It's so quiet today. I've just realised what is missing - the cricket. This Boxing Day has not been the usual day of cricket - beach or backyard cricket or real Test cricket and the peaceful hum of radio or television commentary that veers from chat about the seagulls to a shout of exaltation (one of the cricketers has actually done something).
I have been luxuriously and uselessly wandering around blogs today, following the links on blogs I like to read to many, many unfamiliar blogs. Wicked fun. I have visited Christmas across the continents and enjoyed a multitude of Christmas trees and so here is mine.
It's become a bit bent about over the past 10 years. I gather pine needles and eucalypt leaves to fill the basket it sits in and these gradually dry out, filling the house with the right Christmas smell.
Most of our handmade decorations went in the flood that filled our Melbourne street waist-deep in water six years ago, but the oldest one, made by my mother before she was married, I have still.
If I could fit more decorations on the tree, I would. I love quiet, but not a quiet Christmas tree.
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