Some time in April or May each year, The Times of London publishes a short letter which runs something like this: 'Last Saturday, I heard my first cuckoo. Is this a record? Yours T. C. Coltsbridge (Maj, ret).' It is a sign that the blessed rugger season is coming to its Northern close and the retired major can look forward to pleasant months of gin and cricket.
In late September each year, when all the football excitement has died down in this country, I am tempted to write a similar letter to a prestige chronicle: 'Last night, my wife baked our Christmas cake. Is this a record?' Unfortunately, Australia suffers from a dearth of the kind of journal which might publish such homely musings. Besides, in these sensitive times, a letter of that type could easily be considered sexist.
It is true however that in our house, we are ahead of the post office and the large emporiums in our anticipation of Christmas. There is early shopping for raisins and sultanas, peel and glacé cherries, almonds and exotic spices. Then on a Saturday night, I am shifted to the far end of the dining room table to finish the crossword while a work of art is being prepared.
A dog-eared recipe book is retrieved from hibernation, and pages, stuck together by last year's dough, are laid open. In fact the recipe is largely irrelevant. It is like modern portraiture. If you were to ask five different artists to paint a portrait of one of Australia's eminently paintable politicians — Julia Gillard say, or Wilson Tuckey — you would not expect the same product from any two of them. Likewise with a Christmas cake.
For let there be no mistake, we are here talking about a Work of Art, a statement of the creator's individuality, a window into the soul. If you ever hear a House Manager admit that her neighbour has made a better Christmas cake, write it down immediately, together with the time and place and the names of witnesses, and get it signed by your parish priest or a member of the Greens. It is the kind of thing that might be useful in the early stages of a canonisation process.
I am grateful for the crossword — 'sheep providing tufty wool', five letters, starts with 'f'.' I am not required to speak. An occasional