As I do every year I caught up with Donna for our pre-Christmas celebration. We have cocktails, a meal, we exchange small gifts, we share stories of the past, talk about the future. It’s a very easy-going, celebratory few hours, and – like last night – we’re generally the last to leave.
The start of the night was different. As always, Donna was delayed and then late. I keep thinking I’m going to invoice her for all this lost time, but maybe not at Christmas.
Because I had time to kill I wandered the streets for a while before meeting her. It was a slightly sticky evening, with rain falling lightly in sporadic gusts. I searched for a Christmas card for Donna going from place to place. There were people about heading from work or out for their seasonal shopping. Shop windows were decorated with ribbons and tinsel and Santas, and the streets arrayed with coloured banners. There was a festive cheer all about.
I ended up buying a card from Dymocks, which was brightly lit and buzzing with shoppers. I was in a buoyant mood and wished the shop assistant a merry Christmas, as she did me. Upstairs I crossed over Little Collins thinking this is a great time of year; I love this.
I made my way to the venue for the night, a new rooftop joint called Red Piggy. I was way early and sat at the bar with a Vietnamese beer and chatted with the bartender, a woman from New York. We discussed cocktails and spirits and why she likes Australia so much and how sad it was my friend was late. Hope she’s worth it? We’ll see, I told her.
Then Donna arrived and we adjourned to a table in the corner and had a cocktail each and ordered from the menu. For the next few hours we sat facing each other not pausing in our conversation. I’ve known her a long time now and she knows all my foibles, and occasionally exploits them. We share many memories, including those of mum, who we spoke of last night.
It was a lovely night all round. This is the thing this time of year. Everything is so concentrated, so familiar, one thing after another. That’s why you get sad. The memories that are spread out evenly over the rest of the year here come one after the other. You recognise the form of things – so well known – without enjoying any of the blessings. But last night I could. We’ve been doing this for years. This is one ritual that has survived. This is mine. Good enough.