A Day In The Life By Fiona Rule

Posted on August 5, 2015 by Margaret Graham

“Woke up, got out of bed,

Dragged a comb across my head.

Found my way downstairs and drank a cup….”

That is where the similarities end between my Day In The Life and Paul McCartney’s. While he sped off in search of a bus, I fire up my computer and peruse the latest crop of emails before getting down to the work that takes up most of my time – research.

Today, I am looking into the history of Hunsdon House – a spectacularly ancient property in rural Hertfordshire for a private client. My work takes me all over the place and this morning’s destination is the archives at County Hall in Hertford. County and Borough archives are wonderful treasure troves and are open to anyone, free of charge – all you need is proof of ID. However, many are seriously underfunded and some archives I’ve visited are little more than filing rooms. Its a shame that Council finance officers seem so disinterested in their area’s heritage. Nevertheless, Hertford Archives is better equipped than most and I soon find a wealth of deeds and articles on Hunsdon House along with my favourite kind of document – maps.

Since the Babylonians carved a map of the world on a piece of stone back in the 6^th century BCE, maps have told us far more than a book ever could because they put everything in visual context. For instance, Andrew Dury’s map of Hertfordshire, drawn up in the 1760’s tells me at a glance that at the time, Hunsdon House was the seat of Nicolson Calvert and it was set in elegantly landscaped grounds, with a patchwork of rural fields beyond. Now I have a name, I can find out more about the family.

By cross referencing the maps with deeds and other documents, I manage to piece together a timeline for Hunsdon House and its various occupants over the centuries. This forms the framework onto which I can build a more complete story through online research once I return to the office. I’ve found that this modus operandi works for any size of project, be it the history of one house or an entire area.

However, before I return to London, I have one final stop to make. I’ve arranged to meet a friend at a local pub to show her a copy of my new, “big” book – Streets of Sin, which is just about to be published. My books are a bit like children – I’m proud of them despite their flaws and I like to talk about them! Thus, I’m excited to show her this “hot off the press” copy. Thankfully, the reaction is positive and I wend my way home to face the biggest challenge of the day – to stop thinking about research and turn my attentions to more mundane, domestic matters. This can be terrifically hard, especially if I have uncovered something particularly tantalising. I wonder if Paul McCartney has the same problem when he’s writing songs?

Flash Fiction: A Cuckoo in the Nest by Author Jane Carling

Posted on August 3, 2015 by Margaret Graham

Sitting at the back of the Crematorium, the handcuffs that bound her to two prison guards chaffed Josie’s wrists. She watched her husband’s coffin being carried to its final resting place to ‘I did it my Way’. Only one wreath adorned the casket, red roses, like his blood.

Rachel Hunt, dressed in a black, sat alone in the front pew, where Josie should have been.

How had it happened? They tell me I killed him, but I can’t remember.

It was last May, when spring hailed the first call of the cuckoo, that Rachel had returned from the Costa del Crime in the guise of a deadly blonde, now calling herself Samantha. That’s when the friend requests on Facebook began, and it took a while for Josie to realize from the profile that Samantha was actually Rachel, or rats’ tails as she was known in school.

Out of curiosity Josie clicked the accept button, a click she would live to regret.

“Why the new name?” Josie replied. A few minutes later messenger popped up. “I’m a widow and want a new way of life in the countryside, a whole new beginning. Don’t you ever want to reinvent yourself?”

Josie pondered, “Why would I? I must go, Roger’s favourite risotto is ready, will talk soon. Stay in touch.”

As the service continued Josie clenched her fists. The handcuffs rattled. I should have known better, she thought, and so should Roger. He was a successful businessman, for goodness sake, so how could he have been taken in by this woman? Had he always wanted a blonde in his life, was that it?

She winced as she remembered the simpering. “Oh Roger you are so clever, oh Roger, you are so witty. Oh Roger…”

Then the texts. “Good night my love, good morning darling, and laters babe…” Laters babe? Oh perlease. The lights reflected off her handcuffs. She should have checked his mobile sooner. Josie bit her lip. She recalled Roger’s denials and accusations when she’d confronted him. He’d argued that it was all in Rachel’s head, totally one-sided and that he loved her, Josie. Oh Roger what a big dick you were.

