The Champs-Elyssee is hung with golden lights in a wine glass shape down each bare tree, a long golden avenue of glittering Christmas light sloping away from the arc de triomphe down to the Tuileries and the Louvre.

Every neighbourhood has decked a main street in lights. They twinkle in the grey chill and the bustling streets seem to bustle, huddle and shimmer.

The golden glow of Paris is sparkling and shining, with sparks of red and green Christmas tree lights.

We bought a classic European tree, pointier and more wintry-seeming than the kiwi Norfolk. We found a delicious strong of red globes and white leaf-shaped lights top string around it.

Maria made a paper star, then insisted it had to go at the 'rightest top.'

Josie can't stand Barbara Kendall, but check out this quote:

"Just because you are 40, I'll be 41 at the next Olympics, doesn't mean you are down and out."

Yeah. Go the golden girl.

So Sydney is engulfed in race riots.

Wonder how long it will be before the liberal classes announce that the protagonists -- the shaved-headed, racist yobs -- are poorly misunderstood people who deserve more sympathy?

Because, you know, surely no one is gonna say 'poor black kids rioting in Paris = poor people who need sympathy; poor white guys rioting in Sydney = very bad people who need to be cleaned out with a fire hose".

Are they?

When I saw the headline, I was convinced this was going to be another Aussie kiwi-bashing story:

Australian workers really hate suckophants

Freaky:

The two women, both named April and with the middle name Dawn, lived in different parts of Fairfax County and dated 22-year-old men. Now, both women have been charged in separate murder-for-hire plots with trying to have those boyfriends killed, police said yesterday.

(Washington Post). Tell me there isn't a novel in this? A dark, vaguely comedic indie film?

My new car reviewed.

Italians have unleashed their most powerful weapon: pure sex appeal. How gorgeous is this car? Imagine the languid flanks and silky thighs of an Italian starlet — say, Monica Bellucci — minus the flimsy sundress.

Awesome review. Very awesome car.

"Comment tu t'appell?"

"Name Carlo."

Then the big kids got to him and he found a taste for comedy.

Comment tu t'appell?"

"Bum!"

---

There we were lying in bed in the gentle pre-dawn dark, muffling out the hushed gurgles and mutterings of the kids as they woke up. And with a stomp, stomp stomp Maria barged in.

"Mummy, Joey doesn't like Jesus."