It’s that time of year again when it’s completely acceptable to wear knitted jumpers with singing snowmen, eat your weight in chocolate for that extra layer of chub on those cold Christmas nights, and use the abundance of Christmas parties to get utterly bladdered and it not even be questioned. What happens at the Christmas party, stays at the Christmas party.
In the northern hemisphere, all of the above remains true, but replace the fairisle jumper with a bikini and the chocolate with an icecream, and you’ve got yourself one fine Aussie Christmas. Imagine hearing Mariah on the radio in the middle of July but crank up the temperature a few notches, throw in a Christmas tree on the beach, and you’ve got it. Truly baffling.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to get into the festive spirit, forcing Christmas music and half-heartedly decorating my room thanks to my Mumma’s handmade decs. But when you’ve got a fan on 24/7 and are applying the factor 30 left right and centre, it seems somewhat forced.