Happy Feast of the Circumcision of Jesus



I just found out from the nice people at Wikipedia that the Catholic Church no longer celebrates 1 January as the Feast of the Circumcision of Our Lord, and hasn't done since 1960. I'm shocked! Well, it did until I was 13, and I intend to continue to think of New Year's Day as Christbris no matter what the popes say.

We spent Christbris Eve camping on Cockatoo Island along with several hundred other people, and it was fabulous, from the taxi ride to Circular Quay (in which the driver poured scorn on anyone who spent good time and money on getting a good view of the fireworks, let alone those who wasted taxpayers' millions on creating the fireworks in the first place, or drove into the city on New Year's Eve, or imposed parking restrictions on ditto, etc etc etc, finishing up with 'Happy New Year'), through the queuing for food and struggling to erect tents, the fireworks and the parade of illuminated boats (not only had I never seen this before -- I'd never even heard of it!), to the ferry ride back to the Quay this morning. The island is fabulous: we had visited it for the first time during the 2008 Sydney Biennale, when it provided a brilliant exhibition space, in at least one case supplying all but the title for the work on display. This time we saw a little more of it, but once again it featured as a stunning setting, this time for the fireworks displays. One of the barges was anchored just offshore from us, so when those flaming red flares floated down from the explosions they were directly above our heads, and we heard every explosion and hiss of detonation twice -- once from in front of us, and then again bouncing off the high sandstone wall behind. (Half a dozen people had defied the ban on going to the top part of the island after dark, and were waving their tiny sparklers at us hoi polloi from on high when the midnight extravaganza finished, but they missed out on the dramatic echo, so I didn't envy them their vantage point.) All thoughts of global warming and global financial crisis and the parlous condition of the state of New South Wales fell silent. About two thirds of the way into the first display, I realised that my jaw was hanging open. I went 'Ahhh!' without a trace of irony.

Here are some phone pics.

Part of the slightly anxious crowd at the Quai. Is this our ferry? If we don't fit on it will there be another one? When do the ferries stop running? (For at least one ferry the electronic sign giving the destination flashed on exactly one second after it began to move away from the dock. Others were slightly more timely.)



One of the two camp sites on the island, as seen from the upper level. Through some wonder of knowing people who know people our pozzie was just out of frame on the left, in the relatively unpopulated zone. The four enigmatic structures in the bottom half of the pic are bits of industrial gear that were moved from their original location to become atmospheric decoration.



One of the many historic buildings dotting the island, and the plaque that accompanies it. I note with gratitude that the toilet and ablution facilities available to campers, both the special ones for this huge crowd and the permanent ones, were infinitely superior to these.



Many signs on the upper island warned us of aggressive birds. We were squawked at quite a lot, and felt at times we'd wandered into an audition for a remake of Hitchcock's The Birds.



My fireworks pics look like scenes from a petri dish, and I didn't even try with the illuminated boats. So here's a token blurry pic of the Bridge at the exact moment when the calendar clicked over.



Resolutions? They don't seem appropriate on the day when we're commemorating the ritual slicing off of a prepuce. Maybe next week, on the Feast of the Epiphany.

Posted: Thu - January 1, 2009 at 05:17 PM           |

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