By now I expect my overindulgence in Christmas will be dissipating. But if ever there was a Christmas season that needed indulgence to spark it up, it was Christmas 2020.
I’m not even ashamed, because if not now – when?
(This was an argument used by sulky teenagers in our household who had inflated ideas of permissible party behaviour, but as an older woman I felt far more justified this week.)
First, we understood and quietly accepted that overseas borders were tight and family and friends in parts abroad were going to stay separated.
There had been a prospect of a New Zealand travel bubble, but that began to fade in the face of a surge of COVID-19 cases.
Regrettably they occurred where I am currently located in Sydney due to the pandemic, subsequent travel restrictions and unrelated weird but noninfectious health problems. Never mind, at that point we had the prospect of some dear friends coming from other states, some from Queensland and others from Melbourne.
Turns out nobody in those places wanted anything to do with Sydney-style Covid virus and they firmly shut the border doors on interstate travel. To compensate we were allowed to have up to 10 people plus children under 12 years old gather in house for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day.
The idea was to allow families to celebrate with the kiddies. Luckily we had a few friends who are formerly of Fiji in our neighbourhood and that’s a close enough relationship for island folk. By the time we put on our red and green hibiscus print Christmas kalavata outfits we would all look the same.
We managed to scrape up a party of nine and didn’t bother with kidnapping any children. Also luckily, I employed my Fiji celebration shopping technique to make sure we had the goodies for a good time to hand.
It accounts for some overenthusiasm and slight miscalculation on the amount of cream required, but we can always put it in the freezer. The long term Sydney resident, known in the family as Cuddles the Thug for her boisterous behaviour even as a child, poured scorn and derision on my scurry from shop to supermarket to stock up.
We’ll be fine, she insisted, Australia doesn’t run out of things. Yes, well, Australia hadn’t been through a Corona virus pandemic before either. Which is why, dear reader, we were up at 6am on Christmas Eve to go on a wild animal hunt. Specifi cally for a large chicken and a leg of lamb.
There were bits of chicken in plastic packs and bits of various sorts of sheep stuck on skewers and plastic wrapped. But of whole legs and whole birds, the cooler shelves were empty. No such thing as a spare stock of frozen chicken – I’ve never even seen one in Sydney, it’s all fresh now.
Or non-existent, as we were finding. Our early morning hit was moderately successful, there must have been some midnight deliveries from the faithful farmers. In fact we will probably be consuming Christmas party fare well into 2021. Or perhaps not, given the greed of one of our householders.
Our Staffordshire Bull Terrier has a chocolate addition of proportions that should have killed her or given her a serious case of dementia by now. I have repeatedly warned, scolded and threatened her with a visit to the vet because chocolate really is death to dogs.
Death by chocolate is not something a lot of Fiji dogs suffer but indulged Sydney Staffies are a different matter.
I came home from our shopping expedition to discover the dog, extremely miffed at being left out of a jaunt to the shops, had battered her way into my room and found the carefully hidden Christmas crackers I had hand crafted with all sorts of little goodies. Some of which were indeed chubby choc Christmas Fathers.
No more, I fear. The floor was littered with red bows and bright paper, chewed mini bubble makers and sucked balloons and even some exploded party bombs that shoot out little coloured streamers. Every scrap of chocolate including the foil it had been wrapped in was gone, gone, gone.
If I had my way, so would the dog be, back to the SPCA.
But she saved her worst for last. Sometime between us going to bed and Santa leaving a little brown paper bag of terribly expensive and delicious raspberry liquorice chocolates in what must have seemed surely a safe place on the table, the dog ate them.
All that was left were a few traces of dark chocolate on the table and a slight smear on her snout.
That’s 2020 for you. Here’s wishing a brighter and better New Year 2021 for everyone, especially those so sadly affected by Severe Tropical Cyclone Yasa and the many around the world suffering from Corona virus.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are the author’s and not necessarily of this newspaper.
