White Christmasses must be especially treasured by those who have actually experienced the magic of cool, clean winter air and a toasty warm home with lit fire and cheerful tones of cherry red and forest green woven throughout the house. Yet for those who have never experienced this special time and can only imagine, the power of Christmas imagery is perhaps even greater.

People who grow up in the southern half of the globe have a shared mental image of this Santa Claus - the one who rides with Rudolph and the other reindeer in a sleigh (on snow) ... occasionally airborne when necessary to cross vast areas and deliver the gifts on Christmas Eve. It's a beautiful image, the red suit and the glittering array of gifts piled up in the sleigh; a streak of vivid colour against the stark white of the North Pole winter.

Like so many children around the world, those living in the tropics, the desert regions or Mediterranean climates of the Southern Hemisphere still imagine they hear Santa's sleigh bells as they scan the night sky for a glimpse of his arrival.

That such an image can be maintained at all is a feat of both the power of individual imagination and the collective unconscious to keep Santa alive in places where he would keel over with heatstroke.

I can't speak for the rest of the Southern Hemisphere, but Australia at Christmas time is hot, humid and sticky enough that backsides regularly adhere to vinyl or plastic given half a chance to make direct contact. To contemplate a metal seat or bench would require heat retardant flesh of the highest order and you should always be prepared to be lightly scorched by your steering wheel each time you jump in the car.

Within this steamy environment, 'pretend' Santas perspire in shopping malls all throughout the land, sweat trickling down necks encircled with fur trim. We're used to it - but poor Santa is from the Arctic Circle.

So you're hot, Santa's melting and then comes the added element that makes Christmas in South Eastern Australia so distinctive in my mind: rather than snow, Santa is often treated to an impressive thunder and lightning storm which is sometimes accompanied by hail (can we count this as snow?). The dramatic weather changes do nothing to cool the heat of the evening and restless children toss and turn as they dream of Santa and try to find a cool spot for their faces on the pillow.

Sometimes, in a wave of independence and Aussie pride (it is a pretty nice place after all) someone will try to Australianise the Christmas tradition. Santa gets board shorts and packs the esky to take the reindeer off to the beach.

People who don't get snow at Christmas miss out on snowmen and snow angels. Yes, I know, it's a terrible thing. Even if Southern dwellers manage to find a point high enough and cold enough for snow in our June/July/August winter (and Australia does have such places), how could you possibly justify a snowman in June? Snowmen belong to Christmas, not to 'winter'.

It's a sad state of affairs.

Further jealousy centres on lakes that can be skated on and hills that can provide endless hours of sliding on sled-like things. I don't even have the word because such Christmassy delights are so far removed from my world.

Christmas is an important holiday with a feeling of grandeur about it despite the frivolity. Lovely coats and glamorous festive attire seems fitting as the Northern Hemisphere sits down to an elegant meal in a home fragrant with hot luscious foods.

It is much harder to feel the gravitas of Christmas dressed for summer heat in singlet and shorts and eating cold meats and salad.

Cold weather outside means cosy inside the house. The Christmas of roaring fires and toasting marshmallows does not exist down under - frankly, you would much rather an icypole. Dean Martin is never going to croon a seductive ballad if he can pull on a pair of boardies instead and go for a surf.

The Southern Hemisphere has its own magic, of course. All this consternation arises only when we try to import a northern European tradition into an entirely different environment.

The pretence of winter (sprayed whiteness onto the windows to symbolise snow, for example) and emulation of European traditions (a hot cooked meal) is beginning to give way to a relaxed acceptance that we live in very different places. The roast becomes a barbeque and snowman building becomes a refreshing trip to the beach .

Christmas is special wherever it's spent; ideally in the company of the people who matter to you most. But I still envy a White Christmas.