* I'm not sure if it's possible (or advisable?) to begin a post with an asterisk but look! It's where we find ourselves. I do hope you'll forgive me.
I've called on the asterisk in a half-arsed attempt to excuse away my laziness.
You see, I'm more (as in entirely) an atheistic type so wishing everyone a 'merry Christmas' is a bit non-sensical. But as we have just returned from a week interstate and I'm feeling, well, lazy the prospect of writing a few nuanced, sensitively worded paragraphs outlining a few nuanced and sensitive thoughts on the significance of multi- and non-denominational end-of-year celebrations is entirely beyond me.
Let us, in the absence of such commentary, agree to agree that there is something very lovely about getting to the end of the year, about eating wildly excessive amounts of food, and about watching the cricket (just joking Ramon. I haven't actually watched any cricket!).
So in the true lazy-montage-spirit of all B-grade films from the 1980s, here's a bunch of photos from my end of year/wildly excessive food/non-cricket celebrations.
There were martinis with lychee (singular) and blueberries (no way!).
There were a-happenings at the beach (where does the water end and the sky begin, and etc.).
There were ridiculously happy children at water parks.
And Christmas carols, performed ped-style.
There was a long discussion about which was the worst sheet music to admit to owning from childhood (our vote was tied; your thoughts?).
And another long discussion about 'couth' and 'uncouth', for which the Penguin dictionary was absolutely no help whatsoever (at least there were prawns).
There were neighbourhood Christmas lights by people with really, really too much time.
And of course, wanky hipstamatic photos taken willy nilly by lasses who really do know better.
There were badly framed Christmas trees, with surprise elbows!
And curious tins of biscuits at the local supermarket...
...in even more curiously labelled sections.
But best of all, there were lots and lots of happy, blurry photos (aww shit).
Now tell me about your break while I quietly vomit about the sentimentality of my own.