Welcome to the Tour de Bannockburn. Well, actually it's the Bannockburn Mountain Bike Classic, but with over five hundred riders taking part in the event this year, it's deserving of pseudo Tour status. The ride is 35km of mountain terrain, including sealed road and 4WD tracks, with a climb of about 600m through thyme-covered mountain side. 

 For those of you who have a magnifying glass, Bern is somewhere in that mass of bodies. Look for a white helmet, yellow shirt, and a bike that one impressed fellow participant referred to as an 'antique'.

Faye and I took the kids up to the top of the hill to cheer on their father as he rode past. We heard the starter gun go off and watched in anticipation as the riders set out. Grace was all ready with her cheer, I had the camera poised, the riders drew closer and closer....and then they all turned off onto the road below us. Bern had misread the map of the route and led us up the garden path. Or in our case, up Bannockburn Road. I must admit, I did have that tiny nagging voice in my head questioning why we were the only spectators at the top of the hill, but given that my husband is a geographer who reads topographic maps, I had almost-absolute faith in his judgment. Obviously I need to buy him one of these for his birthday to reduce his error rate. 

Thankfully, there was a park nearby to distract Grace from her disappointment, and Charlie from repeatedly trying to run into the path of oncoming traffic.

Then later that evening, with the kids in bed and Grandma babysitting, I wandered down the road to the Bannockburn Pub to welcome home my intrepid husband. As he came along I cheered and waved, calling his name, so proud. And he rode straight by me. Telling myself that I'd catch him on the return, once again I waited, camera poised, for the hero returns shot. And once again, he rode on by, oblivious to the crazy lady jumping up and down waving her arms in the air. Obviously the massive crowd of four people standing around me obscured his view. So I wandered back down the road to Faye's, where I was greeted by Bern. 

Who said in a tone that sounded dangerously accusatory, 'Where were you?' 

So no victorious money shot. But Bern and I did get to celebrate his efforts at the pub that night. Where were were served beer in a plastic cup by a woman with little job satisfaction, then  missed out on a sausage sandwich when the barbecue caught on fire. Now I'm no expert, but I'd say the fire probably had something to do with the diesel they put on it. Still, we stayed for the spot prizes then  returned home smelling of diesel fumes, to our daughter's crushing disappointment that her Daddy didn't come first. 

Therefore, despite listening to Bern wax lyrical about the race, I'm sure I  don't need to tell you what my answer was when he  rather optimistically asked me if I wanted to do the ride with him next year.     

Bern has been keen to take the kids and I for a drive up the Nevis Road, the highest public road in New Zealand, ever since we arrived at Bannockburn. 

So when the kids were fraying nerves this afternoon, we bundled them into the car and off we went. Bern cycled up part of the road yesterday and discovered a wild gooseberry bush growing by the side of the road, loaded with fruit, and the Martha Stewart in me just couldn't resist the opportunity to collect some berries for jam.

While I picked berries (a romantic-sounding term that actually means 'tortured by the bush's sharp barbs'), Bern and the kids amused themselves by throwing sticks and stones into a little irrigation channel running nearby. 

Unfortunately, Charlie decided to throw himself in as well, and considering the water in the channel travels down from the snow-capped mountains, you can imagine how cold and outraged he was when he was fished out. 

Not to be put off, once Charlie had been stripped, dried and bundled up in Daddy's polar fleece, we continued up the mountain. That has no guard rail. Even at the steepest one-false-move-and-the-car-plunges-down-the-hill section. I am not ashamed to admit that I was a little spooked at times. I may even have clutched the dashboard. The scenery, however, was spectacular, and at the top we watched snow falling on the peaks in the distance. 

Very rugged and quite barren, and definitely not the place you expect to see a shepherd (yes, they have shepherds here) running down the hill. 

Once we reached the top, Bern and Grace braved the icy wind to climb a few rocks. Charlie and I chose the far more sensible option of staying in the car with the heater on.

A final note...after gathering 3.2kg of gooseberries, we now have six big jars of jam. Not many people get to pick their fruit in such spectacular surrounds. Actually, come to think of it, most sensible people would just buy the jam. But now where's the fun in that?

While I may have managed to convince Grace to go back to sleep at 5am this morning by telling her that Santa didn't allow children to open their Santa sacks until it was light outside, by 6am there was no stopping her.

Charlie showed a little more interest in present proceedings this year, although it was short lived. For the remainder of the morning he amused himself with the wrapping paper. And Santa's dregs.

 

We spent Christmas Day in Cromwell (about ten minutes from Faye's) which, as usual, had snow on the mountains despite the heat. 

We sat down to an enormous Christmas lunch with around twenty of the Morrison clan at Bern's cousin Nicola and her husband Bill's amazing new house. Grace and Charlie had a lovely time with their boy and girl cousins (as Grace categorises her second cousins), Flynn, Austyn, Emma and Molly. The children spent most of their time playing cricket with the big kids, with Charlie  causing controversy by making off with the umpire's beer.....are you sensing a trend here? 

This Christmas, as with every Christmas, the children were spoiled rotten. Yet what did the make a bee-line for as soon as we got home from Cromwell? Not the Little People or the wooden cars, the My Little Ponies or Strawberry Shortcake.

Got to love the simple things in life. Merry Christmas!  xxx
 

Tonight Bern and I took the kids for a walk around Bannockburn. I still find it slightly disconcerting that the days are so hot yet there is snow on the mountains.
 

When we eventually got home it was down to the business of the Santa offering. Grace spent about an hour drawing pictures to decorate the tray, and about another half an  hour trying to decide what Santa might like to eat and drink. Daddy suggested Santa might appreciate a really cold beer, while Mummy thought he might like a nice glass of milk. Strangely enough, I seem to recall that last year, when we had Christmas at Nethercote, Rosco felt very strongly that Santa would like a whiskey to warm him up while he made his deliveries...

Not surprisingly, she was in bed as quick as a wink tonight, after first laying out her Santa sack. I wonder what we'll coax her to bed with after tonight? We can hardly keep using the old 'Santa doesn't come to little girls who don't go to bed without fussing' line once the big bloke delivers the goods.