Turkey in the Sun

I was warned about home sickness by a friend who had emigrated to Ireland. It hits you about four months in, I was warned. Around that time, the novelty of your new city will have worn off, you'll be working (which will, on occasions at least, be a drudge), and you will still not have an abundance of friends.

This was doubly worrying for me because I arrived in Australia on September the 23rd. "Four months in", meant I could expect my big home sickness bout to kick in right in the run-up to Christmas. So, not wanting to end up in some Irish pub crying into my Guinness at 3pm on Christmas Day, I steeled myself against a difficult time. In the event it was actually very pleasant.

As I said here, Christmas is really about your own traditions. With Australia being so completely different from Ireland at this time of year I simply did not feel Christmas was happening at all. Or rather, I felt it was happening, but happening somewhere else. On the day, I walked with friends along Bondi Beach in the Sun and enjoyed a sumptuous barbecue. There was drink too - but not to excess. This will, I hope, be something of a template for Australian Christmases to come. It's not a "real" Christmas, but it's a lot better than salty Guinness.