Jean's daughters Priscilla and Carol-Lynn 

Happy Festive Seasonal Merry Holiday Greetings

The Holiday Season has descended on South Florida and for the past month we have been cautiously wished a "Merry Christmas" a "Happy Hanakuh", or the pc safe "Happy Holidays" despite the fact that the great day was at that stage still a long way off. But now we are on the home run and tonight we plan to make our annual pilgrimage out into the suburbs to admire the lights. This will be our third voyage of discovery and each year we are amazed to see the extent to which people go in order to send their electricity bills spiralling and to out-do their neighbours. Massive reindeer vie with enormous snowmen and an assortment of Disney figures are juxtaposed with angels and mangers. Roofs that have already born the brunt of Hurricane Wilma are now staggering under the weight of loaded sleighs, and apart from having your garden filled with sparkling twinkling figures, it is now neccessary to have the air filled with jangled musical offerings. Florida is an incredibly cosmopolitan area and it is quite possible to travel the length of one suburban street and hear an assortment of music ranging from Santa's on his Way, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Feliz Navidad and All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth. This past weekend we drove up to Fort Lauderdale to witness that Florida tradition - The Intracoastal Waterway Festival of Lights. Having found ourselves a spot on the edge of the canal along with a couple of hundred other souls who sat in incredible discomfort on outcrops of concrete and stone up the side of one of the drawbridges, we enjoyed the spectacle of a succession of massive luxury cruisers, small motor launches and yachts all dressed from stem to stern in sparkling lights and issuing forth a mixture of thumping disco music and Christmas carols. The theme was supposed to be "The Jewel of the Nile' in keeping with the King Tut exhibition that has reached Fort Lauderdale, and we were presented with a selection of Cleopatras, asps, pyramids and palm trees from one quarter, and the more traditional Santa Claus (because nobody dares refer to him as Father Christmas in these politically correct times) and a number of leaping elves, some of whom looked in severe danger of falling into the dark waters beneath. It took an hour and a half for all the boats to pass by and while this meant waving dutifully to each one that passed, I felt somewhat sorry for the passengers on board who had been waving for the past three hours on their progression up the waterway. We made our way home via Las Olas, the famous shopping street of Fort Lauderdale, and thanks to a solid traffic jam, we could enjoy the twinkling lights, the warm sultry air, the vibe of the pavement cafes and the pleasantries being exchanged between drivers, pedestrians and waiters. "Move that heapa crap outta my way idiot", "Hey you got eyes moron, I'm drivin' here". "Who ordered two pizzas with anchovies and one without?" "Call that a tip you shmuck" "You call that service?" We drove on home and eagerly finalised the packing for our trip out into the Seminole Indian Reservation where we intend to camp for six days while the festive season makes its merry way into the New Year. I doubt anyone will miss us much as we would add very little to the screaming, flailing, fighting, arguing general public - and that's just to get a spot in a parking lot. At least out in the Everglades, we really can hark and hopefully either hear the herald angels sing, or Charlie the alligator barking at his mates. Which ever way you choose to celebrate the up-coming week, our very best wishes to you all and may all that you would wish yourselves be yours in the New Year.

Aboard the Pevensey-Murray River 

Claire with Katie and Max-Mornington 

Shaun and Pete with "Das Boot" 

Tabs, Claire and the kids off on "Das Boot" 

