Bare Naked Ladies

In my coffee post last week, I mentioned a friend who had visited his then-new-girlfriend's family in Finland and experienced the horror of being expected to get naked and sauna with her family. The story doesn't tell whether he dropped his kecks or politely refused but nevertheless, the situation itself must have been hugely embarrassing, uncomfortable and awkward. All the things sauna is not meant to be. 

The rest of the world often views Scandinavians as sex-crazed nudists who believe in free love and fish roe. They are probably right. Finland is not part of Scandinavia so the rest of the world is entitled to this opinion - although we are partial to fish roe as well. And anyone who goes to a "Swedish sauna" has been conned - there is no such thing. Sauna originates from Finland, very much like Father Christmas. So there.

From an early age, Finnish kids learn that sauna is good for you, cleanses the body and mind, and nudity just comes as part of the package. And sauna is one place where you don't worry about your bits being flabby, big or small, you go to sauna just to "be".

We have several different types of saunas - wood burning (unarguably the best), electric, smoke (where you literally sit in a room of warm smoke) and plenty of others. In apartment buildings you often find communal saunas. You can pay for private use, normally an hour once a week, or you can go to what's called "lenkkisauna" referring to a sauna after excercise. They have a shift for women and a separate one for men but you still get naked in front of strangers and it's no problem. Public pools have large open shower rooms and saunas - if you try to enter the sauna with your swim suit on, you get reported for a crime against nudity - it's viewed as unhygienic and is a huge no-no. At cottages, Finns swim naked in view of all their neighbours. Not always a pretty sight but expected and accepted as part of the pro-nudity clause we all sign at birth.

Through time, sauna has had many different functions. In the old days, women used to deliver their babies in saunas, it being hygienic and had plenty of warm water. When people died, the body would be washed in the sauna before leaving it there for mourners to visit. Health treatments, like cupping (google it, it's crazy) would be administered in a sauna. To this day, there are sauna competitions, sometimes with fatal consequences, which still doesn't stop people trying who can stand the highest temperatures. You can cook on a sauna stove - mostly sausages, although this is not advisable in communal saunas unless you want the neighbours' wrath upon you. If you've ever used a sauna after someone has cooked sausages on the stove, you know that you come out not smelling clean and fresh, but of stale sausage fat. Not nice.

Sauna has always been a holy place, where you are expected to be quiet and respectful. And naked of course. Sauna is no place horseplay although you can sing in a sauna, but no running around or throwing water. Mostly you just sit in silence and reflect. You have a "löyly" which means throwing water on the stones and sitting the hot steam out. You go out for a break, most likely sip a Gin Long Drink whilst cooling down. In you go again, repeat "löyly", repeat break and Gin Long Drink. In the summer time, you swim in a lake if you can. Naked.  In the winter, you roll around in the snow if you can. Again naked. You may go back for a third "löyly", beat yourself with a "saunavasta" which is branches of birch tied together. Sounds crazy but smells divine and is meant to beat any illnesses out of you. A word of warning for your first time though, don't sit next to someone beating themselves with a "vasta", the air stream is scalding and you will move pretty quickly once it hits your skin.

After you've had enough "löyly" (this could be anything up to 10 times or even more for Finns - I am out of practice so normally settle for two) you put on something cosy and depending on the season either sit by a fire with your Gin Long Drink or on a terrace watching the sunset. Obviously with Gin Long Drink in hand. The peace and tiredness you feel after a good sauna session is something different. It's a physical tiredness which guarantees a great night's sleep, although the Gin Long Drink might give a helping hand with that too.

I believe every Finn grows up with the ambition of owning their own sauna. I haven't got there yet but in the words of the real Barenaked Ladies: "If I had a million dollars, I'd buy me a... sauna" And Dijon ketchup. 

Coffee or not to coffee?

Someone said to me years ago that the strangest thing he found about us Finns was not the mixed naked saunas (and he had experienced the horror of having to sauna with his then girlfriend's Grandma) but the social hold coffee has over the nation. In case you didn't know, the Finns drink most coffee per capita in the world. Surprisingly, Finland is also the tango capital of the world. I don't believe the two are linked as beer seems to work better on the tango front. But more about that later.

That said someone (you know who you are :) also explained to all non-Finns present that it was not unusual for a Finn to drive an hour to someones house without calling first and expect to be greeted by a smiling host with a plethora of baked goods and strong coffee ready and waiting in case someone happens to drop by. Not sure if in this age of mobile technology that is still the case - perhaps you would send a txt or Facebook them first but you sure as hell would still expect the baked goods and coffee.

