Haven’t had much time for blogging recently — and this week’s Tumblr Diaries will be a little late I’m afraid! — because I’m busy studying for the Life in the UK test, so I can get my indefinite leave to remain visa, and then *breathes deeply* citizenship.

Funny story on that subject: I bought the four study guides needed for the test on Amazon last Thursday after Petah’s recommendation, but because we went to Paris on Friday for a long weekend, I missed the delivery. As the post-man sometimes delivers things to the indie book-shop near us, I ambled over to see if my package was there.

Lo and behold, it was! But it was covered in Amazon’s usual blaring graphics, and as it was handed to me, the nice book-shop guy gave me a bit of grief for ordering books on Amazon instead of buying from him. I was so flustered and embarrassed that I blurted out some excuse about them being study guides and him not selling them — which is true! — but the damage had been done :(

If the discomfort I experienced in that little preamble to the test doesn’t make me British, then passing a quiz about British history barely does either.

Image Credit: Make Blog Not War via We Heart It via Photojojo

Perhaps it’s because I’ve always quietly been a soppy sentimentalist, or maybe it’s due to settling down and getting hitched this year, but I’ve been thinking a lot about Christmas traditions recently.

In my (almost!) 25 years on this planet, 18 years were spent eating Christmas dinner on Christmas eve night (38 degrees is about 15 degrees too high to eat hot food during the day), and then polishing off cold leftovers with fresh prawns and marron straight-out-of-the-dam for lunch the next day.

Since 2004, I’ve spent every Christmas fighting my way onto crowded trains, sodden with snow. The last two Christmasses have been in Wiltshire/Devon with Jim and his family, but we did make it back to Australia in 2008. That was a brilliant year, seeing Jim — who’d never spent a single Christmas away from his family — adjust to 38-degree heat and cold beers on the verandah. He adjusted well, you could say.

What was particularly exciting for me was introducing him to our family’s traditions. Jumping in Dad’s ute, beers in hand, as we chainsawed down a pine tree from the side of the road (they grow like weeds in Australia, so everyone finds their Christmas trees by railway tracks or at the back of someone’s farm). Decorating it with all the family present, silly festive hats planted firmly on heads as the very same Nat King Cole cassette tape I bought in Bali when I was six years’ old plays on Dad’s stereo.

Cold eggnog consumed; the tree gets decorated with baubles handed down from generations before us; primary school art classes (nothing gets thrown out in our household) and assorted others, until we flop on the sofa to enjoy the lit-up scene.

Here’s a look at 2010′s London Christmas tree:

Our tree was bought for 30 notes at the Herne Hill Christmas market. Which was really good fun! It’s great to see our local area come together and be so community-minded. I think Herne Hill is pretty good for that generally, but I’d love a monthly farmers’ market to occur.

Jim decorating the tree, as Effie cowers behind it.

A new Christmas decoration, bought from Selfridges. Pull the snowflake, and his legs and arms bob up. Proper old-fashioned fun. As part of a new tradition I’ve started since leaving home six years’ ago, I buy a tree decoration and send it home to Mum and Dad each Christmas, so they can think of me when decorating the tree. I bought them an identical snowman this year, as I liked him so much.

Effie loves Christmas. Especially pulling all the baubles off the boughs (we try and put our least-favourite ones on the lower-branches, but somehow this handmade one from Mum snuck on there. Oh dear…)

Another new decoration, this one from Monsoon of all places. I just can’t resist a robin.

Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a photo of a terrified kitten being cuddled by a Kat dressed up as George Michael, circa-Wake Me Up Before you Go Go music video (we were on our way to an ’80s party).

I’m enjoying creating new traditions with Jim immensely, and seeing how his family does Christmas too. Opening half the presents on Christmas Eve? What a lovely tradition, she says, as she eyes up a jewellery-box sized present under the tree…

Christina’s Domestic Sluttery recipe for smoked garlic and mushroom risotto looked very decent and easy to make, however as we’re a strict no-white-wine household, I had to use some merlot we had lying about. I usually only use red wine in mushroom or beetroot risottos, as it makes it a more cloying, winter-suitable risotto. While it’s late-May, I could sense some bad weather coming last night, so it made us feel pretty snug.

Instead of using parmesan cheese like Christina’s recipe called for, I used goat’s cheese. I also roasted up some portobello mushrooms for the side, and boiled some English asparagus. Over the top of the asparagus I drizzled some Australian truffle oil. It’s expensive stuff, and we’re down to our last bottle (I’ve already request Mum bring over a bulk lot when they arrive in a few weeks), but it really suits asparagus well.

Quick (for risotto), and very easy. Certainly made watching the last episode of Lost a heck of a lot better. (And the leftover risotto was excellent the next day, shaped into fritters, rolled in plain flour, and fried in oil. I even put a fried egg on top of Jim’s cakes).

Link: Christina’s Domestic Sluttery risotto recipe.

The last several months it’s like I’ve had the weight of Atlas on my shoulders, tossing and turning every night in bed fretting about getting a Certificate of Approval to get married in the UK.

As an Aussie, I can’t get married here legally unless I obtain one. This involves sending off both yours and your fiance’s passports, along with answers to a series of convoluted questions about yourselves and your citizen statuses, no earlier than five months before you’re due to get married.

The catch is, it can take up to three months to get approval. Meaning if they deny you the first time – for not supplying enough information, for example – you could potentially not get approval before your big day.

Not to mention the problems with the Home Office having your passports for such a great length of time – as we both travel a lot for work, this really wasn’t ideal. Jim had to actually stand outside their Croydon offices last week, the day before he was due to fly to Milan, and wait there until they became so exasperated with him they gave it back.

This followed three weeks of daily phonecalls, demanding it back. To an 0845 number. With a 20 – 30 minute wait per call just to speak to someone. Someone who is more used to speaking to non-English speakers, and is so fed up with their job, and life, that they make you want to just move back to Australia instead of spending another minute on the phone with them.

Regardless, we finally got approval! No thanks to Royal Mail, who mishandled the envelope so badly that our certificate – with official hologram! – is all creased.

I’m off for a celebratory lie-down and a little cry now. Just 62 days until the wedding *hyperventilates*