‘I won’t be home for Christmas’

For Kiwis living far away, the festive season can invoke unfamiliar traditions – or no celebration at all. Here, expats around the world share their plans for the big day. Illustrations by Alistair Hughes.

“YOU’LL FIND ME IN DA PUB” MATT SUDDAIN

December in London: fog-breathers rushing by with armloads of gifts; Christmas lights reflected in shop windows, in puddles of frozen urine in doorways, and in the eyes of a man who’s just told his heavily pregnant wife to “stop being so stressy”. He’s dead now. An elderly gentleman calls from a window: “You there! Boy! What day is this?” And the youth calls back: “How should I know, c...! Ask a calendar!” Young people are not as polite as they once were.

British people used to tell me that Christmas in the southern hemisphere isn’t really Christmas at all, and I used to tell them they were full of it. After nine Christmases here I think they’re slightly less full of it. I don’t think I ever really understood what Christmas was till I spent my first one in England. The old pagan festivals which became Halloween and Christmas exist – along with alcohol, central heating and TV box-sets – to keep our spirits up during brutal winters. Seeing festive lights come on along Regent St as it goes dark at 3pm. Bundling yourself into a friendly pub just as it starts to snow heavily and realising you could be “stuck” there for hours. These are the things that make winter here not just bearable, but enjoyable.

I’m not saying there isn’t something great about eating a festive sausage in pure, un-ozoned sunlight while your wife’s dad destroys your daughter at swingball. I love painting a crude picture in sunscreen on a sleeping loved-one’s bare back, or chasing the seagulls away from my chips with a cricket bat. But those activities will never be, for me, as Christmassy as decorating a tree while sipping from a coffee mug (or vase) full of port; or lying on a sofa with a gut-load of pudding while it snows outside, and knowing you don’t have to do anything more strenuous than settle an argument over whether to watch Elf or

The Great Escape.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a Kiwi summer more than just about anything. But celebrating Christmas when it’s hot has always felt a bit like taking Prozac when you’re happy.

Winter in Aotearoa, on the other hand, is an especially cruel torture. Months suffering in badly insulated buildings; your car takes an age to start – if it starts at all; public transport is late or non-existent; and suffering through this interminable Narnian hellscape is only eased by advanced duvet technology and semi-regular rugby fixtures. A public holiday or two could really help. For fun, let’s list all the medicinal holidays we have to get us through a Kiwi winter.

1. Queen’s Birthday.

2. Nope, that’s it. Just Queen’s Birthday.

Maybe one day we’ll see sense and make Matariki an official holiday. Until then I’ll be over here, in the rub-adub (pub) with a few china plates (mates) drinking a nice festive pint of King Lear (beer… though mine’s a port).

What I’ll be eating in London

A pile of steaming food the size of an Anglo-Saxon burial mound… or, “barrow”.

What I’ll be drinking

Enough beer, nogs, spirits and fortified wines to fill a one-wheeled, hand-propelled cart… aka “barrow”.

Who I’ll be with

British friends and whānau.

Missing

Kiwi friends and whānau, feeling in my extremities, vitamin D.

Loving

Traditional Swedish Christmas carols.

Wearing

Every piece of clothing I own.