. God, I hope they like it.

After a few hours of wandering round, we headed home and had some lunch, before catching a train into the city for more Christmas shopping. Melbourne Central was pretty busy, but thankfully Myer was a tad quieter, and after some hunting around various stores we found some great stuff for the kids in Toys-Я-Us. (You know, I never used to believe that kids really wrote letters backwards, but my son Isaac does it consistently with S’s, so there you go.)

My sister had requested a present we were unable to find in any of the big shops, so we wandered around the corner in Swanston Street into Mind Games, where the shop assistant greeted us by saying "Hello Daniel, what can I help you with?"

It turned out it was one of the many Peters that I went to uni with, though I’m far from sure what his surname is. Whatever it is, Peter had just what we were looking for, though to be honest he didn’t sound delighted to be working there. I chuckled to myself when he felt the need to glance at my credit card signature, since the card quite clearly says my name on it. Probably a reflex action. Or maybe he didn’t remember my surname either. Or maybe he thought I’d be using a stolen card…

So with an armful of parcels we staggered back to the station, tired but contented that most of the Christmas shopping was taken care of.

Today I drove out to the airport to pick up Iris, back from her meditation course. She flew on the new airline, Impulse, which was good, because she kind of flew on… ummm… impulse. That is, it was a change from the original plan, which was to get a lift back with someone else.

So I drove to the airport and strolled along to the new "Domestic Express" terminal, which is where the new airlines like Impulse and Virgin Blue hang out. The terminal opened all of six days ago, and so it’s all shiny and new, though airport terminals always look like that anyway. The only thing that’s a bit disconcerting is that it all looks… well… a little bit Mickey Mouse. The whole terminal looks like a giant school portable, except that it’s got better air-conditioning. There’s none of the usual awful advertising to poke fun at on the way along the corridors. No newsagent, no chemist, no gift shop selling crappy stuff that you only buy because you realise you’re meeting someone on a visit (yours or theirs) and you should be giving them something, even if it is crap that will be thrown straight into the bin as soon as the visit’s over.

The three people at the security gate didn’t seem too overstretched, though I suppose it might be different when a couple of planes are about to take off. Looking through the window at the tarmac, I could see one plane about to take off. Unlike elsewhere at MEL, the people had to actually walk outside to the plane and climb steps to board. The only time I’ve arrived on a plane like that, it felt so odd to be stepping down onto the runway that it left me feeling like royalty, but I can see it would be a right pain if it were raining.

Last week it seemed that I was evicting a lot of spiders from the house. That is, I think it’s a lot of spiders - or it could be the same one over and over I suppose. I keep spotting them on the ceiling in the living room or in the kitchen. It always seems to be the same type - a huntsman. It’s a spider which in theory is harmless, except that just looking at its big hairy legs gives me the willies.

But I don’t understand why so many are coming into the house at the moment. Are they all delegates for the Arachnid 2000 Conference that somebody has convened at the Daniel’s Ceiling Congress Centre? Or perhaps it’s just the recent warm weather. Who knows, but thankfully I haven’t spotted any in the last few days. They’re probably harassing a neighbour.

"You’re a yob or you’re a wanker
Take your fucking choice
So who is your favourite genius
James Hird
or James Joyce?" - TISM’s Whatareya, from their album www.tism.wanker.com

On Friday night I enjoyed a night of fine wining and dining with some work colleagues, at a very nice restaurant that I’d never have dreamt of going to myself, because I have to admit, it’s just a little bit out of my league. In fact, Cafe Di Stasio is very probably the nicest restaurant I’ve ever been to. The wine was lovely, the food exquisite, the service was excellent, with possibly just a hint of wankiness. I felt a little bit out of my depth, though I don’t think I was the only one more familiar with the not-so-fine dining of establishments such as Maccas and Pizza Hut.

It was a great experience, especially with such fine company. Though I’m certainly glad I wasn’t paying the bill which must have made a sizeable dent in somebody’s credit card. And I couldn’t but help think of the above song quote afterwards.

Sunday morning was spent going for a little stroll down St Kilda Road with my mum and her boyfriend and a few hundred thousand other people on the Reconciliation Walk. As usual there’s debate about how many people there were. All I know is it was a lot. The police say about 200,000 people. The organisers say 300,000 to 400,000. Why can’t they ever agree on these things? I mean, you could understand estimates being 20% or 30% different, but 100% different? And it happens every time there’s some humungous event like this. You get the feeling that if they filled up the MCG with 98,000 people, and the grandstands were quite obviously full, the cops would still claim there were 70,000 and the organisers would say 140,000.

Anyway, the rain held off, and merry old time was had by all. No matter how many of us there were.