I went home to Bronte, though I declined the lounge room couch. I’m working tomorrow, Boxing Day, because there are all sorts of sporting fixtures scheduled for the various grounds to the east of Queens, so we’ll have traffic accidents by the score and some victims of drunken brawls. I’m also on duty on New Year’s Day, though Ann Smith volunteered to take New Year’s Eve because her fiancé is working Cas that night. New Year’s Eve is a shambles in every hospital Cas, though it’s worst at Vinnie’s because half of Sydney pays its annual visit to the Cross to get drunk, strew the streets with litter and vomit, keep Norm, Merv, Bumper Farrell and the rest of the Cross coppers frantically busy.
I gave Willie a bottle of three-star, Granny a stunning Spanish shawl, Gavin and Peter a macro lens for their Zeiss camera, Dad a box of Cuban cigars, and Mum some really pretty underwear (sexy but respectable). The family clubbed in and gave me a voucher to buy heaps of LP records at Nicholson’s. Greatly appreciated.