Yet again, if I were writing this in the morning, there would be two days to go, so my countdown would be correct, but because it is now the middle of the night, almost, all that is left is tomorrow.
And, as we know, from being told multiple times by our parents, tomorrow never comes. Procrastination is the thief of time. Which brings me to thoughts of New Year resolutions, even if Christmas is not done and dusted.
I suppose as that fateful day draws ever nearer, and will never go away, unless some new world or galactic order decides to ban Christmas from the planet, I began to think about what Christmas meant to me - stuck in the tropics.
Not the over-heated kitchen, food that should not be consumed in tropical climates, the joyous fact I do not have to eat another Brussels sprout - I would be sent to my room for refusing to even contemplate consuming one - and that I shall be the only greedy one eating Christmas pudding, because no one else likes it.
No, I began to think about living nearly 7,000 miles from home, (or 11,000 km, if you insist - and I am British, not American). The novelty of eating Christmas lunch in shorts and a t-shirt melted away, rather like most things do here, and I thought of my friends and what I can remember of my family on the other side of the world.
And then I thought of my sons. Two boys who were born and raised in the tropics. Two boys who may be British by birthright, but who exude such an international and cosmopolitan outlook on life and the world. Two boys who care for what happens to the world and its fragile ecosystem. Two boys whose school friends are either living here from another part of the world, or who are back home now in their own country, or even living somewhere else.
While the world is this vast blue planet with patches of green, brown and yellow strewn across it, it is not so huge for the youth. Not so huge for our future.
Lunchtime today was spent catching up with old friends, friends who had been there when we needed. Friends originally from Australia. Friends who moved to Singapore, and adopted an orphan from Cambodia who became good friends with my boys. Friends who then moved away, and ended up in Holland. Friends who came to Singapore to stay and took time to catch up, as if it was only yesterday that we had said goodbye. Although, obviously with a gem of a daughter now, it is longer than yesterday.
Yet, time had stood still, for a moment.
Until I tried to take a photograph, and my boys were teenagers again, refusing to be caught on camera.
I think, maybe I should put Bah Humbug in a box for a while ...
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