There was a draught as the door opened and the detective in charge sat down behind her. Now what? Can’t I just have today? He whispered to one of the guards and as the vicar signaled for the curtains to begin be closed. Her cuffs were released and Stairway to Heaven began playing. Confused, Josie rubbed her wrists. ‘You’re free,’ whispered the guard. She placed her head in her hands as the curtains began to close and wept.

Rachel was hurrying out before the curtains closed. Too late though. She was arrested and bundled into a police car. The detective waited until Josie had composed herself, then explained that formerly undiscovered CCTV footage had captured a blonde at scene of the crime, wielding the knife. It was Rachel Pratt, hustler, renowned con-woman and now a murderer. Josie was free to go.

Later, sitting in her garden watching kites soar into the deep red sky as the sun set over the Chiltern Hills, images of that fateful day finally returned. Roger had stepped in front of the blade that was not meant for him. Her husband had saved her life.

The distant call of a cuckoo broke the silence.

Jane Carling 2015 ©
www.janecarling.co.uk

French House Party, Carcassonne – How it Began By Owner Moira Martingale

Posted on May 12, 2015 by Margaret Graham

By Margaret Graham with news of an exciting offer exclusive to Frost readers.

** A very special offer for Frost readers: sign up for the House Party Creative Writing Retreat in June at this great venue, and save £150. Just email Moira Martingale quoting the code: ‘Frost’. This is a rare opportunity to find time to finish that manuscript or short story in the company of others. A professional will be on hand to help when needed. There will be great food, wine, a swimming pool, sunshine… Read more to find out the where, what and why.

‘So,’ owner Moira Martingale ponders, ‘where did the idea of French House Party come from in the first place?’

One sultry August evening, sitting around the table in Carcassonne with friends, it turned out that all of us had read Yann Martel‘s Booker-winning ‘Life of Pi’ and everyone had a view about it. The book-talk went on for ages, punctuated only by the uncorking of further bottles of the lovely local wines from this region of southern France, which is Languedoc-Roussillon.

We were all arty folk: a successful ceramicist, an early-retired theatre director, teachers, artists and writers, one of the latter being myself. A journalist-turned-author, I also had a teaching qualification and a doctorate in English literature.

Suddenly it dawned on me: why not set up holiday courses for people to come and do precisely what we were doing: discussing books with each other during a holiday in the sun with lovely food and wine laid on.

At that time there were five en suite bedrooms in this 200-year-old farmhouse, so in theory there was room for ten people. My friends were all skilled and enthusiastic artists and within minutes I had my Ceramics, Arts and Creative Writing tutors with a planned Books and Drama course run jointly by myself and my theatre director friend, Chris. It was as easy as that.

Or was it? Marketing? Promotion? Advertising? Annual accounts? Business plans? What did I know about forecasts and profits and losses? I found I knew nothing the moment the website went up. Because NOTHING happened. The enquiries@frenchhouseparty mailbox was empty.

Slowly I learned, and things picked up. My break-even point was five people per course and at six I was in profit, although I was clearly in no danger of being named in the Sunday Times Rich List. Frequently we had three or four people booked onto a course and I still ran it. Ruthless businesswoman I was not.

Eventually I made all the arts courses groups-only, other than Sarah Hymas’s Creative Writing, which was regularly over-subscribed. In 2009 I extended the house to eight bedrooms. Things were cooking, literally, because French House Party offered additional courses which individuals could join – various cookery breaks tutored by first-class French chefs and our Summer Songwriting course run by the respected singer-songwriter and 1970s/80s chart-topper Dean Friedman.

Along with Creative Writing, these remain the most popular, and are effortlessly filled year after year. Other arts courses continue to operate and the demand is, in fact, increasing, but now these are on a groups-only or privately-booked tailor-made basis.

Dedicated writers have an additional option now. Sarah Hymas, who is a professional mentor at her publishing company, is for the first time, offering a Writing Retreat for authors whose work is either complete or in progress. There will be no formal lessons, but individual one-to-one sessions for manuscript inspection, advice, help and ideas-input from someone with a pedigree in such expertise and who is fearless when it comes to sharing it.

