On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love sent to me
Twelve possums playing
Eleven lizards leaping
Ten wombats washing
Nine crocs a-snoozing
Eight dingoes dancing
Seven emus laying
Six sharks a-surfing
Five kangaroos
Four lyrebirds
Three wet galahs
Two snakes on skis
And a kookaburra in a gum tree

Superb winds meant cheering in the fastest yacht in the world at 3am, shortly before drenching the millionaire accountant skipper in champagne and rolex watches. The rest of the boats did their best not to go backwards.

Launceston is a surreal city, with some beautiful, if melancholic, Japanese residents in the park.

33km of Strahan beach. Nothing between us and South America. The purest air in the world. It’s enough to make you do cartwheels.

What would Christmas be without a trip to MONA, the Museum of Old and New Art, or temple of Atheism, Sex and Death?

And Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a trip to the Great Moscow Circus of course!

And now I’m coming home.