My 95-year-old Grandma can't get her head around neither my brother nor I drinking any coffee. Surely we must now drink coffee, since our last visit three days ago. Surely you have been fixed, you broken children?! Coffee is the corner stone of Finnish society. What about "Koskenkorva" I hear you heckle. Yes, that too, but more about that while we tango.

Coffee culture in Finland is rife albeit very serious business. Never would you linger in cafes on pavements for hours like the Parisians or buy super-sized Colombia Supremo Valley of Gold blend with a shot of vanilla syrup and whipped cream on the side like the Americans. It's filter coffee all the way in Finland and preferably those aforementioned baked goods on the side. Cafes are often small family run businesses and also serve light salad and soup lunches. The cakes and pastries take the pride of place, are delicious and served throughout the day. It's acceptable to dig into a piece of toffee cake or a slice of blueberry pie at 10am as long as it's served with cup of coffee so strong that the spoon stands up on its own. You would go to a cafe to meet friends or to read the papers, very much like the rest of the world, but you still would not linger - the procedure is short and sharp. You have your coffee and cake, you find out the gossip and off you go - maximum half an hour should be spent on this event. If you want to sit around for hours and put the world to rights, you go to a bar and buy a beer. Or eleven. A Finnish cafe is no place for meandering.

The only exception to the above rule is an outside cafe normally situated in the town marketplace - normally called 'Torikahvila'. I grew up when the summers were long and hot and the occasional trip to town would always involve a stop at Torikahvila to see who was about on their holidays. Us kids would share a bottle of pop and a doughnut which we would promptly feed to the little birds flying about whilst the adults chatted, hugged and smiled a lot more than normal. Torikahvila is a happy place where you can take your time and meet the people you want to see but who you don't wish to make an impromptu weekend visit to your cottage to catch up. Think of it as the town's living room perhaps. With sunshine. Although this has changed slightly  from my childhood as the Torikahvila now also operates at night after bars close. I should imagine there is still a lot of chatting but the hugging either leads to fistfights or sex. Or both.

In London I didn't feel my life was any less fulfilling without coffee than anyone else's. Granted, I may have filled the void with Sauvingnon Blanc but the only time I ever missed coffee was when smelling it freshly ground and you don't come across that too often in pubs. But now in Finland, I feel a social outcast for not drinking the black stuff. If I give in to the (national) peer pressure and start drinking coffee just to fit in, am I being a mug? Or is it a necessary evil to integrate in to the society and to go from a has-bean to a brew friend?

To the manor born... or just bad manners?

For a society as obsessed with good manners as the British nation is, they can be pretty badly behaved. Newspapers (and I use this term loosely as I mainly mean the Daily Mail) are full of stories of half naked Brits, drunk on sunshine and Stella, causing havoc and making their country proud. I am fully aware that often the people in the headlines also have an annual pass to visit certain Mr Kyle, which thank goodness is still only a fraction of the nation. The rest of us just sit back and enjoy the show. So are the Finns any different? Let me tell you that the only time I have ever seen a respectable and professional looking middle-aged lady drink vodka straight from the bottle on the street at 10am was in Tallinn. And she was Finnish. So guess the answer is no.

Initially one of the best things about British culture to me was the art of small talk. I used to love hearing people chatting to each other in the street, asking random people how they are, calling strangers "love" or "darling". It felt nicely personal and taking part made me feel integrated. Then I realised that no one really gives a shit about what the other person answers. British small talk is literally all mouth and no trousers. Still, it makes for an harmonious public environment, even if it's all an act. Saying "please" and "excuse me" may be good manners but do manners maketh man?

Having spent some time around young adults or older teenagers - however you view 17-year-olds - recently, I noticed how self conscious the Finnish kids are about chatting to anyone. They skulk about, hiding under their long fringes and woolly beanies, avoiding eye contact with anyone. They walk in and out without saying hello or goodbye - I always make the point of embarrassing them into saying both. I must admit that my interaction with their British peers has been somewhat limited but the ones I have met, have been polite, friendly and open (with the normal self confidence issues that may come with a few spots and a broken voice). Even the rowdy George Green "after school club" meeting outside the newsagents on Manchester Road would say "excuse me" or "sorry" and make way if they saw someone struggling through the crowd. They may have been planning to rob you afterwards but at least they displayed good manners to your face, like true Brits. 

