No, Do It Yourself.

The 4 year old I look after was crying for an hour when she was left with me and her lovely lovely mummy and daddy went off to work.

An hour.

She had spent the entire journey from the breakfast bar through the lounge, to the foyer, putting her shoes on, putting her coat on, ascending to the car, then driving to school crying and asking for literally anyone except for me - her old minder, mummy, daddy, gran, her godfather - after an hour of this, she calmed down a bit. I asked her what the problem actually was.

'You make us do things, and unpacking my lunchbox is too hard!' She stuttered through the sobs.

I tried to stifle my initial response of 'aww diddums, suck it up buttercup. Life is full of things we don't want to do,' and instead countered with 'Oh, I didn't know that was such a problem, I can help with that, that's what I'm here for.' 

I hope it was believable.

You bet your ass I make her do things. My entire training in life and as a teacher has bred an obsession with creating kids who are capable of cleaning up after themselves, who are self-sufficient and independent.

Part of this is slightly selfish - if they don't do it, then I have to, and I didn't do 5 years of tertiary education to happily play maid. But it's also just creating a 'normal' where kids know that it is their job to look after themselves and if they make a mess, they need to clean it up.

This kid enjoys being babied. She loves having a house full of people who dote on her. This is her normal. It is not my normal, I actual expect her to do things herself. I find it unfathomable that she doesn't want to. 

However, mum sides with daughter, and I'd like to keep my job. So instead it is me that must suck it up, buttercup.

I have always been obsessed with doing things by myself and fought for independence from a young age.

I was the eldest of 4. I demanded to do things 'by myself' from an early age, including dressing myself and doing my hair. My mum was elated she had one less to choose clothes for, do the hair of, pack lunch for or drop off to school when I decided that walking the 3km between school and home at age 8 was a super-great idea (although at that point, she was dropping my brothers off to the same school, so moot point on that one).

This was encouraged by both of my parents with things like being sent alone on a plane to visit one of my friends in Christchurch at the age of 5, and when I asked mum for help with calling church people for selling Girl Guide Biscuits at age 7, there was a firm but fair 'No, you can do it, they'd love to hear from you, not me.'



We were expected to make our own lunches from age 8ish, and were often left to walk home from school from a similar age, as there was 2 or 3 of us walking together normally, and it was a pretty safe area.

We often went for walks on Saturday afternoons, and if you wanted to bring a bag, that's fine, but you better believe you'll be carrying it yourself - what's the alternative? Mum or Dad carrying 4 bags plus their own, plus a child or 2? Oh nononono.

I got my drivers license as early as possible because I yearned for the freedom and independence that offered. My parents encouraged this by teaching me to drive from age 13 in car parks and such, buying me a car to learn in, fixing up said car, and turning a blind eye to my driving around by myself on my Learner's license for a couple of years.

Similar to my beloved first car, but mine was obviously cooler as it had 4 doors.

We read a book in Y12 (6th Form) called The Education of Little Tree, and it talks about an American Indian boy who lives with his grandparents, and he has a bunch of different encounters and how he learned life lessons from this. He gets jilted by a Christian, so from then on, doesn't trust anyone who is a Christian. His grandfather tells him about the idea of having two wolves inside of him, a good wolf and a bad wolf, and the one who wins is the one he feeds. His grandfather tells him he's going fishing the next day, and he dearly wants to come. His grandfather tells him that he's not going to wake him - if he wants to come, he needs to be ready at 5am. But then his grandfather also makes an exceptional amount of noise while he's getting ready the next morning.



We analysed a bunch of values that the book talks about: family, love, independence, discernment, intelligence, caring for nature, etc etc, and we were asked to rank them by order of importance privately then share with our classmates sitting next to us.

My list went like this:

1. Independence
2. Intelligence
3. Love
4. Family

My classmates all had either love or family first. 

Unaccustomed to not having the 'right' answer, this left me a little taken aback; I felt like a freak. 

But let me put this in a bit more context for you. 

My family had been blown apart 2 years earlier, April 2001, after finding out about my father's affair(s), the most significant of which resulted in him fathering a set of twins half way up the country. My parents had tried to work things out, but after 2 years of that, and a whole lot of other shit, my mum politely said 'This isn't working, please leave.'

