Let’s take a look back at the year that was – highlights and lowlights – and enjoy this holiday poem.

’Twas Christmas in Australia, the year twenty-twenty-five,
The pavlova was sweating, but we were still alive.
The kettle had boiled dry from yelling at the news,
As Canberra played musical chairs in taxpayer shoes.

We voted (again), with a sigh and a pen,
Promised relief by the usual men.
They spoke of inflation like it might just behave,
If we stared at it sternly and tightened the grave.

The budget came down with a confident grin,
“We’ve fixed it,” they said—then explained it again.
Tax cuts were floated, then parked, then delayed,
While Centrelink forms still needed a degree to be made.

Overseas, old Trump was back filling the screen,
Still orange, still loud, still oddly routine.
He promised, he warned, he tweeted (or tried),
While the rest of the world just leaned back and sighed.
Australia watched from afar with a beer,
Thinking, “Glad he’s not running the joint over here.”

At home we had moments both sombre and still,
The Bondi tragedy cut sharply and chilled.
Flowers on fences, quiet walks by the sea,
A reminder how fragile tomorrow can be.
Yet strangers stood kinder, less eager to fight,
Proving decency still turns up when it’s right.

The climate kept warming, the summers grew bold,
“Record-breaking” again—so we’re told.
We nodded like veterans, sunscreen in hand,
Recalling when summers were… slightly less tanned.

Technology promised to fix every flaw,
AI now writes things like poems (and more).
We nodded politely, unimpressed but aware,
That the TV remote still needs glasses to pair.

And through it all—birthdays, losses, and cheer,
Grandkids grew taller while we stayed right here.
We complained, yes we did—but we laughed just as loud,
And secretly felt rather lucky, if proud.

So raise up a glass—to the year that’s now gone,
To resilience, humour, and carrying on.
May next year be calmer, more honest, less mad,
With leaders who listen (a gift would be grand).

So here’s to ’25 — imperfect and loud,
A year that tested us, worried us, bowed us.
But didn’t quite break us — not this old crew,
We’ve seen worse headlines and politicians too.

Merry Christmas, dear friends—still standing, still wise,
Still rolling our eyes at political lies.
We’ve seen worse than this, and we’ll manage once more,
Now pass me the pudding—and turn off the news, I implore.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Starts at 60.