So if Glynn’s description of his Christmas is to be believed, we here in New Mexico have inadvertently participated in some sort of antipodal tradition. Liissa cooked up an enormous pan of prawns for Christmas dinner yesterday, along with rice and roast beets. Lots left. Momentarily I’m off to the kitchen to sculpt some sort of prawns-and-beets omelette. (Trust me, I know it sounds weird, it’ll be delightful.)

Mum and Dad joined us for the day, in which Nora’s best present seemed to be her paid LIveJournal account and ours seemed to be the leisurely opportunity to just hang out. Mum and Dad made me an embroidered Tour de France T-shirt, Dad got some special beer, Mum got earrings and I gave Lissa one of those little kit bags to hang under your bike seat to hold your driver’s license and a spare tube. She seemed briefly mortified until I assured her this did not mean she would have to learn to change a flat.

I took a Christmas ride, and took advantage of the temporary lull in the shopping season map out a route I’d always wanted – a high-speed spin along the loop roads that circumnavigate our two shopping malls. They are fine little roads, twisty, a perfect route for a criterium, but the blasted shoppers are normally in the way. Not on Christmas Day! I flew.

One of my gifts, from Nora and Lissa, was a DVD of Life of Brian, turns out Mum and Dad had never seen it (horrors!) so our after-dinner involved filling that gap in their cultural education. (“Blessed are the cheesemakers….”)

Then, in a great horror, I dropped Dad’s Christmas six-pack of Fat Tire in the street in front of their home as we were schlepping in the Christmas presents. We were good, and cleaned up the broken glass. One bottle survived.