Folks, this week, here in the Southern Hemisphere (arguably the worlds’ best hemisphere!), we observed the Winter Solstice. You’re probably thinking, ‘Well, whoop-dee-doo!’ and frankly, it’s that sort of attitude that’s stopping this second-rate event from becoming another much needed public holiday.
Look, I’ll admit that it’s a bit hard to celebrate a mid-Winter festival when we technically don’t get a winter. In our neck of the woods we only have three types of seasonal weather: 1. Cool and dry. 2. Hot and Humid. 3. Hotter, even more humid and cyclone-ish.
Not that I’m complaining! I quite like the fact that on winter evenings I can stagger about our neighbourhood in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt while lashed to the dog, and that Jack Frost will never be making a nocturnal visit to our home.
Which is why I decided to make a bit of an effort to celebrate the Winter Solstice this year. Sadly, Long Suffering Wife immediately ruled out us dancing naked around a ring of standing stones; possibly because large stone circles are a bit thin on the ground around here.
So, on the shortest day of the year, I lay in the dark waiting for the sun to appear and composed the following melody set to the tune of ‘The 12 Days of Xmas’:
“Before the dawn of Winter Solstice, my true love said to me – ‘Give me back my half of the quilt!’
On the noon of Winter Solstice, my true love said to me – Nothing, because I was stuck at work.
On the afternoon of Winter Solstice, my true love said to me – ‘Can you believe it’s so dark at five thirty-five?’
On the night of Winter Solstice, my true love said to me – ‘It feels heaps later than eight o’clock!’
Unfortunately, this was as far as I got before being forcibly removed from the bedroom by Long Suffering Wife who wanted to get back to sleep.
Well, I’d like to say I’m surrounded by heathens, but I’m not, which is probably the real reason why we don’t celebrate the Winter Solstice.