22nd of December – and it’s raining. Well, not just raining. It’s bucketing! Then it stops for twenty or so minutes, and begins again. And again. And again.
It’s also freezing. Well, not just freezing. One could say, glacial. And windy. A bracing, blustery wind. In December.
And the weather bureau says there’s the possibility of snow in the Alps.
I’ve always wanted to experience a white Christmas. Ever since it snowed during our first winter here, and I fully expected to see reindeer prancing past the window. But like most of Australia, every Christmas is sweltering. We drive to our family get-togethers with the air-conditioning as high as it will go, and spend the day eating too much, drinking not enough, and shooeing flies away. Then we drive back home, gossiping about Cousin Belinda’s new boyfriend, or how Uncle Trevor always drinks too much and Auntie Beryl never seems happy.
Just once, I’d like to spend Christmas Day in front of a cosy fire, decked out in a horribly unfashionable but warm woollen jumper, while the snow falls down around me.
Maybe next year.