In that 2 years, I had basically stepped up to be a quasi-parent. I spent a lot of time acting as confidant to my mum, and on occasion, also my dad, and when my mum got really depressed - suicidal I later found out - she went to Australia for a month to get her head right, and I was left as interim mum, doing all the housework cos my useless-as-fuck teenage brothers were far too busy watching TV to get off their arses and help me. 

I told my mum to kick dad out from the get go. I was so seethingly angry at his betrayal. She would counter with 'But what would I do by myself? I haven't had a job in 15 years.' 

I held her as she wept for her broken marriage, her broken dreams of happily ever after and our broken family. It was that moment that I vowed that I would never ever ever let myself get into such a vulnerable position. I would never not be able to support myself, or get myself into a position where I couldn't leave if I wanted to. I would have a career, I would have financial independence, and I would never ever be that woman. 

My mum was one of those martyr mums, happily suffering under the burden of motherhood. She strove for perfection and bent over backwards to make it so. She has always been an amazing cook, and every Friday, without fail, she cleaned the house for Sabbath. She has always had great attention to detail and had always done everything to the highest possible standards.

If this was what it meant to be a mother and a wife, then fuck that, I'd not be participating if all the thanks you get is betrayal and heartbreak as payment.

It was usually too much effort to get myself or my brothers to help with housework, so it was easier if she just did it herself. We were all pretty lazy, and totally took advantage of this.

All of this means I have weird hang ups about doing things for people, particularly housework, because I balk against the idea of being a subservient lowly woman, foolish enough to put in more time and effort than others.

To counter my natural people-pleasing bent of being helpful, and to ensure that I'm not the Little Red Hen, I'm obsessed with this idea that doing things for others will make me vulnerable to being taken advantage of, so I do just enough, exactly my fair share.

And I do a lot of score keeping.

This was most acute when I lived in our family home, with my brothers as adults. I felt the weight of expectation to keep the place clean, and live up to the high standards my mother had attained, but I also hated housework. However, my brothers hated it more, and would just leave it and leave it and leave it, so that eventually I would get so fucking fed up that I would do it, even though it wasn't my turn or my job.

This resulted in me balling my eyes out whilst vacuuming more than once.

'The house needs to be cleaned, and I'm the stupid fool who's willing to do it. I'm going to end up breaking my vow to myself and be the ridiculous person who ends up doing most of the work and being taken advantage of and walked all over.'

And obviously, all men are lazy pigs. (Since learned this isn't limited to men.)

I remember when I was 15, after a month of playing mum to my brothers and dad, and going on teen expedition to Marlborough Sounds, and my best friend offering to get something for me. I nearly cried. Someone offering to put in a little extra effort on my behalf so I didn't have to? And I didn't have to cajole or beg? It was so simple and so kind.

At that point, I couldn't remember that last time my brothers had willingly helped me with anything, or offered to put in more effort than was absolutely necessary. They certainly wouldn't go out of their way to help anyone, then. (We're speaking about when they were 13, 11 and 8. Thankfully they be lovely adults now.)

Around that time, I vomited in the middle of the night, and just missed the toilet, my dad got up to check on me, but at 4am he watched while he made me clean it up myself, his revoltion obvious. This is just the way of it, right? Obviously I was big enough and ugly enough to be doing that for myself. Is this what independence feels like?

Trying to walk the line between helping your kids and leaving them to do things for themselves so they feel empowered must be tough. I struggle with it and the kids I look after aren't even my kids.

Is it tough love or are you just being a dick?

So I started looking at myself and why I care so damn much about this.

I have known for a long time that the way that I was raised had some great parts and some not-so-great parts. I think the worst thing you can do when working with the next generation is assume the the way you were bought up was fine, and arbitrarily repeat that. Some parts of it need to be replicated, and other parts? Not so much. They need to be consigned to the annuls of history. 

I got to thinking about where this obsession with independence was coming from.

This fear of being taken advantage of lies at a juxtaposition of vehement independence - because other people can't be trusted - a healthy dose of feminism, a belief that to need help is weakness, and also 'treat em mean, keep em keen'. Obviously, if you're too nice to people then you create laziness in others and codependent relationships where they do not look after themselves, and then you end up resenting them because you're busy being a martyr and doing more than you signed on for. After all, how you interact with others, and what you say no to and what you allow them to do teaches them how to treat you, right?

There's some truth to all of that I think, but perhaps it is not the only truth.