This course – ‘Pen & Think’ starts on 15 June and ends on 20 June. The all-inclusive price is £895. As with all our courses, we provide free airport transfers and include extras such as a couple of dinners, including wine, out at lovely restaurants. (See our French house Party offer above)

In the years since that first inspirational nudge from ‘Life of Pi’, French House Party has been named one of the top ten learning retreats in a National Geographic book ‘The 100 Best Worldwide Vacations to Enrich Your Life’ and we have a Certificate of Excellence from TripAdvisor, reflecting customer satisfaction. This year the Daily Telegraph named us as one of the top ten cookery holidays in France.

You see, it might have taken eight years, but finally I’m starting to sound like a businesswoman, aren’t I?

Moira Martingale

The French House Party, Carcassonne.

Email: enquiries@frenchhouseparty.co.uk or moiramartingale@me.com

Website: www.frenchhouseparty.eu

UK Mobile: 07900 322791

UK Landline: 01299 896819

Frost Editor Catherine Balavage Interviewed By Writing Magazine

Posted on March 12, 2015 by Frostie

If you have ever been curious about Frost Magazine editor Catherine Balavage’s writing day then grab a copy of the April 2015 edition of Writing Magazine. Catherine is interviewed by Lynne Hackles. She talks about Frost, writing books and her acting career.

Catherine is not the first Frost team member to be interviewed by Writing Magazine, contributing editor Margaret Graham was also interviewed about her writing day in a prior issue.

Head down to a newsagents and get your copy now. Available at WHsmith.co.uk, Waterstones.com, all good newsagents or the Writing Magazine website.

How Can Organizing a Literary Festival be Fun? By Margaret Graham

Posted on February 10, 2015 by Margaret Graham

Easy peasey, when it’s for a good cause, and you have fantastic writers in support.

The thrust of our fundraising at Words for the Wounded is two-fold. We feel we must earn our donations which help the wounded, and offer opportunities to aspiring writers, and interested readers – hence the writing competitions.

Remember that the three grannies who run the charity absorb all the costs, so every penny goes to the wounded.

Last year, to raise extra funds for the recovery of wounded troops, we grannies, who run Words for the Wounded, decided to throw ourselves out of a plane (with parachutes and a handsome man to cling to, I might add). This year, in August we’re splodging through mud doing a Military Assault Course.

Not quite the same elan, but sons-in-law, who are doing it too, are very much looking forward to not catching us when we toppled from the tyre wall.

It seemed, however, a good idea to do something less strenuous in the meantime. A Literary Festival seemed just about the ticket.

First panic: will people come? Build it and see, seemed to be the thing to do. Wasn’t that what Kevin Costner was told about a baseball field?

Second panic: will we attract speakers? Well, let’s try our mates.

So we get on the phone to call a couple of WforW patrons.

Katie Fforde is a Sunday Times No 1 bestseller and a great pal. ‘’Of course,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it. In fact, you and me together, Margaret, chatting.’ Done.

Second call to Rachel Cuperman. Rachel writes Midsomer Murders scripts, and if they’re not bestsellers, I don’t know what is.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Can’t wait. I’ll get my co-writer, Sally Griffiths to come too.’ Done.

I am kissing the hem of their garments by now.

Penny Deacon is one of the grannies, and a crime writer. She will be talking about her work. Done.

A past student, Amanda Hatter, and Catriona Troth, who is a committed member of the Alliance of Independent Authors, are to sit on our self-publishing panel. Me too, me too, to try to keep them under control.

Photo attribution: Ruth Jenkinson

Catherine Balavage, publisher of Frost Magazine, who would have been with us has a far more important project on the go – a son to be born at about the same time.

Finally, we have a fantastic agent: Felicity Trew of the Caroline Sheldon Literary Agency who is really looking forward to meeting all the aspiring authors in the audience. She will be here for the day, so loads of time for networking.

Then we have the food: As real foodies the grannies have been planning lunch, with wine, and tea with cake. We’re of an age where life seems to revolve around cake… Join us in pursuit of the calories.

