Christmas to me means hot days at the beach, the smell of sunscreen and sand sticking to my sunburnt skin Piercing sun and afternoon rain showers, but there is always an electricity of excitement in the air. When we were younger, we would pile into the car and head to Kingscliff. I miss the smell of dry pine trees and all us kids running wild through the park, playing with our new loot, than cooling off in the crashing Pacific waves. The year before last, we found ourselves alone on Christmas day, me and my twin, in our St Kilda apartment. After opening our single present to each other, we spent the majority of the day cooking up a storm, with no hungry mouths to feed. Instead of letting the food spoil in the 40 degree heat, we had the ingenious idea to roll ourselves a little green happiness, eat and reminisce about previous Christmas's. This year, a distant memory away, I watched the first snow flakes float down and settle on my sleeve. I didn't believe my eyes at first, bu

day 47.  Its cold. Un-fashionably cold. Forget lace leggings, suede pumps, full skirts with cropped jackets, colourful scarves and matching berates, delicate gloves under cocktail rings, red lips and sleek eyeliner... Its snow gear cold. Forget the female figure, and dont mention make-up. Its so wet and muggy that the Italian fashionistas have been forced into hiding, onto jet-planes somewhere warmer, or into triple quilted snuggy looking outfits that render them unrecognisable. Maybe this trip to Germany on Sunday is just what I need. Its a regular freeze there, so I trust the locals are better equipped to fashionable handle the cold. that, and to relocate my spiritual center. Back in August my mum convinced me to meet her in Spain to do a training course in Breathwork/Rebirthing. It is something I have grown up with, but have always been afraid to explore. Plus what teenager is going to want to follow a spiritual path that involves lavender smelling Hippies coming up to you and ask