After an hour of tears on 4 y.o's part, and a lot of self-doubt and questioning who I am as a person on my part, I was reflecting about why this 4 year old has so many problems with me and with emptying her own lunch box, a task that seems so amazingly small to me, yet huge to her. But I also wondered why I have such a abhorrence to emptying her lunch box for her - after all, I am paid to help her.

I think my nanny kids wishes I did stuff like this. Ha. No.

In my head I'm going 'What kind of namby pamby second rate citizens is all the mollycoddling going to create?!'

As a teacher, you can pick from a mile away the kids who are expected to help around home and those that aren't. Guess which ones are easier to teach? I don't want to be responsible for helping to create humans that are a pain in the arse in the classroom.

I tried bargaining with her - sure, I'll empty your lunch box - if you mop the floors? Fold the washing?

This just resulted in floors that were mopped in a half arsed way, and me being gently reminded by her mum that she might need help with her jobs.

This is not the first time I've encountered this in Ireland. Independence is not a virtue that is strongly fostered here. I've seen kids that look about 7 being pushed around in prams on Dublin streets. My nanny family seemed aghast when I suggested that there was more there kids should be doing for themselves, and presented them with some lists of 'norms ' for various age groups online.

3 and 4 year old children at creche - perfectly capable in my opinion - had parents put their shoes on for them, put their jackets on for them, and carry their bags for them.

I set about teaching all those kids how to do that all for themselves. I did not last long in creches here.

Is it possible that helping kids with their things actually creates helpful people?

In Ireland, the equation of helping and being kind and caring to children seems to create beautiful, kind, caring children, who are willing to do things for other people. 

This stopped me in my tracks.

Is it possible that doing things for other people - kids in particular - is actually just a manifestation of love, not weakness?

If you model kindness and caring, will that actually then just create kind and caring people? Not spoiled brats?

I think the answer is sometimes.

The binary is not quite that simple. The recipients of these loving acts of service, in my experience, will have one of two reactions:

1. They will copy this, as this is their normal, being kind and caring to others
2. They will then expect that others do everything for them

I think there's more power in kids attitudes and reactions to things than a lot of adults give credit to, and there will be a decision between one of the above two options for most kids, whether it be conscious or unconscious. For my family growing up, it seemed it was the latter for most things to do with housework. For my nanny family, there's an interesting mix of the two. 

My nanny family kids are lovely. They go out of their way to get things for each other, and take care of their siblings. They're kind to each other, they're good at taking turns and share things well. 

This new equation of cause and effect, and it having vastly different outcomes than I expected, has started to seriously challenge my beliefs around what is and is not OK, and how I should be interacting with these precious wee people.

All this thinking helped me to articulate something that has been unconscious for a long time:

I want to spare the kids I work with becoming like Peter.

Peter had a great many wonderful qualities, but he was a lazy fuck.

I was always the most willing to help out around the house, and Peter was always the least willing. Trying to get his lazy ass to do his weekly jobs was nigh impossible, and Steven and Brendon were hit and miss, but if Peter wasn't doing his, they wouldn't be doing theirs. Cleaning then became women's work, and not their problem. 

Peter's unwillingness to help permeated a great many areas of his life, and eventually also his mental health. He believed that anti-depressants were all he needed to be cured from clinical depression, and anything that involved incremental daily effort like healthy eating or exercise, well that didn't work that one day that he tried it, so obviously that was a waste of time. 

I think there could be a case for arguing that his laziness was ultimately a big factor in his demise, and because he was never forced to look after himself or anyone else in any meaningful way, he never created those habits for himself early, and thus when he NEEDED to look after himself, he couldn't. 

I do not wish that fate on anyone. 

It seems a ridiculous to answer 'Why should I have to empty my bag by myself?'
with 'Because if you don't, it might kill you.'

That is possibly a bit of a stretch.

But all of these things are the little building blocks of independence that enable one to eventually be able to look after oneself one day. 

Obviously, Peter's fate was a lot more complicated than that, and clinical depression is a unyielding task master, but a lack of discipline and a lack of willingness to help - even himself - was certainly a component, in my estimation. 

This fierce, biting, independence that I possess, that takes on a whole new level then. Independence that has depression, malaise and suicide as its alternative is very difficult for me to quell, or argue myself down from.

Being able to do things for yourself really does then become a matter of life and death.

Am I being unreasonable? Probably.

