Christmas morning started exactly how Christmas morning should start: far too early, with excited children and wrapping paper everywhere.
The girls came into the living room to find the tree surrounded by presents, stockings ready to be emptied and the little table from Christmas Eve still set up with treats for Santa and the reindeer. The milk was gone, the carrot had been nibbled and the biscuit had disappeared, which was all the evidence anyone needed that the big man had definitely made it to Brisbane.
Georgia got stuck straight into the parcels, carefully reading labels and handing presents around like a tiny Christmas organiser. Dotty was more direct: find present, open present, inspect present, repeat. Between them they created a very impressive sea of wrapping paper, toy boxes, books, sweets and new treasures across the living room.
It was one of those mornings where everything happens at once. Georgia was thrilled with her LEGO Friends sets, Dotty had new toys and inflatables to investigate, and the house quickly turned from “calm Christmas setup” into “festive toy explosion”. Exactly as it should be.
And then came the bit that still feels completely surreal to us as Brits: Christmas Day in the pool.
Instead of coats, wellies and hoping the rain holds off for a quick walk, we were in Santa hats and swimmers, splashing around in the garden pool. Dotty had her inflatable reindeer ring, Georgia was straight in with her Christmas hat on, and we all had a proper Christmas swim.
It instantly made me think of Bluey again. Muffin shouting “Christmas swim! Christmas swim!” suddenly made perfect sense. This wasn’t just a funny cartoon idea anymore; it was genuinely what Christmas felt like here. Hot weather, wet towels, pool toys, cold drinks and children bouncing between presents and water like they’d discovered the perfect version of December.
But even with all the sunshine and swimming, Ali still managed to pull Christmas back towards home. Thanks to her, we had a proper traditional roast dinner, which went down beautifully after a morning of presents and pool chaos. There’s something very comforting about sitting down to a roast on Christmas Day, even when it’s warm outside and everyone has been swimming instead of shivering.
It was different from Christmas back home in almost every possible way. No dark afternoon, no heating on, no heavy jumpers, no cold walk after lunch. Just sunlight through the windows, fans going, toys across the floor, a pool waiting outside and a proper roast on the table.
And honestly? It was brilliant.
Not better than a UK Christmas, just completely different. A lighter, brighter, splashier version of the day. One where the magic still turned up, but wearing a Santa hat, carrying a pool noodle and smelling faintly of roast potatoes.