and the bells were ringing out...

I arrive at the Shopping Metropolis immediately after work, having already done about half my Christmas shopping, but still with several people to buy for. The first three times I walk into a shop with the intention of purchasing a gift, said gift is not available at said shop. I nearly burst into tears and go home. I persevere. Two-and-a-half hours later, after only once threatening the homicide of miscellaneous fellow-shoppers, my Christmas shopping is complete.

I shuffle into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and fresh-from-bed on what will be my last day of work for the year. The rich apricot-coloured light of sunrise spills through the front window onto the Christmas tree, making the ornaments sparkle. Outside the bathroom window, a small fragment of rainbow hangs in the sky beside the Eureka Tower.

Clutching booze cans and barbecue food in the large tin work-shed, my workmates and I fall silent in awe as the afternoon sky is split by lightning, and a torrential downpour of rain is unleashed. It is the kind of rain we haven't seen in years, if ever. It falls in waves like a descending ocean, and cascades down the sides of the glass office-building next door.

Christmas passes in a cavalcade of wonderful food and drink, the giving and receiving of gifts, and the company of much loved people. Perhaps my memory is just tainted by the terrible mood I was in last year, but I believe it's fair to say it was my most enjoyable Christmas in a long time.

I return home on Boxing Day to an empty house, Byron having set off to spend a week in Sydney. It is weird living alone again, especially after several days in almost constant, varied company. There is no motivation to cook proper meals, tidy the house, get up or go to bed at reasonable hours. I find myself spread on the couch reading books, or disinterestedly wandering the internet at ungodly hours of the morning.

Although, to my shame, I know very little of Pakistani politics, I involuntarily gasp and cover my mouth with my hand when I read of the assassination of Benazir Bhutto. I do not move at all for several seconds. What kind of world do we live in?

I awake with a vaguely awry feeling in my belly. Soon after, I am sitting on the toilet, clutching a bucket on my lap. This state of affairs continues for much of the morning. My body's mood for expulsion is so violent, it seems a wonder none of my internal organs become dislodged and ejected in the frenzy. I know I have been eating and drinking too much lately, but surely this punishment is a little harsh?

Today, with my guts still not entirely behaving themselves, I close all the windows and blinds against the scorching heat. I do a little work on my book, but it becomes too hot to think constructively. Instead, I have decided to lay on the couch in my dressing gown, and do something I could never do while Byron is here: watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in a single day. (My mother would be so proud!)

Hope everyone had a lovely Christmas.