I also learned really early on as a teacher that if you do not get kids to pick up the rubbish off the floor of your classroom at the end of the day, there was then a social obligation to pick it up before the cleaner got there and saw it, and either gave you the disappointed look, or bitched about you to the other cleaners. No one wants to be that teacher. So I got to the stage where no one left any of my classrooms without a floor inspection, and no one was going home until it was spotless. This was true when I was relieving, even with 5 year olds. 

You better believe I am not cleaning up after you - but I will ensure that you clean up after yourself.

No, do it yourself.



See the other part of growing up with lazy arse brothers is that they would seldom to never do anything for you, which I then began to reciprocate because, well, get fucked if you think I'm doing anything for you, if you won't do the same for me. If I was foolish enough to ask Peter to get me a drink while he was up, the answer would usually be 'No, get it yourself.'

The constant laziness and teasing that I grew up amongst rubbed off, and while I've always been the kind of person who is happy to go above and beyond for people I care about, I curtailed that side of me - I didn't want to be the weak one, the one who was giving more than I was being given.

Is that what I want to be teaching my nanny kids? How do I find the line between do your share and take care of yourself and do only your share, take care of only yourself? 

I now need to somehow reign in all of this angst. 

I was talking to Jared about this, and he was saying that it was really hard to get me to do things for him sometimes, and that part of being married is doing things for people, like bringing them their keys when they forget them, or bringing them lunch when they forget that. 

I struggle with this, because my knee-jerk reaction is that 'If you were my child, I would not be dropping everything to bring you lunch. You would miss lunch as a natural consequence of your actions, and therefore hopefully not forget your lunch again.'

I think this stems from the idea that boundaries are strength. Being able to say No is a sign of someone who is strong and bad ass. 

This is what tough love looks like. 

Is this tough love? Or is that just being a bitch? 

Currently, these values spill out even when I'm trying to keep them in check. 

I've now managed to get to the stage where I can swallow my pride enough to help my little people if they ask nicely, but if they are all 'Lauren you have to do this', there will be an automatic 'Get Fucked Kid' look on my face, they will be told 'I am your minder, not your maid,' and I will walk away. 

Miss 4yo does not like this. Nanny Mum does not understand why this is such a big deal for me.

If kids can't do a bunch of things for themselves, is it fair of me to be expecting them to say please and thank you after Every.Single.Thing they need help with? Surely that's just part of the gig, Lauren.

But for me, independence is a life or death issue; fairly or unfairly.
If you can't be independent, then you better be asking nicely. 

Chatting it through with my hubby, I realised that perhaps I've been too harsh, and that there's some room for relaxing from these rules.

Another teaching truism: you can always become nicer, but it is harder to get meaner.

So now if I see my nanny kids struggling with 2 or 3 bags each, I offer to carry 1 thing for them.

I feel weak while I do this. Like my standards are slipping, and I am starting to be ruled by tiny overlords who boss me around, and I am now their pack horse/maid/taxi driver. I happily judged people like that up until now, and I feel like the esteem and pride I had in being a cruel-but-cool teacher fading rapidly.

But I'm working on re-framing it to:
'I am showing them how to see others struggles and lend a helping hand.  Share the load of life's burdens'

Maybe, eventually, I hope that will be believable to myself. 

Disclaimer: Shout out to my mum. She did an awesome job in raising us despite numerous challenges, mostly going it alone, and having an autoimmune disease. No one's childhood is perfect, and everyone has 'stuff' they need to grapple with even from the most balanced and amazing childhood. I think that grappling usually lasts for a long time and different things come up at different times. This is no way intended as an insult to my mum or anyone else in my immediate family. Just calling it how I remember it and grappling from there.

This has come up for me now because the Irish way of raising kids seems to be quite different to the Kiwi norm. Everything is worth questioning - and sometimes the answer is it was awesome and I'm gonna hold onto that, and sometimes the answer is I need to learn new ways of thinking, new paradigms, new talk moves, new ways of being and change my expectation of myself and others. 

1 Year

Today marks one year since we departed New Zealand.

Moving to another country is a tumultuous time, regardless of how near or far that country is.

Sunrise from Blackrock Train station over Dublin Harbour, just cos

It is also a time of opportunity, and a time of reflection. There's a whole new life to be crafted, which can be exhilarating and exhausting all at once.

