It’s better to write something than nothing, right?

You tell me:

Something (ohh, how exciting)

Nothing (bahh, how boring)

From my perspective, it was kinda the same to write something and nothing.

Now, I could jazz up these philosophical writings with a the embodiments of these words, according to Little Miss Moi at 4:59pm on a snowy/sunny/slippery Valentine’s Day afternoon.

Something: The weird bug that seems to be giving me cold after cold, runny nose after runny nose, and the occasional sore throat since my return to Ukraine post Christmas.

Nothing: What I am doing as a result of the above.

I hope I’ve enlightened you, and made your day more deep and meaningful.

PS The things you discover after visiting wordpress for the first time in a long time! We now have 3GB of free storage space on these lovely free accounts. Previously, it was 50MB (pah, nuthin’), which I deemed to be the only downside to this very good free blog service. Hurrah for WordPress!

The other day, I checked my mailbox for the first time in a while (hey, there wasn’t a drunk guy sleeping in front of it!) and lo and behold, I have my first ever package from Australia!

“And who is it from?” you ask.

It’s from the “beloved of all bloggers cause he’s a sweetie buried under a grumpy bastard exterior“, WT! (Who, by the way, is sporting a rather sexy new blue look! Ya lyublyoo blue!)

Unfortunately, my camera bit the dust, so I can’t take a photo. But I will tell you that, for the next 12 lonely Ukrainian months, I will have a reminder of home pinned up on the kitchen wall courtesy of WT, who sent me a lovely calendar with pictures of home!

Thanks Willowtree! You have a purdy mouth. (Well, I coulda said “I heart you WT” but heart is so overused these days).

I’m guessing it’s because the Soviets didn’t like religion that the tradition of New Year’s trees came about here in Ukraine (and likewise, the rest of the FSU).

The ‘Noviy Got’ (New Year) spirit is kicking in, with decorations going up and pictures of Ded Moroz and Snegurochka appearing all over town. However, even though to me, it looks like Christmas, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas, especially when every tree is emblazoned with a giant 2008 sign in place of an angel or a star.

Noviy Got is just like Christmas - it involves a huge feast, the exchange of presents and lots of drinking and fun. Red furry hats, Christmas carols, and a big tree. Fireworks for six hours straight after the clock ticks over to New Year….

Yah, lotsa fun.

But there’s a niggling sensation that I just can’t shake. It’s winter, right? The season to be merry?

Well, not for me. For me, Christmas is sweating through the month of December is a shopping mall, buying lots of ice to fill up the eskies for Christmas. It’s a melt-worthy session in church on Christmas Eve, before going home to enjoy the long summer evening* by tucking into a roast turkey dinner (because it’s too hot to have it the next day).

It’s a lazy summer brunch by the pool (eggs benedict and champagne), then a huge seafood platter for lunch (more champagne and probably a nice crisp Sauv Blanc). It’s the afternoon in the pool or playing cricket, before eating leftovers on Boxing Day and watching the first day of the MCG Test Match.

And yes, to most Australians, Christmas is still about wintery-looking Christmas cards, people dressing up as Santa (who usually almost melt), snowy scenes, jingle bells and (fake) wintery trees.

I guess, because the wintery Christmas was so far removed from our summery reality, it just made Christmas even more special. (Bwahoo hoo I’m getting homesick for a hot hot Christmas).

*Except in Queensland, where I grew up. Because they refuse to go onto daylight saving time. As they say when you land in Queensland in the summer, “Ladies and gents, welcome to Queensland. Please set your clocks back an hour, and your mind back 20 years.”

The other overcast, snowy day, I decided to keep myself occupied after the sun went down (but before Mr Moi came home) (the sun is gone by 4pm) by toddling down to the shops. So I rugged up (we’re sitting at an average temperature of about minus 1 at the moment), locked the door and walked onto the landing. And I could smell something wafting up - a combination of bad cigarettes and urine.

“Interesting choice in cigarettes from one of my fellow apartment dwellers,” I thought. But that’s all I thought about it. There are a few oldies who have lived in this building since time immemorial, and you know what old people are like. Even if their cigarettes are smelly, you can’t expect them to change.

Anyhoo. I popped in the lift and went down to the ground floor. Now, there are two doors to get into my building. And when I opened the first door, I got the fright of my life.

Between the first and second door, a drunk had taken up (sleepy) residence on the floor. I was so shocked and not a little scared, that I scuttled quickly through the second door, over the drunk and onto the street.

But I had discovered the source of the yukky cigarette smell - it was the drunk. But whether it was his cigarette, or his clothes, alight, I didn’t stop to look.

He was gone when I got home, but there was no pile of ashes on the floor. So even if his clothes were alight, at least I know he didn’t burn to death.

The racist, sexist, bigoted old pain in the arse has retired!

First go the Liberals, then go all the cronies. What a week.

*And in real life, maybe he isn’t racist, sexist or bigoted. Maybe he just did it on his talkback show to get the ratings.