Lest it be thought that I am a spoilsport or a killjoy, and I am neither, here is a Christmas photo of Tom at my brother Michael's apartment in Collaroy. Tom, of course, is immersed in video games, though he uncharacteristically ate a hearty lunch this year. We seem to have a shortage of recent family pics together and I guess that reflects my mum's tiredness, for she was always the organiser of the group shots.




I hope that everyone has a safe and happy New Year. I end with Tennyson's beautifully elegiac, Crossing the Bar, which, as glasses clink and short embraces end, is ample food for thought. Find the moment between the countdown and yet another letdown, and occupy that space with reflection.

But please, try not to cross the bar tonight.

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.