In the last year, I've found myself asking questions like:

'Does this cutlery set resonate with me?' (Sure, it'll be grand, we just need forks)

'Do these coat hangers speak to me?' (Yes, they say that you should get lots so you can buy more clothes)

'Do I want to be the kind of person that is in a classical choir singing concertos and requires a full orchestra for accompaniment?'  (Turns out no)

'Is Extinction Rebellion too extreme, or the right amount of extreme? Am I that extreme?... Do I need to be that extreme? Does the planet need me to be that extreme?' (So out of my comfort zone, but feel I must)


'Who am I to help raise someone else's kids?' (Usually the right person)

'Is this the best use of my time/money/energy?' (It's usually a no to at least one of those, but sometimes you manage to abuse all three at once! - says she fresh from buying Tim Tams at Fallon and Byrne because it was the first time I'd seen them in a year)

'How many times is enough times to go to Northern Ireland before Brexit?' (Up to 5 and counting, but I don't think we'll get up before next Friday)

'Is it a form of elitism to drink only New Zealand wine?' (Probably)
'Is that a bad thing?' (Goodness gracious no - it is the best!)

So my final question to myself is what have I learned in the last year? And the answer is a lot.

10 Things I've learned since moving to Ireland

1. My sense of self is very vulnerable

How do you define who you are? By what you like? By the clothes you wear? The job you have? The food you eat? The people you hang out with? By what you choose to do with your spare time and spare money? What happens when nearly all of those defining factors are stripped away? Who are you then?

Who are you when those around you respond slightly differently than you're used to and treat you as different, foreign, an outsider?

Who are you when you can't either find or afford the clothes that you like? What about when you can't be employed in your vocation, the one that's consumed your life for the last 7 years?

What are you about if the food you eat tastes different, is hard to find, comes in packets a quarter the size you're used to and just generally isn't the same? (Alas, the answer is not miragically skinny.)

What if you have little in the way of spare time or money, or the things that you once loved to do aren't considered cool by the friends you currently have, or are just slightly too far away to do with ease?

Like panning for gold, there's still a heart with a bit of a shine in here somewhere, but the bedrock of my life feels like it has been sifted away, and I am left with a few specs of character, and values that stand out a bit in my current circumstances, and may or may not be judged as precious, by others or myself.

For better or worse, the process has been weird. I thought I knew who I was, and now I'm not so sure. It has, however, presented me with a bunch of opportunities to reflect on myself and go ooooohhh... am I really like that? Maybe that needs a tweak.

It has also been a lot of 'I just feel like no one gets me'.

Cept Jared, Jared gets me.

 2. New Zealand is even more awesome than I thought it was

Like Ireland, but with better systems for most things and a bit more of a sense of general urgency, better food, an awareness of the environment in every day life and subsidised health care. Oh and less winter.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Yes.

3. New Zealand really is THAT far away

Like I'd heard people talk about the 24 hours of flying... you get no change on 30 hours from Dublin to Whanganui including stopovers and it is JUST.SO.FAR. And we haven't even done the trip direct yet!  It is 18,600 km. The earth is 40,000km, it really is nearly as far away as you can get before you start coming back again.

In comparison, London is 1 hour away, France is a 2 hour flight, Czechia is 2.5 hours and Northern Africa is only 4!

You always hear that Australia was where they sent all the convicts.
I assumed that it was murders and dastardly people like that.
Nope. Mostly thieves. Like kids who stole an apple kind of thieves. 

4. History is a weird thing to have

We live in a city that has been a city for over 1000 years. I'm starting to get my head around that, but it's a really, really long time and it muddies the waters, and becomes an excuse for a bunch of stuff - obviously the roads are flooded, the drainage systems are ancient.

It has also been really weird but awesome coming to Ireland and hearing what are essentially first nation peoples having the dominant voice in the narrative of colonialism, and having that as the norm. It was really affronting at first, but it has really made me realise the validity of a lot of Maori voices in New Zealand that I had previously a bit dismissive of, or been apathetic towards.






5. I like to be in control of things (even) more than I thought

My current job I enact other people's parenting rules, expectations and standards. This is a very strange phenomenon, particularly given they're somewhat different to my rules, expectations and standards. Their ways have created some pretty awesome kids though, so I do not greatly mind, but it is really challenging vetting every word, deed and action through the filter of imagining What Would Their Parents Do??? And has made me question a lot of my personal and professional habits - are there different ways of doing that that render the same or better results?


