It's Sunday night. My body is crying out for rest. However my brain is demanding a blog update, because that's what blogging is like: crack cocaine.

It all begun Friday afternoon. I raced down to meet Mrs M, PB and JC at the Airport Express train station to check in and go to the airport. Usually it's easy to pick them out in a crowd, because there's not many caucasians to choose from. Friday was a different story. It was the Friday before Christmas and that means only one thing: expat exodus. Almost every single group was a family making their way back "home" for the Christmas and New Year break. Nevertheless I was able to spot the three of them as they left their taxi, mostly by the large amount of baggage. We checked in and made our way to the airport. A quick zip through the SARS check, passport control and security (where for some reason the Winnie-the-Pooh bag of PBs was given a thorough going over) and it was time for dinner. We all stuffed a quick burger and chips down - it's important the kids learn bad habits directly from us, rather than their peers - before finally making it to the shuttle to the other terminal. Now Mrs M has a theory that because Hong Kong is Cathay Pacific's base, they get the best gates and preferential treatment at the airport. Not true. Gate 69 is the second further gate in the airport. With two strollers, carry on luggage and 10 minutes before the flight leaves, this means walking turned into a rapid trot. Until we were stopped in that typical HK way by an official with out flight number. Clearly we would make it if we could keep going. But we had to stop, produce our boarding passes and wait. Why? So she could radio ahead and tell them we'd be late. Of course we're going to be late, Mrs M pointed out helpfully to the official, because we've got to stand here and wait while you do this. A traditional smile and apology followed by not much else lasted all of a minute but felt longer. Nevertheless it was perfect in the end - we were the second last group onto the plane. With two young kids, that's perfect.

The flight was uneventful, in a travelling with a 3 year old and 17 month old kind of way. We were stuck in the same cabin as CNN minor celebrity Stan Grant. We have CNN on all day at work. CNN's news cycle is 30 minutes. Stan is an anchor based in HK. I've grown to hate Stan. Not as a person. But for what he represents: canned news, churned over endlessly and over-analysed to death. I figured anything the girls might do is a little way for Stan and through him CNN can feel the pain they inflict on me. Daily. But I digress. We engaged in a bit of socialising on the plane, as we knew several people also returning to Australia for the holidays. Then we managed to get some sleep, temporarily interupted by a cyclone off northern Australia. Which we only found out was a cyclone when the pilot told us. Just before we landed, 4 hours later.

We breezed through Sydney airport and got a cab to the in-laws. No time to rest though. A quick shower and bite to eat and I was on my way back to synagogue for my brother's pre-wedding call-up. I had been told to be on time as I was also due for a call-up, which is both a great honour and a way for the synagogue to cop an extra donation. I arrived. I greeted. I was introduced to my future new family. Then I was given the fateful news: no call-up for me, due to scheduling difficulties. No worries. I bolted out of their for a suit fitting. A very kind Russian lady told me I looked a little fat in one size of the suit. I told her that's because I am fat. She agreed, but said this made me look fat. The other size hid it better. Thank God my self-esteem is bulletproof. After crying in the car for 10 minutes because some Cossack had insulted my over-active stomach muscles I bee-lined it back to the in-laws to pick up Mrs M, in time to head to my parents' house for the pre-wedding lunch. More meeting, more greeting, more introductions, and way too many people between me and the food table. After a couple of hours I begged leave, which was fine by everybody as JC and PB turned up and that's all they really wanted. I got 45 minutes nap time before the next item on the agenda.

My brother's bucks night. Stag party. Bachelor party. Whatever. It was good. As part of the organising comittee I knew what was happening and yet it all still went surprisingly well. I discovered that many of my brother's friends are readers of this blog (hello gents) so I knew it was going to be a good night. In order to obey the Bucks night Code Of Silence I cannot divulge too many details, despite the presence of a camera to record many of the events. What I can say is watching one's brother marching down a public street dressed only in a G-string and a dog collar is funny. We spent much of our time down at Bondi Beach and we seemed to make a lot of friends, judging by the yelling and screaming. The night was a great success and certainly one of the best bucks nights I've been too, mostly because my borther was such a good sport about everything we threw at him. He was even generous enough to say having your chest hair waxed off is not too painful. He is a true man amongst men.

I managed to leave the night in a state of relative sobriety but complete exhaustion. Sleep came quickly although not before Mrs M informed me how badly the two girls had coped with their jet lag. 3 hours time difference is enough to knock them out of kilter. We awoke and needed to quickly get ready (noticing a pattern here?) as we had a concert to go to. Not just any concert. The Wiggles, the band for kids. The concert was at the Sydney Entertainment Centre, which holds about six thousand. It was full. And they had 3 concerts today. Ka-ching. The did a mix of the old favs and the new stuff ("the new CD is available in the foyer after the show"), but at almost two hours it was a little overlong for the littlies. We returned to the in-laws in anticipation of everyone having a much needed lunchtime nap. But JC had other plans. So yours truly and JC spent "quiet time" bonding on Grandma's bed, mostly by me imploring JC to read/lie down/closer her eyes/stare at the ceiling while allowing myself moments of micro-sleep. The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming with friends before we headed for an early dinner.

Let me ask you this. You run a pizza place. Not one of those cheesy faux-Italian places with the red checker-board tableclothes and faded pictures of Jueventus FC and the Almalfi Coast. No this was an outdoor cafe that offers pizza and pasta. It is situated in a courtyard. It is ideal for kids. Yet we arrive and discover there's no high chairs And the owner doesn't like kids. Or us. Even though we proceed to order 8 pizzas, 3 salads, numerous drinks, ice-creams for everyone and assorted other bits. And it was 5:45pm. There was one other table, also of kids. The food was good but the service sucked. It just re-enforces my belief that a good restaurant is as much about service as the food or location. We returned home, bathed two very tired girls before putting them to bed. And now Mrs M is chatting with her mum, and I'm blogging. We cancelled our anniversary dinner tonight in anticipation of JC and PB having another bad night and of course they fell asleep instantly. They're smart little things I tell you.

Right, better go. Got golf in the morning. I miss a Sydney summer. The sun has just gone down and it's 8:30pm. It's a moderate mids 20s, the humidity is not over-powering and there's beach, family, friends and more. I love HK but one day Sydney will be our home again, without a doubt. It's just too good a place to live.

And there's not a thick pollution haze every few days.