In the last eleven days I have been in, through and around three states of Australia. Goondiwndi, Narrabri, Dubbo, Parkes, West Wyalong, Wagga Wagga, Gerogery, Glenrowan, San Remo, Cowes, Rhyll, Winchelsea, Colac, Camperdown, Warrnambool, Cressy, Melbourne and Geelong have all played host to our little white car with the luggage pod in top, stopping at servos and cafes and parks and beaches and giant statues. We’ve seen fabulous things, had fun, laughed, bickered, played I Spy and thanked the gods of the internets for our mobile wifi.  We’ve caught up with brothers, in-laws, nephews, great nephews, cousins, grandparents and friends. We’ve slept like babies, all of us, in a different bed almost every night, tired out by so much seeing and doing. We’ve marvelled at how long the days last down here, sweated and whinged through 43 degree days and then hastily purchased warm clothes when we reached Phillip Island, where the beautiful little penguins like it cold and blustery.

And tomorrow it’s Christmas Day, which we’ll spend with extended family in tiny Beeac, population 500 people, a lot of cows, a lot of sheep, and a fucking plethora of flies. We’ll recount funny stories of our trip so far, and speculate on what might lay ahead in our trip back home, which will take a different route. 

The rhythm of this trip has lulled me into a blissful state of relaxation. I’m not someone who normally dozes off anywhere except my bed, but yesterday I fell deeply asleep in a movie theatre, and right now, as I sit here warching absolutely nothing happen in the main street of this part of the world, my limbs are loose, my breathing is slow and I feel pretty much perfectly at peace. Peace on Earth. 

Merry Christmas.