Waterstones will be there, writers will sign books. There will be an artist exhibiting her work. There will be a buzz. It’s the inaugural Literary Festival for Downley Community Centre, which has been fantastically supportive.

So come. Enjoy the day. Tickets in advance to facilitate catering.

It’s been fun organizing it, and will be even more so, on the day.

Remember: the grannies absorb all the costs of the charity every penny we raise goes to where it’s needed.

Where is it needed? See the sort of injuries our service personnel suffer:

https://www.frostmagazine.com/2014/12/wounded-the-legacy-of-war-photographs-by-bryan-adams/

Date: April 18th. 9.30 for 10.00 start until 5.00. Downley Community Centre, High Wycombe, HP13 5TR Tickets £50 to include all refreshments.

Contact: Margaret@margaret-graham.com for information and tickets, or go to www.wordsforthewounded.co.uk

Travel Jerusalem: A Modern Guide To An Ancient Wonder

Posted on January 30, 2015 by Holly Thomas

by Holly Thomas. All images by iPhone, copyright Holly Thomas [Twitter, Instagram: @HolstaT]

Jerusalem is in our consciousness from earliest childhood. But it’s a place that, for many of those who have never been, occupies the same mental space as fairy tales. Something which we’ve known of since we can remember, but can’t imagine being real. I’m not religious, and in Jerusalem you are met at every turn with things which described second-hand would sound preposterous. But when you’re there, the history of it all is immediate, indisputable, and alive.

It helps that so much architecture is – against all odds – beautifully preserved. Jerusalem has amplified since the days of crusades and crucifixions and the new city and West Bank stretch far, swaddling villages and towns, including Bethlehem. But step inside the Old City, home to the Western Wall, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the site of the Last Supper, and you’re plunged into another world.

So, you should go to the Old City first

The Old City stands east of the (busy) Hebron Road, which runs through the centre of Jerusalem. The sections of Hebron Road which north and south of the West Bank, and through Jerusalem, are barred to green – Palestinian – license plates. Israeli license plates are yellow. Jerusalem feels safe, and as a traveller, you have nothing to fear.

The first thing you see when you walk through Jaffa Gate on the Western side of the city is King David’s Tower, which was built (bar an extension courtesy of the Turks) by King Herod – a crack architect, it turns out. Every night the sand-coloured building plays host to a light show which tells the 3000-year story of Jerusalem accompanied by music. It’s a beautiful show, well worth spending 30 minutes on to get a sense of the city’s roots. It’s a tiny place but the concentration of marvellous things is so high that I couldn’t possibly recommend them all in this space. So here are a few unmissables. Everything is so close together that I promise you’ll discover your own in-between hunting these out:

The Western (wailing) Wall

For obvious reasons, this is the only area of the Old City which you must pass though some security to enter. Standing against a backdrop of the Mount of Olives, and with the Call to Prayer echoing regularly just next door, it is plain why this is a site of high emotion for so many. But it’s so worth seeing. Dress conservatively – knees covered – and behave with respect for the three thousand years of history the wall represents.

The Cenaculum of the Last Supper

This is just down the street from the Western Wall, but for the full experience, head to the Church by way of the Stations of the Cross. These days the path is lined with shops and stalls, but there are still lasting signs, such as the Church of Simon, built on the spot where its namesake apparently helped a fatigued Jesus make his final steps.

A few treasures in the Church

The first thing you see when you Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the stone of the anointing, where Jesus is said to have been prepared for burial. To reach the site of the crucifixion itself, you must pass through a small, dark archway and climb a short winding staircase. There you’ll find the Alter of the Crucifixion, and next to it a hole in the floor covered by glass, exposing the bare ground below. Be prepared for a crowd, particularly in the evening and on Sunday. Descend the other side, and you’ll see what looks like a sensationally ornate hut – that’s the Aedicule, which contains the Holy Sepulchre itself. The Aedicule has two rooms, one holding the Angel’s Stone, which is believed to be a fragment of the large stone that sealed the tomb, and another holding the tomb itself. Be prepared to queue for entry.

The roof

This was my favourite place in Jerusalem. I was lucky in that I met someone who showed me how to get up there, but it wouldn’t be hard to find someone to point the way (you might have to be prepared to buy a trinket off one of the street stall vendors). Go at dawn or sunset, if you can. Unlike the walls walk, the roof is never closed.

