Signs of Summer

Summer is here. I can tell not just because it�s December, or because it�s light at 8.30 at night, or because of the erratic warm weather.

I can tell because on my walk to work this morning I spent far too much time swearing under my breath and waving my arms around.

That�s right. It�s fly season.

I hate and am immensely annoyed by flies at the best of times, but I find them most annoying when I�m walking to work. I get unreasonably angry, and walk along flailing and swearing and generally carrying on to the point where anyone passing me must wonder at my mental health. My hole-y, well beyond their used-by date Doc Martens must only reinforce that doubt.

I suspect flies are most frustrating at this time because walking to work is my daily downtime. I walk, at a brisk but not outrageous pace, with my headphones firmly planted in my ears, listening to the morning current affairs show, catching up on what�s been going on overnight and not talking to or being disturbed by anyone. Peace.

And then this buzzy little germ-machine starts flicking around my face. Landing on my arm. I flap at it, waving both my hand and by extension the cord of my headphones. It either goes away momentarily or not at all. Either way any respite is very brief.

Even when I get rid of one, move on a block and there�s another one. �Arggghh, fuck off.� �Fuck off!!!�

This morning was really the first one this summer that the flies had been noticeable. Not just to me either. At one point I was able to look up beyond my waving hand to see half a dozen other people crossing the intersection waving away at the stupid things. Go away flies.

On a further summery note, the First Test started today. Nothing feels as much like summer than sitting at my desk working away (you can tell I�m working really hard now, can�t you?) listening to the cricket on the radio. Me, sport geek? Why do you ask?

Another sign that summer is here is that my mother called me at the weekend to ask me what I wanted for Christmas (she called on the last day of November � just when I�d been getting concerned that she was actually waiting until December to ask, which would have been a first in living memory). She followed this up yesterday with a further Christmas-related email which left me a little angry and therefore getting right into the traditional family Christmas spirit.

Mum lives about an hour and fifteen minutes drive from me. As I am happily vehicle-less, she usually comes up to visit me, rather than me going down there, or we meet halfway. This is not a problem for her, she comes into town, does some shopping, visits a few people and I take her out to lunch. Until moving interstate a few weeks ago for work Boofhead would often come with us. All good.

For Christmas we go down to her. It used to be that we�d go down on Christmas morning and have lunch there and then come back to town in the afternoon and go see Dad. About four years ago I had Mum and Boofhead come to me so that she didn�t have to cook. All still good.

For the last three years Mum has moved the festivities to Christmas Eve. Not as convenient, but still fine. It means hauling down there after work finishes � 12 noon if there�s no crisis, who knows when if there is a crisis � and driving back at 1 or 2am. But that�s ok because with no Christmas Day lunch obligations I can sleep in the next day. Still good.

And then there�s yesterday�s email. Mum doesn�t want to cook for Christmas. Good. Mum suggests we go to a nice pub for dinner instead. Still good. We�ll be paying for our own meals. Perfectly good. The pub they�ve chosen is another thirty-five to forty minute drive beyond Mum�s house. Each way. No longer good. Absolutely fucking crap in fact! Yes, that�s what I�d love to do, drive for four odd hours on Christmas Eve. For no actual Christmas dinner. Woohoo. It even spoils the fun of having a brand new rental car to drive for a few days. And while I have to do the driving its probably even worse for Boofhead who has to work, then fly from interstate before joining me for the long haul drive.

Of course the email is phrased in such a way that she�s asking Boofhead and I if we think it�s a good idea. But what it�s actually saying is that it�s what we�re doing regardless of whether we think it�s a good idea.

Mum does of course insist that I can stay the night. But her house is so full that staying the night involves sleeping on the floor of the lounge-room, which has no block-out curtains, and then to get up at some totally unreasonable hour. Thanks but no thanks.

Rant over now. Temporarily anyway.

Final sign that summer is here. I�ve been to the movies twice in the last week and have several other trips planned. Last year between the day James Bond came out in mid-December until I went back to work on January 2, I think I went to 8 movies. I plan to beat that this year.

So bring on the best bit of summer � from Christmas Day until, this year, January 5 � when I�m not at work and obligation free. Barbeques, test cricket and movies. With as few flies and as little long haul driving as possible.