the carnage begins

Waking up on Christmas day as the heat increased and the insects began their chorus while walking around a house full of decos, seemed both very Christmassy and not very Christmassy at all, all at once at the same time. Becky and Reza had stayed the night but left early in the morning. Cathy and I made tea and enjoyed
the moment. I sat in a hammock under the trees, feeling the heat of the sun. We opened our presents and cards in front of the little tree that Mel and Mike had put on top of their TV.

After the present session and breakfast of fruit salad on the veranda, we made turkey and cranberr sandwiches. The turkey was lowest on the list of ingredients on the lump of grey meat we had purchased at Woolworths, but it sufficed once combined with said cranberry sauce and put between good bread. Becky and Reza picked us up and we went to Wategos beach, where under an increasingly cloudy sky we encamped and had a lunchtime picnic of bad turkey sandwiches, beautiful handmade sausage rolls, filo parcels and ham sandwiches supplied by Becky. This was all washed down with champagne. A decadent and hedonistic Christmas, but more was to come!

After a decent break to ensure I didnt get cramp from eating, I went in the water. That last part is a lie but I have to say that for Mums sake. Reza and I paddled out and tried to catch a Christmas wave, which we did. Sat on the clear azure blue water, with the sun shining down, and the imposing hills surrounding the bay, with Mount Warning in the distance, I smiled to myself. A moment later I end up laughing with joy as dolphins start swimming amongst the surfers, not 15 metres away from me. Im going to bottle that moment up forever; my body was content with the nice food and a bit of exercise and the soul was full of wonderful emotions as I began to realise that surfing with dolphins pisses all over worrying about house prices or jobs. Being a bell boy isnt much, but being a bell boy who can go to Byron and drink champagne with friends then surf with dolphins beats commuting in the rain to work in Burgess Hill, no matter how much you get paid. When we left the beach, we took Becky's van which meant we could drive over to theirs later on. Cathy and I came home and finished opening a few last presents, then pottered around in the afternoon and early evening, including watching the Queen's speech. This after all signifies the beginning of the post xmas dinner slide into oblivion as alcohol and food gang up on the body to render it immobile and fatigued. I had a couple of attempts at making the obligatory 'phone calls home, but the queues outside phoneboxes were as long as the list of reasons to hate Jeremy Beadle.

At about 930pm we drove over to Becky's house with a bag full of goodies, including port, wine, mince pies, shrimps, steak and wine. Becky had got some lovely salmon from work which we barbequed to perfection, along with our shrimps and steak. The feast went on for hours, although an early casualty was Reza who seemed to have consumed too much fire water too early and dissappeared to bed until morning during a toilet break. We crashed late and woke many times during the night from the sound of fruit bats, mice and possibly man-eating carnivores that lurk in the trees at the rear of Becky's house.

When we finally awoke in the morning we all took turns to find Cathy the largest web around the house and the spider that lay within, then we drove back to Mike and Mels house.

The next few days were spent in utter relaxation. More food was barbequed and more ice cold beers and wine was drunk while lying in a hammock under the hot sun. More trips to the beach including Wategos and Clarks Beach, with a bit of surfing thrown in for good measure to ensure not all the consumed Christmas calories ended up converted to fat.

A few days after Christmas day saw the special market day in Byron Bay, where all the stalls are lined up along the path that runs along the top of the main beach. The Hari Krishnas were also out in force, pulling a painted wagon by hand along the beach. The wagon was maybe 8 or 10 metres tall with a tented canopy on top, but so as to allow the wagon to pass beneath the many power and telephone cables strung across the streets of Byron Bay, the canopy was on a hydraulic pole which could collapse and reform itself once past the wires.

Soon after that evening saw Matt arrive, Mikes brother, with a lively little boy Trent. Within half an hour Mike, Melissa and Holly had returned, and the house became alive once more.

Life had continued in much the same vein as before, except there were more people around. Michael was off work and was able to spend plenty of time at home. There were more barbeques, getting to know Holly, more
surfing, and while I was surfing, Mel would take Cathy to Tallow Beach for a swim. The dynamic of the house had changed but it was a pleasant change.

As New Years Eve drew near we prepared ourselves for the big event. There was a duff in town ('duff' is coloquial for dance party as its said to be what it sounds like. e.g. duff duff duff duff; repetitive beats and
all that) on Lawson Street while there was also fireworks on the beach, bands on at the Beach Hotel and The Rails, plus other gigs and DJ's playing. Roger Sanchez was going to be around, but I can't remember where.

On New Years Eve itself, Becky and Reza came round and we all had a very nice barbeque. Id had a New Years Eve surf and was feeling a little tired but Becky entered like a hurricane and whipped people up to a frenzy.
I think the barbeque was Soy chicken drumsticks, but Im not sure. Thinking about it, we ate kebabs, and maybe some sausages. Cathy made the kebabs with some lovely marinated chicken. The Soy drumsticks was another night. After a long period of eating and drinking and not feeling in the mood for going out, Becky got us all together and we began the walk into town, in shorts and t-shirts, carrying cans of whisky and coke, and myself having a mask of zinc cream painted on by Michael and Reza. The town was pumping, and there were thousands milling around. For a one bus-stop and three pub town it was heaving. The music had kicked off and there were smiles everywhere. As midnight struck, fireworks went off and the world went mad. Hugs everywhere and my zinc cream became mirrored on t-shirts and faces as the hugs went on. This is how NYE should be celebrated, in hot weather, with clear starry skies and scantily clad people.

My memories of the turn of the millenia were standing on Brighton beach, holding a chilled bottle of champagne that seemed to be slightly warmer than my hands and nose, staring into the cloudy sky at the blobs of fading and bursting colour in the sky that I was later informed to be the firework display.



This year was spent at 2am walking along the top of the beach with Cathy, surrounded by people whos collectives brains would not have solved one single Daily Mirror crossword due to the imbalming effects, staring at a clear night sky with fireworks overhead, and a gentle warm breeze carrying the music of the town to us. The long walk back home was a joy, collapsing in a hammock with a drink at about 3am.


Happy New Year. We saw it first.