All I Want for Christmas

It’s simple, really. Just a few minor things.

Steak, medium. Gravy. Fresh mushrooms. Broccoli. Fetta. Cheddar. Brie. Camembert, double cream. Cream. Milk. Olives. Pastrami. Bacon. Ham. Turkey. Prawns. Sausages. Potato salad. Quiche. Strawberries. Blueberries. Raspberries. Plums. Grapes. Nectarines. Peaches. Pizza. Aioli. Sweet chilli mayonnaise. Multigrain. Sourdough. Spinach leaves. Rocket leaves. Capsicum. Pesto. Sundried tomatoes. Fresh herbs. Artichoke. Snow peas. Sushi. Cider. Beer. Cheesecake. Pastry. Dark chocolate. White chocolate. Medium chocolate. Cherry Ripes. Caramello Koalas. Freddo Frogs. Chokitos. Crumbed fish. Hollondaise. Sour cream. Guacamole. Tortillas. Doritos. Salsa. Green chicken curry. Pad Thai. Spring rolls. Kebabs. Turkish bread. Hummus. Parmesan, basil and cashew chunky dip. Barbeque shapes. Barbeques. Smoked salmon. Pork. Dumplings.  Asparagus dip. Cream cheese. Lasagne. Roast beef and vegetables. Sweet potato. Not eggplant. Muesli bars.

Uninterrupted sunshine. Surf beaches. Heat without humidity. Smooth roads. Hot water. Potable water. Screens on windows. Newspapers containing newsworthy events. More than two TV channels. Efficient waste management system. Vehicle exhaust without holes. Trains. No ants, cockroaches, or mice. No bed bugs. Couches you can slouch on. Fast internet. Internet on phone. No public spitting. Walking anonymously on streets.

Family. Friends. Clean dogs and other animals.

All in that order.

But most of all, most of all, I’d love a place where Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas doesn’t play incessantly in shopping malls and on the streets. Maybe I should’ve moved to Riyadh.

Seriously though, a volunteer’s needs are simple. As many of us make the migration back to Australia for the holidays, our time will be taken up in two major ways: eating out with friends and family; and begging those friends and family to pay for those meals, because converting Fijian dollars to Australian dollars is not a fun exercise. To those loved ones who will be receiving their brave and selfless progeny over Christmas: do not be disheartened when their eyes glaze over in pleasure as they stick a fork into a perfectly poached egg and yolk bursts forth to mix with fresh hollandaise. Fret not when they loosen their welcome hug as they see the baked cheesecake adorned with fresh cream and berries sitting on the kitchen bench behind you. Smile knowingly when they stop mid-conversation to moan loudly and appreciatively as a forkful of steak meets their tastebuds. But most importantly, most critically, provide them with these treats. We don’t have any money.

Our hearts go out to those volunteers who for many reasons are not escaping. Poor buggers, having to fend for themselves in Tropical Paradise while the rest of us experience unseasonably cold and potentially wet Christmas. Although let’s face it, Christmas in Suva? It’s definitely going to be wet. For our fallen comrades, I gift you with this.

Merry Christmas to one and all.

Let it be clear, that all I want for Christmas is definitely not you. I in no way support or agree with the lyrics of Mariah Carey.