6. Spare time is nice

Not really something I have participated in much since I lived in Laos, but it is nice to have spare time to do things like write and chill with my bae, do a James Bond movie marathon and fix the world should I so choose.


7. Sometimes you just don't know what you want

I marvel at the forthrightness of the 4 year old I look after. She knows exactly what she wants and will beat around no bushes telling you what it is.

I'm at a bit of a crossroads professionally, socially and in a few other ways, and I find myself in a quagmire of conflicting wants, with no idea which I should privilege.

The other part of this that I'm supposed to learn but haven't yet is that it's OK to not know what you want. Currently, I'm not OK with that.


8. Being an immigrant is weird

I don't really know about you, but my image of an immigrant is.... not me.

I've lived in other countries before, and this is not my first time as an outsider where everything from the light switches to the food to the accent to the rows of houses all in a row are a bit strange, but it's still different.

Their normal is not my normal, and basically, my normal doesn't count.

I didn't really expect much culture shock in moving to Ireland, but there's been juuuuuust enough to throw me. The values are different, the standards are different, the ways of doing things are different and 'talk moves' to get things done are also different, leaving me feeling a little lost sometimes.

To their credit, the Irish immigration system, if you're married, is super easy... after the palava of making an appointment and waiting for the appointment for 2 months

8a. I become uber patriotic when I live outside of New Zealand

The other strange part of being an immigrant is people are obsessed with where you come from, as if you're only personality trait is that you're from New Zealand.

I guess it's an easy talking point.


People expect that I will be able to converse coherently about rugby, and so I've felt I had to watch rugby this year for the first time since the last RWC so I know what people are talking about. This is not a problem as such, it's just that neither Jared nor myself ardently enjoy rugby, so it's been a bit weird caring about it so much all of a sudden.

I discovered RJs licorice in Fallon and Byrne this morning, and got stupidly excited when my suspicion of it being from NZ was confirmed. I also asked them to work on getting toffee pops and pineapple lumps, as if I eat them all the time. Like a child, I only want them because I can't have them.

In New Zealand, I'd eat pineapple lumps maaaaaybe once a year, and toffee pops.... OK that was more regular, I'll admit.

When I lived in Laos I owned shorts that had the NZ flag on them, and I also sported jandals with kiwis on them.


There's something about living outside of your country that means that you're an unofficial ambassador for your homeland, and I take this responsibility very seriously.

Conversely, I'm also working on perfecting an Irish accent, so I do not have to have the same conversation every time I meet someone new:

Oh where are you from? Australia?
Uh no. New Zealand.
Oh! New Zealand! Sorry! But it's so beautiful! Why did you move here?
Because, well, you can't go to France for the weekend from New Zealand.
Which part of New Zealand are you from? My (insert relative here) lives in New Zealand.
Whanganui
Where?
3 hours north of Wellington
Oooooh...


9. The Irish are good at many things, but systems are not one of them

Omfg.

From where the waiting area is in cafes to still using paper recording systems in some Government Departments to businesses that use cash only, to only being able to bulk buy fruit in prepackaged amounts to setting up a mail redirection for one month in June, and still receiving someone else's mail, that we should never have had redirected in the first place ... there are a great many things that I would change if I had any control over anything, but please come back to Number 5 - the aforementioned present lack of control over anything.

The part of this that grinds my gears the most is that no one seems to care about improving any of these systems. System failure is part of life anywhere, but it is a big part of life here. It just is, and that's how it's always been and that's how it always will be, and of course it's hard and doesn't make sense, it's Ireland, Lauren.

*insert head banging here*

10. Ireland is a lot like New Zealand, but without my peeps

People keep asking me if I'm loving it over here, and there are a great many parts that are wonderful, or very at least equally as wonderful as New Zealand (scenery, weather = Wellington-ish, skinny roads, English speaking, drive on the left, people generally like drinking and are easy going etc etc)

If I told you this was Petone Beach in Wellington, New Zealand, you'd believe me right?

Ireland? New Zealand? Who can tell?

But for me, the people make the place.

He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.

It is the people, it is the people, it is always the people, it has always been the people.

Adult friendships take a lot of time to develop and everyone is always busy forever. We've made some connections, but also just been so sick so often that we've had to bail on a lot of stuff.

I miss being able to go to any city in the country and having people to hang out with.

