Each year Santa comes up our street on Christmas Eve.
To be fair, it isn’t just our street, he has a schedule for the suburb. Santa is in the back of a rural fire services ute and waves to the kids and throws lollies. The timetable is always in the letterbox, and the kids are out there and waiting.
Tonight it was still almost 35 degrees when he came through. That’s celcius, so 95F…and flipping hot. Poor Santa.
We’ve put the finishing touches on Christmas here at Chez Tracey. The pressies are all wrapped and under the tree, Miss T’s Santa stocking is laid out, and the shortbread and whisky poured- both for Santa and me.
Mr T is popping the custard on the trifle for tomorrow and making his special potato scones. It’s a Scottish thing from when he was a boy- we’ll have them with smoked salmon and champagne tomorrow morning when we open pressies.
The trifle is to take to the Lions Den for lunch tomorrow. My Mum and Dad still insist on the full hot dinner- we’re hoping the cool change will come through before that.
The prawns and oysters are in the fridge for Christmas supper tomorrow night. We gather with our neighbours on their veranda and peel prawns, and drink bubbly and generally wind down.
In the spare block next door, the adult males from the other neighbours are playing touch football as the thunder is rolling around.
All is well.
More importantly, I’ve been an extremely good girl all year, in fact, boringly good, so Santa better had been taking notes.
To all of you who regularly read, occasionally read, or otherwise pass through this blog, thank you…and all the joy of the season to you and your families.