Black and white drawings of warning.

“Do not pee in this doorway…..very old electric wiring ….. you could be electrocuted”.

I guess the drawings were to ‘warn’ drunks that taking an early morning pee might be at their peril.

The step-by-step pee illustration possibly aimed at non-English-speaking drunks?

Further down the road, behind a wall of iceberg roses an elderly man and a younger were sitting in the quiet and shade of Marillac House, a place of rest for families who've come to town for hospital.

You know what that means? That means roses and verandah offer solace. 

Meanwhile, another 20 steps along the road, coming out of the Oak were random men in their ‘60s.

Once we reached the corner the road was closed.

Two very short men in a hire van were watching their Navman and unsuccessfully trying to break through the ‘road closed’ barriers.

Simultaneously, Hadspen’s Tour de Force, cyclist Richie Porte, was coming a steady number five in the Stan Siejka Classic

I'm a proud Launcestonian; a member of our community that celebrates the late Stan’s amazing life and commiserates his too-soon death with a remarkable road cycling event around the streets of Launceston.

Like its European buddies, the Classic is an everyman spectacle, free to watch, exciting, man versus tarmac.

So there we were, last Sunday watching the Stan Siejka Classic.

One skinny, tanned bloke to another:

“Looks like Matt’s been spending time in the top paddock.”

And suddenly, Matt (Goss) as if on cue, veered right, off the course, out of the race after five circuits of City Park.

Gossy, the boss, was born in Launceston and part of the world cycling scene.

Like Porte, Wes and Bernie Sulzberger and before them Danny Clarke and Michael Wilson they have lived and worked in Europe and come home.

And how good did home look last Sunday?

We continued to mooch our way through town and finally home to quiet, sun-drenched early evening where Australia was finally playing perfect cricket.

Glorious.

Home: Barefoot man atop stepladder ladder in shorts and singlet. Legs spread between landing rail and ladder handle.

“Can you come upstairs and give me a hand?”

Man is husband, who has decided that I am putting up our Christmas tree, which is stored in our ceiling, up a steep set of hard, timber stairs.

After 29 years he knows instinctively that this will be the Christmas I don't put up the tree … UNLESS I'm pushed.

This will be the year I leave the Christmas cds hidden in the wardrobe and this will be the Christmas I don't order turkey or ham.

This is the year, the first time in 34 such years, that none of our children will be home for Christmas.

Work and exotic, hard-earned holidays will be our three children's fare this year.

He knew that I would procrastinate and avoid the tree, until I collapsed into smelly heap of self pity dung, too late to build any Christmas spirit.

So, at the top of the stairs I found him. It would have been a nasty fall.

Instead, he carried the box downstairs, brought out the decorations and put on Ella Fitzgerald.

I've decided to fly home to my mum on Christmas Day and ladder man will be enjoying the company of dear friends.

Suddenly it feels like Christmas.

Get out and build as much Christmas spirit as you can…it's one of the good guys.