For some years after getting married, Christmas Day meant surviving through two giant feasts.
The first was in the inner city where my parents lived, and we’d be there for lunch, along with my two brothers and their families.
My parents migrated from Rhodes, Greece to Australia in the early 1960s.
They were aged in their thirties, so there was very little chance they would change their Greek ways.
Both loved Australia, especially my mum, and when they got older and the old man started hinting about returning to the old country, she’d put him in his place.
“I am never going back to live in that village ever again, George,’’ she’d say and that would be it – until the next time.
So Christmas Day was a giant feast at Rosebery, much bigger than the usual big feed we got at Sunday lunches there.
Turkeys aren’t part of the Greek tradition for Christmas, and we had roasted chickens instead.
The old man would cook a barbie as well, steaks and those fat butcher’s sausages we all loved the first time we tried them – especially covered in tomato sauce – heaven!
Salads, baked potatoes, delicious breads, there was enough food to feed the whole village we had come from.
Around four in the arvo and after a cup of Greek coffee it was time to get into the car and head out to Seven Hills for our next feast.
My wife’s family are Celts – Scottish and Irish – so the Christmas fare at their place was a very traditional one.
Turkey, ham, roast pork and all the trimmings, from pumpkin to Brussels sprouts, were served around 6pm, just as we were getting a little peckish.
So you’d think, well, bugger it, it’s Christmas, hook in and only stop when you could hardly breathe.
Other than it was just way too much food, it didn’t take us long to decide that travelling from Liverpool or Campbelltown to the city and then out west wasn’t the smartest plan of all time.
That was just way too much driving on Christmas Day – even in the RBT days.
So around 1979 we told both our parents that the next Christmas lunch or dinner would be served at our place and they were all welcome.
It had never occurred to us that having both inlaws at our place for Christmas would make for interesting times.
But that’s another story.
Merry Christmas
