Mike Gledhill

You know, it's great out here.

It's miserable (but hot) weather today, so I'm busy exploring Bondi's excellent
shopping malls, and you'd need to be reminded that Christmas is so close. It's
not dead here, more like Cribbs Causeway on a quiet Tuesday afternoon in
February.

Santa is here, in a very chic stylish setting, but other than that,
it's business as usual. I can't tell you how nice it is not to be bombarded with
Christmas and Shaking Stevens soundtracks whilst wondering around.

Quick disclaimer: my rucksack weighs a tonne. Literally. So apologies for
the fact that I won't be bringing any pressies back. Feel free to hate me for
that one now. Put it this way, I had to bin my (quick nice) walking boots
as there wasn't enough room for them anymore.

So no Opera House T-shirts, no "I did a chick-boy in Bangkok" caps, and
no "My mate went to Singapore, and all he brought me back was his
sense of humour. I wish he'd have stayed" badges.

Today's entertainment (this is quite sad) came from one of the best Christmas
cards I've seen.

It's just an aged photo of a little boy sitting on Santa's lap, looking up at him
with a frown, and there's just two words at the bottom of the card:
Define "good".

I laughed my arse off at that one.


One other thing about Bhondi.. it is full of beautiful people. Seriously drop-dead
gorgeous people. Even the pregnant women (who also hang out and all over the
place on the beach) are gorgeous. And the kids look like they've just falled out
of the Next catalogue.

Despite my toupee and tailor-made suit (I still haven't taken it off) I don't
quite fit in, what-what. Deary me, they seem to know I'm not a local, and
keep their distance as though my looks and lack of a tan might be contageous.