Away from the bustle of the tourist-jammed streets below, this is where you’ll feel you’re in the Jerusalem the Romans found. Schoolboys park their bikes up there, people hang their washing (oddly like Edinburgh, Jerusalem is stacked in layers, house atop house atop street), and you can quite literally see everything from a perspective you’d never otherwise have known existed.

Don’t forget the new city

I’ll admit I biased my time in Jerusalem pretty heavily in favour of “old stuff”, but there’s a whole lot beyond that to see if you fancy a dip into the 21st century between biblical ruins. Try the market, unlikely jazz cafes in the evenings, and the adorable hipster quarter. There are a few decent clubs, but if you want a wild one, go to Tel Aviv (about 40 minutes in a taxi). And don’t be perturbed by all the teenagers with guns – they’re in the middle of their compulsory military service.

Further afield

The Holocaust Museum

If you only have time for one excursion beyond Jerusalem’s city centre, make it to the Holocaust Museum. It was the first stop on our trip, and it lingered in the back of our minds until long after we’d left. The building is stark, and beautiful, clean lines which stand in the midst of quiet serpentine grounds dotted with trees, overlooking the valley. Entry is free, but children under ten years old aren’t permitted inside.

Set at least 4 hours aside for it if you can. If you have a day spare, this could fill it. There is a staggering amount to see, plus over 11 hours of video footage playing throughout the main exhibition alone. It’s all riveting, beautifully presented, and will tug powerfully at your heart. The extraordinary breadth and delicacy of the subject matter is handled exquisitely, covering the historical prelude to the Shoah, the Nazi’s rise to power and gradual attrition of Jewish liberties, and at last the gruesome unfolding of the Holocaust across Europe in horrifying detail. The collection is acutely personal, packed with details which will knock your breath out. Like mementoes from the ghetto, set next to a video interview describing first-hand the sight of emaciated bodies littering the street, no clothes spare to protect their final modesty. There are letters flung through train windows bidding farewells which were never known, and charred shoes from the death camps piled in a heap on the floor. There is more to take in than you possibly could in one viewing, but once you start you will continue, wrapt, until you are saturated. Make sure that you leave time at the end for the children’s memorial, a cave in the grounds with candles reflected to infinity on its mirrored walls. Also, the Avenue of the Righteous Among The Nations, where you’ll find a tree dedicated to Oskar Schindler and his wife Emilie.

Out of town

Go to the Jordon Valley. Sinking 400 kilometres below sea level is like arriving onto another planet, conversely a drier, hotter, desert Mars-like planet, dotted with thin donkeys and ibexes. If you can, pass Jericho on your way to the beach. It’s one of the oldest cities in the world, dating back 11,000 years. It was Alexander the Great’s private estate, and King Herod later leased it from Cleopatra (who received it from Mark Anthony as a gift). Even if you just drive past it, it’s worth planning your West Bank route around. And you must an hour or two aside for a trip up to Herod’s fortress on Masada.

Masada (Herod’s fortress)

You can either climb or take a ski lift up the mountain to see this spectacular evidence of Herod’s final paranoia (he built the fortress in -reasonable – anticipation of a rebellion by his long-suffering subjects). The view is unparalleled, and to Herod’s credit as a mad architect, the fortress remains in fantastic condition millennia later. See if you can spot the lockers in the wall next to the old indoor swimming pool (really). Also remember to walk right up to the edge (it’s obvious where that is once you’re up there) and shout something into the canyon for a wicked echo.

The beach

The Dead Sea calls for a couple of hours at most. Spend longer and you’ll get bored, but a dip and a splash is uplifting and delightful. It’s smaller than you’d imagine – so much so that iPhones became confused, and O2 welcomed me to Jordon (which was visible through the mist which hung over the water). The beaches are concurrently small, dotted along the shore, and have a vaguely dated resort-like feel. A hint of Butlins lingers over the deserted playground behind the beach huts. The water, though, is magical. Slather yourself in thick mud, wait for it to dry, and then wade in to rinse it off. You *really* can’t sink, and Jesus’s feats suddenly appear less fantastical as you realise the impossibility of not floating. Lie on your back and you feel supported, safe, and importantly, warm.

