The strange melancholy of being homesick at Christmas.

Last night my little family of three dragged our Christmas tree out of the basement and decorated it with our assorted collection of baubles to the sound of my Christmas themed Spotify playlist.

As I watched my six-year-old gleefully place the angel on the top of the tree I felt a deep sense of joy at being part of a happy family, coupled with a familiar sadness at being so far away from my extended family and homeland at Christmas.

While I love all that my adopted Aussie home offers such as a mild climate and great beaches, there are some things I will always miss as a Pommie immigrant; being close to family and old friends during the festive season is possibly the biggest.

The simple act of putting up our Christmas tree whilst I sweated it out in a pair of shorts and listened to the parakeets in our backyard transported me back to the many versions of the same event in my Sussex, United Kingdom, based childhood.

My little sister and I would squeal with delight as we visited the local farm shop with our Mum and Dad to choose the perfectly shaped tree. We would then race home with the car smelling of pine needles to retrieve a handful of musty boxes from the loft and laugh at all the hilarious homemade snowmen and 80s decorations that were lovingly re-hung year after year.

I realise now how lucky I was and that thanks to my loving family, Christmas was a purely joyful time of family, food, presents, TV show specials and board games. I remember thinking it was strange that my Mum would get a bit teary on Christmas Day as in my childish zone of chocolate based happiness, I could not understand why you might feel upset! Now, of course, I completely get it.

Christmas for adults and especially those with kids is a time to look back at the long line of Christmases that went before; the people that we celebrated with and the familiar places we may have been.

There was the Christmas I vomited due to an over consumption of cashew nuts, there was the one time my sister and I got up in the night with a torch and went downstairs to see if Santa had been, there was the feeling of waking up with a full stocking at the foot of my bed and the joy of pulling out the cute little gifts, one by one. There were all the Christmases we had a full turkey dinner with my long departed and much loved Grandma and Nan. There were the teenage Christmas Eves hanging out with friends at the local pub and subsequent smoky-smelling hair and hangovers.

Looking back at those happy ghosts of Christmases past, I can see just how precious those memories are and will continue to be in my future.

These days with a son and another baby on the way, my priority is to make our Aussie Christmases in our own home as fantastic as mine were. I want to create traditions and memories that I hope my son can laugh and look back at fondly in his future. I will, of course, try my best not to let him see my occasional yet inevitable festive tears.

Over the last 15 years living in Australia, I have come to know and love a lot of fellow immigrants and having this community of others who have a chunk of themselves missing is a big source of comfort, especially at Christmas.

It helps to know that I am not the only one feeling homesick and that there are plenty of us gulping down the emotion (along with a chilled glass of Pinot Gris) while watching Love Actually and wishing that we could put on a knitted scarf and pop down the road to give our parents a big festive hug rather than a Skype call.

If you are lucky enough to celebrate Christmas surrounded by all the people you love in a place of familiarity and joy then don’t begrudge anyone the odd festive tearful episode. It happens to the best of us and maybe we just need a little extra squeeze in lieu of the one we wish we could have or give our loved ones across the seas.