Christmas in Paradise is probably one of the oddest things I have ever experienced. For the few days running up to Christmas, Santa Claus could be found regularly wandering around the shopping precinct in Caville Mall handing out presents to passers by while wearing a tiny pair of shorts and showing off two scantily clad blondes on each arm. I wonder if Mrs Claus knows about this. If Santa wasn't on show in the precinct, he was usually zooming up and down the local roads on a motorised sleigh at a hell of a speed booming "Ho Ho Ho" through a megaphone and with the blondes holding onto the back for dear life. Then, on Christmas morning, he was in the lobby of my hotel surrounded by queues of children either waiting to thank him for their gifts, kick him in the shins for not leaving the right colour Pokemon under the Tree, or get in early for next year. The Dads in the queue were probably there to see if they could borrow his girlfriends.

If you think any of this sounds a bit on the surreal side, then you've probably not heard about the local Meter Maids. Introduced in 1965, these girls are employed by local businesses to walk around feeding the parking meters for people so that visitors don't get stuck with a parking fine while visiting their town. Originally, this was a bit of a gimmick but has become so popular that they can still be found here walking about with bags of coins paying everybody's parking for them. The Meter Maids are not exactly difficult to miss, either, as their uniform consists of a big floppy cowboy hat, a tiny bikini which covers virtually nothing, and a smile! This is Paradise, so why do things by the book?

All the shops are open here on Christmas Day as far as I could tell. A particularly nice touch was that Shooters decided to open their doors in the evening for those of us who were away from home at Christmas, and offered a Christmas Dinner and the opportunity to chat each other up over mince pies. Not least because my hotel wanted sixty-seven dollars for a Christmas meal, I decided to join this "orphan's night" at eight o'clock, figuring that things would be just starting to get going. Upon walking through the door, however, I was immediately grabbed by a very enthusiastic girl with very healthy boobs who was in the process of swinging all the men around the room whether they liked it or not.

Shooters is less of a Night-club and more of a Saloon Bar. Around the periphery of the bar are rooms full of Pool tables, games machines and couches on which to chill. The main room had a certain Wild-West saloon feel about it, with lots of wooden beams and upended tables - although I'm not altogether sure the upended tables were part of the design. Although there was a small area where people end up creating a sort of impromptu dance floor, the emphasis seemed to be much more on standing around and chatting each other up - which does seem to be in line with the Australian philosophy of being as friendly and sociable as possible at all times. I liked the atmosphere very much.

At the door, today's thug of the day was, as I had predicted, different from the one that wouldn't let me in the other day. This one looked at my passport and told me "Strewth, Fair Dinkum you're thirty? Onya Mate". I think this is good. I must remember to have it translated.

The rain continued throughout Christmas, until this morning when the sun came out and it was suddenly back to feeling like I'm sitting in an oven. At least when it was raining I could go out and, although the heat wasn't any less intense, the rain would keep me cool.

This morning the hotel mysteriously decided to put on a display of Polynesian dancing around the pool, followed by a live singer in the bar. I'm not altogether sure what Tahitian dance has to do with either Christmas or the Gold Coast of Australia, but it involved more beautiful women in grass skirts than I am legally entitled to refuse, so I went along and spent my last morning in Surfers looking forward to Polynesia, which, alas, I will not be reaching for some time yet...

About Simon and Burfords Travels:

Simon Burford is a UK based travel writer. He will be re-publishing his travel blogs, chapters from his books and other miscellaneous rantings on these pages over the coming weeks and months, and the entry on this page may not necessarily reflect todays date.