Dear Nana and Pop,
Merry Christmas. Sorry about typing this letter, it seems a little impersonal, but I’m so used to typing at work that my hand writing is almost unreadable these days. I’m sorry I can’t be there with everyone for Christmas, I’ve got this camping trip planned with some friends up near the Murray River. There’s this festival sort of thing there called ConFest where people come from all over Victoria and New South Wales and camp on someone’s property. This is the first time I’ve been, but I’m told it’s really good, I’m getting a lift up there with an old housemate called Penny because I still haven’t got my licence. I’ll probably never get around to it, I’m terrified that I’ll run over someone or something. I get around OK as it is, I catch the tram into the City each morning for work and that ticket gets me around on the weekends as well, so the only thing I really need my licence for is stuff like shifting house, though I can’t see myself shifting again for a while, it’s such a pain. Cars are so expensive to run anyway.
Work is going well, I just finished the 1995 edition which is being mailed out now to all the people who bought it. I’ve been here three and half years now. It doesn’t seem that long, but a lot of people have come and gone through the office in that time, they don’t seem to hang around that long in this business. It’s probably because the office is so uncomfortably hot in Summer.
I’ve been living in Flemington for about nine months now by myself, it was a bit weird at first because I was so used to living with other people, but I enjoy not having to put up with other people’s mess and all that. It’s a two bedroom house, so I use the second room for my drum kit and some spare chairs. There’s two fireplaces, it would be nice to have fire on a Winter’s night, but neither of them work at the moment unfortunately.
Not long to go until S has her baby, is it? It feels a bit strange knowing I’m going to be an uncle, I’m too young for all that. I’ve decided he/she will have to just call me J, not “Uncle J”, it will just make me feel too old, though Mum seems determined to make him/her do the opposite. Being born in June will make it a Summer baby by English seasons. I sent S a letter outlining some of the do’s and don’ts about baby-naming. I have a terrible feeling she’ll give it some awful name like Fergie gave her kiddies. Maybe it’s something in the English water that makes people burden their children with names like Beatrice and Eugenie. Are you looking forward to being Great Grandparents? If I were you, I’d send presents like trumpets and drums and other noisy items, new parents love stuff like that. Mum’s going over for the birth, but I’m going to wait until it stops doing all those yukky baby things like crying and making bad smells. There’s no way I’m going half-way around the world to be puked on by some baby, no siree.
Anyway, I’d better be going, it’s nearly time to go home.
Merry Christmas all.