So why this shyness of social interaction bordering on rudeness in Finnish teenagers? All I can think is "To the manor born". Traditionally kids should not be seen or heard in the Finnish society. Kids should be kept confined between the walls of school and home, not to be taken out even on special occasions in case the rest of the nation disapproves. A bit like Vulgaria in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang minus the Child Catcher. So is it any wonder that by the time they are 17, Finnish kids lack basic social skills and feel awkward in normal every day interaction with strangers. This is not to say that their parents have not taught them manners or that they are rude by nature, merely that they have not been set expectations in how to behave and what image to project whilst meeting people. Perhaps this reduces the amount of pressure kids these days are under. Or perhaps it puts them at a disadvantage in this international world we live in.

Those of you who know me well, know that I can be talkative, engaging and relatively social. Those of you who know me very well, know that I have to work at all of the above as it does not come to me naturally. I was once a Finnish teenager after all. But I refuse to oppress my child's spirit in order to conform to the expectations of the Vulgarian nation. I can't see anything but advantage in taking her to restaurants, theatre and giving her life experiences from an early age. She is already a rounded world citizen and is well versed in small talk. Some may say I am putting her up to be a prime target for bullying at school - she will be different to the other children and we all know how much children love picking on someone "different". Whilst I obviously don't wish this for my child, I hope that she will have the foresight and strength of character to carry on her British heritage and keep her upper lip stiff through it all. And always say "please".

There is no translation in Finnish for "small talk". The nearest I can think of is a phrase for "chit chat" which is an entirely different thing. But it is obvious that as we mature as people, we do lose some of the self consciousness we possess as teenagers and actually start feeling more comfortable chatting to other people, we may even go as far as enjoy it especially if talking about other people. I met an elderly gentleman the other day, a total stranger to me, and we ended up chatting for half an hour. Had I been in the UK, we would have spoken about the weather, government and immigration. Being in Finland, we spoke about the weather, Russians and how much debt his neighbour was in. Smaller circles, bigger gossip. 

 

If British small talk is all mouth and no trousers, then Finnish chit chat is all envy and no compassion. Bad manners? Maybe, but when you have no small talk, all is left is gossip. All the way to the manor born.

Who's gonna drive you home tonight?

At the grand old age of 37, I have finally decided to learn to drive. For the past 6 weeks, I have sat in a classroom with ten 17-year-olds every Tuesday and Wednesday evening, learning theory. They must think I am ancient and wonder why I never got my licence when I was young, willing and able. Little do they know that I am still willing and able, just not so young.

My Mum doesn't drive and after my parents separated, we never had a car. So if I had gone through driving school when I was 18, it would have meant finding the money to pay for a licence and also to buy a car so I thought I would wait. Didn't think I would wait 20 years and still have the same problem but never mind - the thought of walking around in -30c is enough to forgo our next holiday to fund a car purchase.

Living in London, you don't need a car. Say what you will about public transport but it does get you around and is often easier than driving - when it's working at least. The only time I ever missed having a car was when food shopping but the again, with the Ocados of the world, that needn't be a problem either. Of course having a car makes your life easier but I never felt it was too difficult without one either, it's just something you get used to. I am guessing that if you have been used to having a car and then no longer have one, it would be more traumatic, like misplacing your iPhone or missing a limb. Well, that is one and the same really.

I did have a moment of blind panic during my first driving lesson. I was asked to turn right at a junction and suddenly I had no idea which side of the road I was meant to drive on. Not ideal, I understand, but let me explain myself. I never realised  how conditioned to the London commuter rules I had become - we all know that we walk on the left hand side of the escalator, stand on the right. The escalators themselves go up on the left and down on the right. You go in through the left of revolving doors and emerge out on the right. Well, it's the opposite in Finland - and the rest of Europe I should think. So I have managed to annoy several people walking around town, passing them on the wrong side or walking straight into them when trying to go up the wrong side of the escalators. This makes me think that the police and my future fellow drivers may be beyond annoyance should I have another brain fart and not know which side of the road I am supposed to be on. At that point knowing the road sign for reindeer is not going to do much good.
 

Which makes me think - perhaps I am only just willing and not able - and definitely not young. And perhaps I should just stick to Driving Miss Daisy.

No smoke without fire

Finally my musings continue...

Finns love a fag. They are everywhere. Smoking hot, even in freezing cold, sleet and snow. Everyone smokes. Kids, grandads, builders, office workers - you name it, they smoke it. Given the drinking culture in London, I would expect more of my friends there to sneak out for a cigarette after a few too many G&T's but I honestly can't think of more than two people I know in London who smoke and even they only do so occasionally. Here you can't seem to get away from the (filthy) stuff.

