ONLY 82 SLEEPS TO GO....

UNTIL Christmas… yes that’s right! Scary thought. But the process of winding up to the big day of course starts a lot earlier. Here in New Zealand, it’s the wait to see if the Pohutukawa tree, New Zealand’s native Christmas tree will bloom early. Because if the scarlet brush flowers bloom early, usually it’s a sign that we’re going to have a great summer. Because Christmas of course is summer time down under.
While our cousins in the northern hemisphere are rugged up against the snow, we’re baking on the beach, slathered in sunblock and swatting away the sand flies.
I live in Auckland, New Zealand. With a population of one million it’s our largest city. But then, the country only has 4 million people anyway, but about 60 million sheep!
So what is Christmas like down under?
It’s barbecues and long summer nights, it’s swimming and surfing (remember we’re a small island nation and so surrounded by the Pacific ocean and the Tasman Sea. It’s wearing Jandals, and going on holiday to the family bach, it’s eating trifle and pavlova. For some of us it’s eating a traditional Christmas dinner – turkey and the trimmings while the temperature outside is in the high 80s. For our family it’s having kumara pie, my aunt’s specialty. It’s seeing kids on Christmas morning in their PJs racing up and down the street on their new bikes, it’s timing phone calls overseas to their Christmas day, because you see NZ gets the fist of the day first – if you get my drift – and when my friends in Vancouver Canada wake up to Christmas day, I’ll already be at the Boxing day sales (the day after Christmas day). So the festivities of Christmas will be all over for us while for others it's only just starting.

But what is Christmas really like downunder. Just like yours. It’s time about spending time with family and friends.

Now… I know as you read this you’ll be saying what language is that woman talking. Kumara? Pavlova? Jandals?
So here’s a translation of kiwi-speak!

Kumara Sweet potato native to NZs Maori (our indigenous people).

Jandals Flip flops/open rubber sandals

Bach A holiday cottage often by beaches or in remote country areas, a place
to get away from it all

Pavlova NZ’s specialty desert. Like a meringue on the outside, and soft and marshmallowy on the inside. Topped with whipped cream and sliced kiwi. And just because it might have got your taste buds going, here’s a recipe for Pavlova

Trifle A traditional English desert, made with sponge and cream and sherry. Here’s the recipe for Trifle and it’s front a well known New Zealand TV cook..

I love reading Christmas stories and so really loved writing DESPERATELY
SEEKING SANTA. I’m also delighted to say that this book will be out in print this Christmas, and TO KISS AN ANGEL is being released also in December.

Just as a teaser, here’s an excerpt of DESPERATELY SEEKING SANTA.

He’d returned. Thankfully.
Her body preened its thanks, arching from the downy folds of the bedcovers, aching for his touch, temptation overruling any coherent thought.
This was her fantasy played out in the shadowy hours of pre-dawn. She welcomed him with open arms, an internal greed of sensual need cohabiting with the desperation of an addict for a fix.
He was her fix. And she wanted him. Now!
Each night proved the same. He came. He teased. And she desperately wanted him.
She couldn’t see him clearly, the mists of fantasy versus reality obscuring him partly. But it was what he did to her that called to her.
His kisses. His touch. His loving.
It refueled her hope he would return.
His hand caressed her breast, tipping her into a world of mindless pleasure.
The staccato buzz seemed a mere whisper at first, slowly intensifying as it became an insistent call to her consciousness. He shifted from her arms and instantly a sense of bereavement washed across her nakedness, left cold and empty by his departure.
“No. Please stay. Love me.”
“Why?”
“Because I...”
The acerbic jangle of her alarm sliced through her dream with a brutal thrust. She jolted upright, shocked by her traitorous body and mind.
She’d been about to say she loved him. But how could she love a fantasy?

Happy sleeps everyone!
Jane Beckenham