Where to stay

The Arthur Hotel has resided comfortably on Tripadvisor Jerusalem’s top five list for some time now, and it’s instantly clear why. This boutique hotel – just 15 minutes’ walk (or a three minute tram ride) from the Old City maintains an intimate, private atmosphere, tucked down a side street of one of the most buzzing neighbourhoods in Jerusalem. The service is lovely – you hardly notice it’s there until you need something, at which point help materialises immediately. The rooms have an individual, luxurious feel, and are decorated with obvious care, a world away from the homogeny of so many elite chain hotels. Breakfast, served as a daily buffet from 7am-10am, is delicious, with regional delicacies such as shakshuka, grilled vegetables, and fish offered alongside more familiar pastries, cereal and fruit salad. For explorers who have been too busy gaping at their surroundings to stop for lunch during the day, there is also a ‘happy hour’ in the restaurant from 5pm-7pm, where you can enjoy snacks and sandwiches with your complimentary wine.

Final note

Jerusalem is a complicated place, no mistake. There isn’t space here to dwell on the implications that one of the holiest sites on earth, sacred to so many, is perplexed on all sides by strife. There is pain in Jerusalem, both older than the ruins, and newer than the Hebron road. If you ask why it isn’t advised to go to the Mount of Olives on a particular day (this is sometimes the case, though visitors really are the safest people in the city), the answer you get will vary hugely depending on who you ask. Wounds are deep, and though I fell for Israel heart and soul, I think it is necessary to stay mindful of your surroundings. This shouldn’t be a deterrent – on the contrary, it should be an incentive to go to this important and fascinating country. Just be respectful and cautious with your opinions when you are talking to the people for whom it is home. “It sounds silly, to call a four-day trip ‘life changing’,” said my friend on the plane back. “But it was.”

The Stages of Writing a Book

Posted on January 16, 2015 by Catherine Balavage

Ladies and gentlemen, I am in the process of writing my third book. Three-quarter of the way to be more precise. Which puts me at number 7 on this list. Writing and publishing a book is amazing. The feeling when you have your published book in your hands is like no other. You did it. It is not easy however. It took me years to get my first book published. Mostly due to procrastination. My next one was finished and published within five months. Not bad for someone with acute morning sickness. My third has so far taken seven days to get three-quarters of the way through the first draft. Which is not bad. You can check out the first two here. I will get into how tedious and hard it is writing a book with my list of the stages below, but before we get to the list I will leave you with this amazing quote from Amy Poehler in her amazing book Yes, Please.

“Everyone lies about writing. They lie about how easy it is or how hard it was…No one tells the truth about writing a book…the truth is, writing a book is this: hard and boring and occasionally great but usually not. Even I have lied about writing. I have told people that writing this book has been like brushing away dirt from a fossil. What a load of shit. It has been like hacking away at a freezer with a screwdriver.”

The Stages of Writing a Book

Hopefulness.
Excitement.
Despair.
First quarter done. Glimmer of light.
Despair.
Epic melt down. Tell everyone you give up and would burn the book if it wasn’t on your computer.
Resignation, decide that since you started you should finish.
Wonder what breathing in fresh air is like.
Get into the flow of it, it might be okay after all.
Finish first draft. realise it is only the first draft. Cry.
Read first draft. It’s awful. Cry some more.
Despair.
Start editing. Ignore the boredom and the fact there are so many more fun things to do than this.
Realise that it’s not actually that bad.
Finish editing first draft.
Hope
Happiness
The possibility of it all being over soon
Get draft back from proof reader.
Despair
Try to ignore the amount of grammar and spelling mistakes you made.
Final edit, go through all suggestions and edit accordingly.
Finish book: go on week-long champagne binge.
Get cover back from designer. Has spelling error. Cry.
Get cover fixed.
Get book formatted for the different eBook and print versions.
Despair.
Finally see finished book: elation.
Publish book and it starts selling: happiness like no other. Feel huge sense of achievement.
Start writing next book.
Despair.