The topic of smoking in your own back yard or private balcony has long dominated the local newspaper columns with smokers obviously ranting about their right to do whatever they please in or outside their own home and the anti-gang raving about the dangers of passive smoking and the disgusting smell. Having grown up in a smoking family, it's no surprise to me that neither my brother nor I have taken up the habit. I tried so hard to like the taste but trying a cigarette twice in my life was twice too many. And don't worry, I am not going to get on my high horse and start shouting health warnings and attaching photos of cancer ridden lungs here - each to their own. Anything can give you cancer these days. But living in a block of flats and having smokers as neighbours is pretty annoying. The smell does get in, and I can smell it in my lounge. So much for the right to do whatever you please in your own home.

Cast your mind to 1998. Or if it doesn't stretch that far, even 2004. Remember walking in to a bar and thinking "It smells like a brewery in here"? No, didn't think so. The wall of grey cigarette smoke would greet you at the door like an old friend, masking any vomit inducing smells lurking in the floorboards and on the slightly sticky tables. And once you emerged back out in the real world, your old friend would catch a lift with you and stay overnight unless you showered in industrial strength soap when you got home. The smell of stale cigarette smoke must be one to of the most awful smells to wake up to. That and vomit. 

These days you can indeed smell the spilled beer when you walk into a pub. Those of you familiar with the grand establishment that is the Henry Addington at the Wharf will know that when the pungent stench of spilled Stella mixed with the aniseed aroma of Sambuca hits the back of your throat as soon as you walk in, it can make you nostalgic about the good old days before the smoking ban. But in the one day of summer London gets every year, when everyone wants to enjoy their Pimms outside while working on their non-existent tans, it's the smokers that win the battle and the rest of us just have to swallow the smoke. But when it's -30c in Finland and the smokers put on their ski wear, gloves and hats to enjoy their nicotine hit outside in their smoking "prison", I can't help but feel that the non-smokers have won the war.

What goes around, becomes a round...

The interesting thing about buying a round is that everyone has an opinion or a style. Some people are overly generous, always treating others. Others never buy a round (you know who you are). I would argue that, alongside the dying breed of red telephone boxes, the old Bill (not Bobbies, note fellow Finns), the Crown Jewels and Prince Harry's Ginger Nuts, buying a round is somewhat of a British institution. 

Us Finns are not a tight nation - we are careful with our money but do splash out on important things in life, like a kilo of cloudberries picked by half of Thailand or a new corner sofa every 25 years. But when it comes to buying drinks, Finland becomes not-so-much-every-man's-land but each-man's-land-is-his-own-land-land. Growing up, we would painstakingly pay for our own drinks, one by one, queuing up at the bar, waiting for our turn. If you paid for someone's drink, they would owe you their newborn. So understandably it took a while to get my head around the etiquette of buying drinks in the UK. 

Being a single girl about town, you don't have to go thirsty in London. Being a single au pair girl about town, you definitely won't and won't want to go thirsty in London. Drinks are expensive, men cute (although rather short, as was my first impression) and every penny counts - there is always some friendly soul somewhere who is willing to part with his hard earned cash to ensure your rehydration. Unlike Finland, where you owe a man a newborn or at least a night of passion if he should put his hand in his pocket and buy you a Gin Long Drink, in London it seemed the norm. Guys would happily chat to you and buy you a drink and if you did not want to chat any longer, no problem, one of you would move on. Or you both would, together. Those were the days when you could go out with a £10 budget and come home with the same amount. Result. 

Once I graduated from just going out on a Saturday night to actually meeting friends in a pub, the rules changed. If you were a part of a couple going out with the other couples, the men paid. If you were in a mixed group, the men in couples paid for more rounds than the singles of either sex. If your were just singles of either sex, you took it in turns to get rounds in. It was acceptable not to take part in rounds if you were skint and just got your own tap water. It was not acceptable to take part in rounds and leave when it was your turn. It still isn't (you know who you are). 

I remember trying to introduce this groundbreaking idea of buying a round in Finland. I deeply offended an aunt who took it as I didn't think she could afford a drink - kind of the same principle as tipping in Finland, deeply offensive because you are just being flash with your cash and think you are better than the person serving you (who most likely makes the same amount you do). I have managed to get parts of the family comfortable with the concept and it works, but it still goes against the grain slightly. It's like not asking for a separate bill for each diner at the end of your meal, it's just natural. 

