Not only was this to be my first Christmas in Australia, but also my first Christmas without the Vincents. But I busied my mind with the upcoming novelty of sunshine, beaches and prawns. And, deep down, I knew that The Girl’s family would look after me and make me feel very welcome. It would be fine. I would have a great time.

That was until the 23 December – the day I learnt that the Christmas parcel my family sent had either been lost / sent back to the UK. I became morbidly depressed. For the first time I felt genuinely homesick and briefly contemplated jumping on a plane home. But I overcame that feeling (slightly) and just sulked mildly until Christmas morning when I was able to Skype my family and learn that my package was neither missing or on a plane back to the UK. It was still in Sydney, waiting to be collected. Funny how one piece of good news can change your mood so dramatically. In the end Christmas with The Girl’s family wasn’t overly different to a Vincent’s Christmas. Sure – there were prawns and a lovely walk on the beach; but there were also crackers, party games and warm sense of family. Or was that sun beating down upon me?

Boxing Day was the start of the Sydney to Hobart yacht race and The Girl’s mother had kindly bought us two tickets to join her, and other family members, on a boat which would be on the starting line. I had mixed feelings. I like being out on boats, but my stomach sometimes doesn’t. Thankfully it was behaving itself (probably because I only drank a glass of wine the day before) and I was able to enjoy the day. It was also an opportunity to meet new members of The Girl’s family. All were lovely. Even the one guy I was warned about being bit of a troublemaker, in the nicest possible way.

Before we even arrived in Australia, The Girl and I were adamant that we would see 2012 in with the Sydney fireworks display. But as time went by we both realised that if we wanted a good spot we would have to be up at the crack of dawn. And all the viewing locations were strictly no booze. It was looking like our romanticised idea of having a perfect night of firework viewing was over. Not great news to greet our friend who had just flown over for stay with us for New Years.

So we all made a backup plan to stay home, get pissed and then stumble down the road at midnight in the hope of catching some fireworks. It wasn’t a great plan and I personally wasn’t holding out much hope. The Girl and our friend went shopping for booze and a quick scout for viewing positions. A few hours later they both returned home excited as anything. They found a secret park just twenty minutes away with amazing view of the harbour, the bridge and the city. There was still a no drinking rule, but we’d get smashed before we arrived. All three of us had a great time watching the spectacular fireworks, then hitting The Cross for some cocktail filled teapots.

I did manage to keep one Christmas / New Years tradition – going for a swim in the ocean on New Years Day. Though splashing through the warm, blue ocean at Bondi Beach is a little easier on the hungover soul than the icy, brown waves in Devon.

My birthday this year was a million times more sober and civilised than last year. The Girl and I had planned to go to Luna Park, but the 15 January ended up being the first washout in twenty-five days. Couldn’t even escape terrible birthday weather in the southern hemisphere. But I realised that it was also the first time in twenty-five days that we didn’t have to see someone or go somewhere. So we ended up having a lay day of tea, cakes and DVDs. It was relaxing and well-deserved.

I did go out with The Girl and my friend on the 13 January for a big birthday bash. There were lots of ciders, shots with tiny gherkins, large portions of chips and two drunken Irish lads who were trying it on with my friend and one of her friends. It felt like a very British night out.