I'm obviously working on a Europe-wide network, but not quite there just yet. And my friends, the Whanganui crew in particular, are pretty irreplaceable.

So I'm super excited for Northern Hemisphere summer when many of them are coming this ways to visit!


If 2019 was the year of finding our feet, 2020 is the year of finding our crew. Some of that precious spare time will need to be forsaken, and hobbies embraced. But not a fancy flutey choir.  It does not bring me enough joy to sit still for 2 hours. After much thought, it turns out that is not who I am or what I'm currently about.

And you, faithful reader, what have you learned this last year? What are you intentions with 2020? What is your favourite part about the present iteration of yourself?

I Hate It When Effort Pays Off

We've a friend staying and if I get up to go to the loo in the middle of the night, she'll often get up immediately afterwards and go, implying I woke her up.

3am rolls around last night and I woke up, like has been common for the last 3 weeks but never before in my life, I wake up every night and need to pee. I creep to the loo, stealthing for science, and go quietly, slowly there and back.... Lo and behold, she doesn't wake up, which now means every time I go to the toilet in the middle of the night, I need to creep around. 

This is one of many instances where it is quite irksome that my efforts have paid off - because there's now a moral imperative to continue that effort.

This occurs in teaching quite often.
'Oh I'll just stay a little later and do this extra prep work' translates to a longer work day but the following day goes oh so smoothly. Am I supposed to have 12 hour days all the time now?

The 4kg or so I lose in a week - A WEEK - from following the meal plan and exercise regime I've been working towards following since before my wedding but only succeeding in keeping to for fleeting fits and starts is reprehensible, implying that I should be doing that as a way of life not just a spurious effort when the fancy takes me. Obviously I know that you can't continue to lose weight at that rate forever, but still! My effort has paid off and now I'm pissed - that is more effort I'm obliged to put in all the time now. 

I've been struggling with being sick a lot lately, so I cut out all alcohol, dairy and sugar for about 3 weeks. My skin is clear, throat less phlegmy and immune system less compromised, rate of recovery improved. Must I now live a hollow sober existence devoid of alcohol, cheese and ice cream? What is even the point in living if this is the case?

There's a small possibility that it might be placebo effect - those things happen because I believe they will happen, because I'm looking for them to happen, but in most unfortunate cases I think that this is not so. 

Why do these effortful things have to actually pay off? Surely there are some things that require a lot of effort, but in the long run make things not actually that much better? Do I really have to continue with these boring af things just because they're good for me? Argh. 

I've grown up with, and now married, phlegmatic personality types. They accounted for the majority share in our household, and thus, while I'm not naturally that way inclined, it does have a way of rubbing off on you, in the same way my brothers now also appreciate roller coasters, musicals and quality desserts - I taught them well. 

These personality types are the kind that prefer to do less rather than more, and err on the side of relaxed, if not downright embracing the laze. They're very pleasant to be around, calm, introverted types, unflappable, but do tend to worry, and their emotional compass usually points towards pessimism.

Their temperament is even keel, middle-of-the-road, easy-going - until they're not. And then they're stubborn, determined, impassioned in their beliefs, idealistic and would like to be a part of making the world a better place, though they would definitely like someone else to lead the charge on that. They detest effort, more so if that effort requires interaction with people. These people are my favourite people to be around when I'm upset because they intuitively understand, they're OK with you not being OK, and they know how to just be; their very presence is like a salve, a balm. They balance out my crazy well, and remind me that it is OK to just chill sometimes.

This personality type, like with any, isn't all sunshine and roses though. Their tendency to worry can manifest as anxiety. Their aversion to effort can turn into full blown laziness, meaning others are left to pick up the slack. They tend towards explanations that are fatalistic, and by that very explanation, castrate their agency over the situation, and somberly accept the outcome as set in stone, whether it be a price on a major purchase, a decision from their boss, a lover's rejection, or a minor setback. These are all signals that clearly this effort was in vain and we'll not be putting in any more effort to this wasted cause, where others would look at it and say 'This is bs, I won't be accepting this outcome, I'll be continuing on.' 

Motivating phlegmatics is like trying to coax a cat to come for a walk or convince a toddler to do something they've already said no to - like it could happen, but only if the other party is vaguely willing. 

My husband tells me that lazy people are the best people to put in charge of systems as they'll always strive to find the most efficient way of doing things so they can put in the least amount of effort. 