Also - buying rounds in the US does not work. It's all well and good to be friendly and nice, go to the bar, order a round of drinks and then everyone has to collect their own and show their ID. Kind of takes the shine out of the whole thing. Not that you buy rounds to be popular. Much. 

Nowadays, buying rounds is a given. You go out, you buy them, you take part in others. No-one makes notes or keeps tabs but still everyone is aware if you have not bought a round for ages and continue to accept drinks, or if you are constantly buying drinks and not accepting others'. You either got a great bonus or don't have any friends.... And if you don't buy one, you definitely won't have any friends. 

United Nations

Finland, Finland, Finland,

The country where I want to be,

Pony trekking or camping,

Or just watching TV.

Finland, Finland, Finland.

It's the country for me.

You're so near to Russia,

So far from Japan,

Quite a long way from Cairo,

Lots of miles from Vietnam.

Finland, Finland, Finland,

The country where I want to be,

Eating breakfast or dinner,

Or snack lunch in the hall.

Finland, Finland, Finland.

Finland has it all.

The words of mighty Monty Python got me thinking about what it is that I am seeking and hoping to find in Finland. During our latest visit I was looking for signs to confirm I was making the right decision moving and signs galore I got. The yellow carpet of kanttarelli mushrooms all over the forest floor relatively early in the season. The abundance of sweet wild strawberries and home smoked muikku. The refreshing taste of Gin Long Drink. Being able to wash the sweaty, long journey from London off in a clean, cool lake. Life seemed so much simpler - good local home cooked food, clean air and water and a rested soul. They say grass is always greener on the other side but in this case it really is, several shades. 

Don't get me wrong, I am aware I view Finland through my sentimental rose tinted glasses most of the time. Every day life is every day life wherever you are and I am sure writing this blog in six months' time when it's -30c outside and I need to make the life threatening trip to the corner store to get provisions, you may find my glasses in the bottom of the bin. But still, as long as the shop doesn't run out of Heinz baked beans, I am sure we'll be just fine. 

I am sure to hold on to some of the British traits I have assumed and adopted - the art of small talk (which is non existent in Finland...), complaining about service when there is a need but also praising service when it's deserved, saying sorry when bumping in to people (take note Finns!). But I am also looking forward to being around people not feeling like you have to make small talk - being comfortable with silence, not getting wound up about little things and remembering that perhaps sometimes it's just not worth it and living with 'only' five million other people in a country the same size as the UK and most likely not bumping in to many of them. 

I surely won't miss the long working hours I have endured during my career in London. The long commutes and the haggard faces of London's workforce. I am happy to step away from the every day drinking culture - I have already received a bunch of flowers and a card from my liver for that one. I hear my internal organs are planning a party to celebrate the lack of pollution and "I'm too tired/lazy to cook, let's get a take away" meals. All in all, I am hoping for a cleaner, healthier body and mind. And plenty of Gin Long Drink. 

During our recent visit to Helsinki I was pleasantly surprised by how friendly people were, stopping to chat to Emma and myself, recommending places to visit, things to do. Granted, they thought they were talking to tourists from London and I didn't have the heart to correct them. And one of them was drunk. At 8am. And it wasn't Andy McCoy. It was reassuring to receive good service in a restaurant despite the fact that I subjected the other diners to a presence of a child. I heard the collective gasp when Emma and I walked in at 7pm on a Friday to a pretty posh restaurant but by the time we'd devoured our delicious meal, I'd received plenty of agreeing nods and smiles to confirm that we were in fact ok and accepted. And that they would not report me to social services for having a glass of wine with my meal in front of my kid. At least I hope they didn't. 

I guess what I am hoping for is to have the best of both worlds and nations - they say there is no such thing as a free lunch but I disagree. Pick mushrooms and berries, catch a fish, milk a cow and there you have it. A free lunch. May need to pay for the Gin Long Drink though. 

Language matters

I loved my sixth form English teacher. He was known for being very strict and having very little patience for any clowning around. He was feared by many and could put people on a very awkward spot at times but I loved attending his classes - why? Because I was always good at English - even if I say so myself. 

I remember getting my first English book at primary school - I read it from cover to cover that day. I remember the illustrations, photos of London which I oooh'd and aaaah'd at - especially the image of shop displaying a sign "drug store" caused a lot of confusion - "What? You can buy (illegal) drugs in a shop in England?" How I knew what illegal drugs were at 9 years old, I am not sure.