Granny with Max and Nick on The Murray River 

Pete, Tabs, James and Nick in the Dandenongs 

FROM MIAMI TO MELBOURNE

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"Welcome aboard Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Our flying time to Melbourne will be fifteen and a half hours with good luck and a following wind. Right now we have head winds so I hope you've all brought along a good book". A dry chuckle went round the cabin of the Boeing 747-400, and I eyed my cramped seating space and guarded every inch jealously. I had no idea that the Pacific was so vast and was mystified that somehow I managed to lose an entire day in crossing it. 'Welcome to Australia Madam" chirped the nice lady on the immigration desk. "You must be one of the visiting grannies. I reckon over half the plane was filled with grandparents today". I look around at the queue of my tired but cheerful travelling companions and I realise that I am among the youngest although right now I feel distinctly frail around the edges. I pass through customs stoutly declaring that I have not had any dealings with a cow, pig, chicken or a plant of any description, safe in the knowledge that I left my last three rice cakes on board the plane rather than risk being incarcerated for the crime of entering Australia with foodstuffs. I've done it, I'm in and ahead of me are a sea of faces but I can't recognise anyone. Suddenly two small boys detach themself from restraining hands and hurtle towards me followed by a wide-eyed shyly smiling little girl. They are followed by my daughter with arms outstretched and closely in her wake comes my son. After a year of sea-changes throughout the family, we are once again united, albeit on the far side of the world. That evening, I sit in a blissful daze cuddling my five year old grandaughter, listening to an incomprehensible description of computer games from my six year old grandson, and watching as the two aforementioned little boys aged three and two repeatedly attack each other with rubber swords showing no real animosity but exercising a great deal of bravado. Overlayed are conversations with my son and daughter and my son in law and daughter in law while a glass of excellent Australian chardonnay is placed into my hand and as I look at all of them, I know that the fifteen and a half hours have been worth every single moment. The days go by and Melbourne begins to take shape. It's a city without any pretensions. It has the standard selection of high rise glass buildings, but hidden away are exquisite little Victorian cottages wreathed in intricate wrought iron balconies all swathed in roses. Everyone proudly points out the Melbourne Cricket Ground and the Yarra River winds past the vast sporting facilities that await the arrival of the 2006 Commonwealth Games. Claire and Pete both live out in the eastern suburbs a half hour drive from town, and I tend to turn my eyes to the forested slopes of the Dandenong Ranges rather than the city. Tabitha and I go into the heart of Melbourne and up the Rialto Tower on a peerlessly clear day. From this viewpoint we can see way out across the bay, where the sheltering arms of the Mornington Peninsula wrap around as if in a caress. Off to the west the bay curves towards Geelong and the Ocean Road and northwards, the Great Dividing Range beckons invitingly. Suddenly across our line of sight flies the enormous new Airbus that is on its trial flight into Melbourne. This aircraft will carry nearly double the number of passengers that were aboard my plane and I fail to see how on earth it is ever going to get airborne. I daresay that in a year or so I shall find out for myself. A camping trip has been planned and I go ahead alone with a car loaded with equipment and a map of Victoria. I feel as though I should be setting out with a mule, a shovel and gold panning equipment as I pinpoint Echuca and the Murray River. Staying clear of the main route, I wind my way across the Macedon Ranges, falling madly in love with beautiful homes set in what looks like English countryside. I pause to photograph Hanging Rock and stop at Maldon and chat with a man called Keith who is accompanied by a sheep called Liquorice who wears a luminescent orange raincoat. When I voice faint surprise, he merely points out that it is a shame that I missed the girl with the mule. People in the small towns are friendly but appear to have very little interest in the world beyond their shores. Quite frankly when viewed from the top of the Great Dividing Range, the rest of the world with its troubles and woes seems comfortably far away and relatively insignificant. The Australians give the impression that they dearly love their country, are passionate about their sportsmen and women; are unimpressed with "big talk", and have a wry humour both about themselves and about those who are less fortunate than they are; i.e. anyone who hasn't been lucky enough to be born and raised an Australian. The scenery often reminded me of South Africa and I was blessed to be there after good rains. Victoria was as green and lush as England during a wet summer, only here it seemed to rain during the night leaving the days sparklingly clear. I shared in the lives of my children and grandchildren for three wonderful weeks, doing the school run, going to swimming classes, practising reading, and watching 'Cinderella' a dozen times but loving the cuddles that went with it. A day spent with Claire touring down to Sorrento and another day spent with Pete viewing the magnificent Ocean Road were gifts beyond value. They all work hard but their leisure time is filled with sunshine, sea and sand and good friends. Education standards are high, their quality of life is good and above all, they are together. Would I move to Australia? In a heartbeat. Would I live in the city?- probably not, but just tempt me with a few acres of land out near the Yarra Valley with a pony in the paddock for the grandchildren and a couple of Weimeranners lying at my feet. This is one Matilda who would waltz off to Oz with her jolly French swagman without a backward glance. A few more years and we would qualify for a Granny Visa and Pete and Tabs bought me the right hat just in case!