What do you think? Are you a writer? What do you think are the stages of writing a book?

A Kiwi Christmas By Julia Charity

Posted on December 16, 2014 by Margaret Graham

Te timatanga (The ‘opening’)

“Mum!! It’s Christmas!!”

Jingle bells jangle in my ear.

I hear my voice thick with tiredness, where blankets of sleep still lie heavy. This child – the one who Monday through Friday sleeps till 8 o’clock – has woken me.

It’s 6.36 am.

“Mum! It’s Christmas!”

From my dreamy sanctuary, Alice pulls me to my feet. Clutching her small hand, I stagger downstairs. Descending through sleep’s cloud my heart softens in anticipation of my favourite ‘Mummy’ moment of the year.

Her excitement is palpable although for now I only let her open Santa’s sack. I was right about the Lego; (the new ‘Friends’ campervan was irresistible) and the watch was bang on.

We eat Santa’s chocolate, snuggle and wait for the rest of the family: my partner Phillip; his daughter; two Grandmas; Grandpa and the dog, so we can enjoy the ‘opening’ together.

Alice and I make our gifts. My mother laughs at our first book, ‘The Best Nest’ – a comedy about our adventures at Lake Tarawera in Rotorua. Alice is a natural cartoonist. For other loved ones we have reproduced her artwork on Calendars, mousepads and diaries.

I have made her a mermaid’s tail, with fins and a sequined bra. It’s more than she can cope with. I bury my head into her little shoulder so no one sees my tears of pride as she squeals appreciation with delighted hugs.

“You’re the best Mummy!”

Months of working relentlessly, saving ferociously and creating furtively, are satiated in that single moment. Truth is, I always engineer it so Santa comes off looking ‘adequate’ while I get the credit for the ‘good stuff’.

Te Kai (The feast)

Lured by the magnetic mountain and intoxicating waters of Lake Tarawera, our summer days are warm and long. One of our Christmas traditions is to catch trout. This year we secure a 9 pound record – a true monument of the season. My skipper is proud and my girl learns well.

The Christmas Day Feast celebrates the abundance of our land, our waters and the generosity of my family. Its decadence is of a magnitude I barely comprehend. There is Hot smoked trout, manuka honey-glazed ham, green-lipped mussels, rack of lamb, barbecued chicken kebabs, minted green peas, and a myriad of green salads. Strawberry Champagne. pilsner and ales, chardonnays and Pinot Noirs flow readily. We embellish the table with fresh pohutukawa flowers – blazing red, a national symbol of a kiwi Christmas.

Phillip rings out his welcome and karakia (prayer) in the language of our Nation’s first people – te reo Maori. Humility and reverence give way to voracious consumption, laughter and ultimately, contentment.

Te Moana (The Lake)

As the afternoon transpires, we migrate to the lakefront. Catering and shepherding three generations takes some orchestrating. We alternate between swimming and kayaking in the sheltered bay. I live vicariously through my daughter’s discovery she actually is a mermaid.

Post by Julia Charity.

As I throw myself on to a towel in the sand, the sun blesses my wet skin and I sink into bliss. It’s the perfect Christmas.

“Where’s the soap Mummy?”

I don’t know how long I was asleep but I’m struggling to grasp comprehension. I need to lay off that champagne.

“Grandma said a naughty word.”

I cock my head up at my Mother who feigned shame. I return mocked punishment and we laugh shamelessly.

5.45 pm. Time for dinner? I throw picnic blankets and arrange a visual symphony of delectable offerings (a.k.a ‘leftovers’).

Then as all good shepherds do. I gather. I bring in shivering children, the Aunty who I have a long chat to, the kindly neighbour, who we must see more of. And my dog.

My dog, regrettably, is the first one that gets the message that dinner is ready.

11.07 pm. I’m done in. Even my hair is tired.

“You did good babe.”

Phillip gently retrieves me from the kitchen and I sink against him. I barely feel myself being steered back up the stairs.

Whether this season brings you turkey and snow or trout and sunshine – Merry Christmas from ‘down-under’ to ‘up top.’

Julia Charity is a New Zealand-based Mother, Entrepreneur and Writer.

Frost Magazine