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.