Growing up I had over 120 pen pals around the world - in the time internet forgot - and used to diligently write hundreds of letters every week, mostly bonding over our mutual love of boy bands. I could recognise someone's nationality by their handwriting - a skill I am proud of to this day - but also picked up a lot of colloquialisms which were absolutely helpful when I moved to London. The English are proud of their Queen's English - shame more of them do not speak it! 

When I first arrived, of course there were moments of embarrassment of using the wrong word in a context - like telling someone the Finns eat suede instead of swede at Christmas - he did look at me funny.  I was always getting 'he' and 'she' muddled up - in Finnish we do not express gender, everyone is 'a person' or plain old 'it' - we like to keep it simple. Also remembering to say please every given moment is alien to most Finns. We can dress our demands up with perhaps 'could you...' or 'may I'  but short and sharp 'give me...' or 'I want...' is deemed sufficient in most situations. So forcibly remembering the ever present 'please' took a while to come naturally  - now it gets me funny looks in Finland as I seem to be unable to stop myself from uttering it every two words! 

Like looking in the mirror after a big night out :)

But the ultimate "Honey I'm home" moment was when I started to dream in English. Guess at that moment you brain sort of gives up trying to translate everything from one language to another and says 'sod it, let's go with the majority vote'. I am hoping this also works in reverse, given that I am currently fluent in English and speak a second language of Min-nish which my relatives find hysterically funny - comparisons to Andy McCoy are frequent and not completely undeserved either. (Just for the use of language, not looks - I hope!) 

Currently I am flipping between utter elation of not having to go to work and major panic about moving my whole life to another country where I have only ever done bar work. As much as I enjoyed pulling pints when I was 18, I much prefer drinking them now and am hoping to utilise my experience and language skills in order to find a professional job in Finland, even without a university degree.  Surely working in English for 16 years must count for something. Fingers crossed. 

I am still in touch with some of the 120 pen pals - and yes, we still bond over our mutual love of now-man bands... And I still get 'he' and 'she' mixed up which Emma finds very funny - "Mummy you called him a girl!!" And I forget the occasional word, like "What's a stick with a brush at the end of it called?" That would be a broom. Perhaps I should kiss the TEFL qualification goodbye... 

London calling... 16 years ago

16 years is a pretty long time. Let's face it, after the first 16 years of my life, I thought it was the longest time ever and meant that I was a proper grownup and really, really could be trusted to travel through Europe with my best friend. (Funnily enough my mother agreed - she must've been mad!) But it's true, the older you get, the quicker time passes and right now, the eve of my return to Finland, it seems like the last 16 years in London have been a blur - and not due to the amount of alcohol consumed, I hasten to add. Or perhaps a little. 

I had never been further away than Stockholm or Tallinn before getting on a plane to come to London for my au pair year. I met a man at the airport who I'd never even seen a photo of and got in a car with him to travel to my new home. Wouldn't happen in this day and age - or it might, but you would read about it in the Daily Mail the day after. I was lucky enough  - that he was not a mass murderer,  but also that I ended up staying with a lovely family for two years. The Prossers have a very special place in my heart - a wonderful, warm family with two incredible parents whose parenting skills I admire very much but who also felt like friends as well as employers. The hours spent with Elise watching Eastenders (yes I blame her) and the look on Stew's face when I made a very unintended racial slur without understanding the impact (which he carefully and patiently explained to me, thank goodness). The kids, Emily and Luke at the time with a later addition of Miles who lives in the Tardis, whose lives I love following via the ever faithful social media and who in turn make me feel extremely old just by their own being! 

There are so many "first"s I have experience during my life here, so many places I have visited and so many good friends I have made. From every job I have had, I have made at least 2 or 3 lifelong friends, from every visit I have a fridge magnet or two - it all adds up. I am the first person to say "London, how I love thee" - for the (in my case, dodgy) live music, theatre, buildings and the buzz. Unfortunately these things only make half a happy little person. The schooling, housing and generally awful benefits structure mean that I have to take Newsweek's word for it and relocate myself and mini-me to Finland. This is not to say I believe Newsweek about everything but any article praising Finland is generally true. 

So I quit my job and now it's phase 2 - actually sorting, arranging, organising and thinking my plan through. Shit. I really haven't thought my plan through. But never mind - we're off to the US for our holidays! 

Ps. When I come knocking on your door for handouts, please forget about the US holidays comment.