Waiting at the Bus Stop

Christmas Eve and I have just finished my last minute shopping. I am sitting at the bus stop, my bags by my sore aching feet, and feeling thankful to rest my weary body at last. Cars are racing home, a blurry noise surrounds me. I, too, want to get home, my safe and quiet haven, to sit with a drink, relax and prepare myself for tomorrow, a busy Christmas Day.

Waddling down the footpath on a pair of bandy legs and whistling “I like to have a beer with Duncan,” a jolly rotund old bloke disturbs my solitude. On his feet he wears a pair of Blundstone work boots that accentuate his short skinny legs. Dressed in khaki, his shorts are held up by a huge black belt circling a well fed tummy. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up revealing a pair of sunburnt arms. A battered Akubra sits jauntily on his round head and, peeping warily beneath, are strands of unkempt wispy white hair. A layer of foam encrusts his silvery moustache as he sips his tinny of beer. Crumbs of flaky pastry are scattered over his untidy white bushy beard indicating that he has just enjoyed a meat pie. As he seats himself next to me, his wrinkled face beams at me and he says, “Gidday love, how ya goin’?”

“I’m rather tired” I reply but he is not interested in how I feel as straight away he says. “I’m just sittin’ here waitin’ for me mate, Bluey, to pick me up. Gotta busy night ahead of me. Ya getting’ ready for Chrissy, I see.”

“Yes. Just the last minute food items for tomorrow.”

“Whatcha cookin’ lovey?” he asks me.

“A traditional Christmas dinner,” I say, “Stuffed turkey, vegetables, a green salad followed by Christmas pudding and creamy custard. A couple of bottles of bubbly will be consumed also. Last on the menu is a cup of coffee and rumballs.”

“That’s not an Aussie Christmas dinna,” he says in his slow Aussie drawl.

“Well, tell me” I say quite primly, “What is an Australian Christmas dinner?”

“Firstly, ya grab a cold beer to give ya the energy to dig a hole in the back yard, then another cold beer before ya get out ya chain saw to cut a few logs of wood. Throw the logs in the hole and get a fire goin’. When ya get a nice lot of coals, get the wife to mix up a wattle seed damper and put it in the Dutch oven. Then ya put the oven on the hot coals and throw a few hot coals on top and after forty five minutes, Bob’s ya uncle.”

“That sounds interesting but what has Bob being your uncle got to do with the damper?’ I said.

“It’s cooked, lovey, its cooked.” He laughs. “Then I light the Barbie and while I’m waitin’ for it to get hot, I have another cold beer then I throw on a few slices of Kangaroo rump. Sear both sides for a few minutes and throw it between two extra thick slices of damper, add a few warrigal greens and bush tomatoes and get your choppers to work. Goes really well with another cold beer,” he says as he licks his lips.

“Sounds very interesting” I reply “but what I really like about Christmas dinner is the plum pudding. For me Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without plum pudding and custard. Is plum pudding on your menu?”

“Na, love. Too heavy for me. Me wifey makes a fancy thing called a Pavlova. She beats up the white of an emu egg with sugar and cooks the Pav in the oven on Chrissy eve. With the yolk she makes a super-dooper rich custard to go on top of the Pav and then drizzles sweet quandong jam over the top. Just beautiful, lovey, just beautiful. Goes down really well with another cold tinny too.”

Before I could add to the conversation, he says “and then for afters, I have another beer to give me strength to boil the billy. I chuck in a handful of tea leaves, a few gum leaves for flavour then I drinks me tea and eats a lamington while rockin’ in me old rockin’ chair on the veranda. What a bonzer dinner. Then I’m ready for me Chrissy snooze.”

Just as I say “I must admit that your Christmas dinner sounds most interesting.” a grumbling spluttering red Ute pulls up and, with a squeal of the breaks, drowns my comment. With much effort, my companion lifts himself up from the seat and shuffles to the Ute and sits down next to his mate, Bluey. After the engine coughs and splutters, my companion, with a cheery wave, is on his way. “Merry Christmas” he yells noisily to me. It was then that I notice the green tarpaulin covering the back of the red Ute, flapping and waving in the wind and I think I see a sack of teddy bears, dolls, scooters, books and toys of all description bouncing up and down as the Ute disappears down the road.

Forgetting my tiredness, I smile to myself as I wait for my bus to come along and I think of my wonderful encounter with an Aussie who will brings joy and happiness to Aussie kids this Christmas.

My Christmas wish is much the same but with a qualifying clause. I wish joy and happiness to all Australians no matter what their Christmas cuisine may be.