No-one should deck their halls before December. IT’S THAT SIMPLE, writes reporter Jess Ward.

Christmas should be kept special. The later you get the baubles up, the better.

Despite my views, I appreciate that everyone celebrates Christmas differently, making it an exciting occasion. I shouldn’t judge when our family has certainly celebrated the holiday in ways that are alien to millions.

In my first 13 years of life, Christmas meant playing cricket in the blazing, hot sunshine, swimming in the sea and having a barbie (barbecue) outside.

It would start with my close rellies (relatives) getting together from all around New Zealand for a morning feed (brunch).

As quite a few of us are Christian there’d be time dedicated to giving thanks before the gift giving began.

A kiwified Santa, sensibly dressed in sunnies, gumboots (wellies), a tank top and stubbies (freakishly tight short shorts) would deliver jandals (flip flops), togs (swimsuits), camping gear and of course rugby paraphernalia.

Us kids would then race outside into the bright sunshine and rip into our summertime toys.

Like most Kiwi folk there was a trip to a park, beach or lake for a BBQ. Anywhere you went there would be people sizzling their sausages, venison, steak and more.

Our native Christmas trees, the pohutukawa, would be in full bloom decorating the nation in the classic red and green, attracting many native birds - tui, bellbird, fantail...

My all time favourite place to spend Christmas was at Lake Okataina with its pumice beach, clear water and a heavenly mixtape of birdsong and cicadas. *sighs* Mum would have her nose in a book, dad would be reeling in trout and my two siblings and I would be trying to outdo one another in who could carry out the best dive, bomb or swim out the furthest.

We’d have a traditional roast with all the trimmings in the evening, shared again with family and friends, followed by a pavlova with freshly-picked strawberries or boysenberries.

The Christmas tree, a pine probably cut down by dad, would be standing in the living room where everyone would congregate for games and hearty conversations. We’d stay up until we saw the Southern Cross constellation and then hit the sack.

Fast-forward to 2008 when our little troop hit the Isle of Man and our first Christmas here was a shock to the system. For one, it was bloody cold!

Instead of the beach, we would be inside, heaters cranked up and surrounded by a sea of blankets.

Our time learning the northern hemisphere’s way of Christmas pieced together the mysteries we experienced back home of the snowflake decorations and Santas who would don a full on snowsuit while singing ’walking in a winter wonderland’. All these things we knew and loved in NZ made more sense here than it ever did back in the 35°C heat.

The early European settlers obviously cherished their winter Christmases enough to make sure it was ingrained into our kiwi culture. (Global commercialisation of course lends a huge helping hand in this.)

Initially we struggled to reconstruct the lively environment we’d become accustomed to in NZ. Luckily a small pod of family members were close by and as every year passed we added more and more friends to the whÄnau (family).

Yes, Christmas has certainly changed for me but it hasn’t changed in its meaningful purpose: having a whole day of fellowship where you share in your gratitude for the time you’ve been given to spend with one another.

Get rid of all the faff of hyper-commercialisation and the pressures that it brings and that’s how it should be.

â?¢ When is it right to put your decorations up? See page 20.