These even tempered characters thrive in New Zealand, as I would say the Kiwi culture reinforces these easy-going, unflappable, laid-back types, and I know more than I can count. These beautiful souls have influenced my life in a number of ways, in that I also strive for efficiency where possible, and now also consider if I want to put effort into things. (The difference being my answer is usually yes!) 

Whereas my solutions usually involve more effort - go to the gym, eat better food, actually cook that food that we bought, have a budget etc etc, Jared's solutions are usually the ones with the least effort required.  

Don't wanna clean? Easy, ignore the mess. Can't be bothered cooking? Let's just have toast, or skip dinner. Don't wanna go to the gym? Simple - most of the problem is crappy eating, just cut out snacks and sugar. Do less, not more.

He doesn't have this problem of being awake at 3-430 am because he didn't do enough exercise to calm his inner Border Collie yesterday. (Need to do a different blog post about how there are physical manifestations of our personality types, but that's another adventure for another time.)

There's is an allure in this 'do less' type philosophy. It is not at all natural to me, so I do struggle with it, and it is not my first response to basically any situation. But I do adore the chill that Jared brings to the equation. Nothing is ever a problem, we basically never fight about anything because he doesn't care about 99% of life's minutia - and he loves that I've usually made a decision for him, or at least whittled it down to 2 options before I consult him. 

Phlegmatics are the poster children of 'less is more'. If our planet was entirely populated with phlegmatics, there'd be way less wastage because they live by 'waste not want not', and they wouldn't bother to buy stuff half the time anyway. There'd be no wars, because they're peaceful by nature and war is a bit much like effort. There'd be less worry about excess travel, because of presented with two weeks off, they'd much prefer to have a staycation than have to go to all the trouble of a holiday with the packing and the flights and the different language and the weather and trying to find the hotel and then when you get there, you'll wanna do stuff Lauren, argh. 

So being surrounded by this constant malaise towards anything effortful has definitely worn off on me. There is at least a consideration now before putting effort into things willy nilly like once I would've. I now am getting better at saying no to things, I enjoy having more nights in than out in a week, I relish having the house to myself so I can do things like write blog posts.

However sometimes a lack of effort is caustic.

If both people in a friendship are waiting for the other person to make first contact, the friendship fades fast.

If you believe that it's easier to just break up with someone instead of putting in effort to fix a relationship then there's not going to be a relationship for very long.

Jobs will come and go if putting in the effort to hone your craft, or perfect your profession is too much work.

Gardens turn to weed patches. The rolls roll on as one lazes on the couch. Opportunities pass by.

Obviously, there needs to be some effort put in to maintain a life. The thing I like with phlegmatic personalities is they ask 'Is this worth the effort?' If the answer is yes, if you manage to get them out of the house, or to participate in a project or to dance around the living room, then if feels like more of a win because you know, in their perfect world, with anyone else, they wouldn't be doing the thing, but because it's you Lauren, because you asked, then I'll do it. Best compliment ever.

I usually don't mind putting in effort, but the phlegmatics in my life have taught me that actually sometimes I should mind.

People saying yes to everything has gotten our society to a number of extremes at the moment, in terms of environmental degradation, in terms of politics, in terms of workplace culture, in terms of life expectations. We've been conditioned to be yes people, be congenial and pleasant, and actually sometimes you need to stop, you need to strike, you  need to put things on hold and say actually no, I will not be standing for this.

Interestingly teaching is another example of this. To be a teacher, in NZ anyway, you need to put in an insane amount of effort ALL.THE.TIME. Everything is effortful, and it just becomes what level of effort would you like to put in.

I was a part of the backlash against this expectation to continually keep going, helping organise teacher strikes with NZEI. There is a collective sentiment in New Zealand that there has been too much effort put in by too many teachers for too long, with too little in return and too little acknowledgement of that effort, and enough is enough.

And finally our stopping, our lack of effort, our saying no, has gone a long way to getting some of the things that were asked for. Not all of them by a long shot, but a step in the right direction.

For teachers, the issue is not so much the effort - they're a passionate bunch and generally the lazy ones are weeded out in the first couple of years - the issue is putting effort into things that don't benefit students or teachers, like testing or administrative bullshit that actually takes away from time to teach, and the things that foster a learning environment.

That is why teachers' days can so easily turn into evenings and weekends as well - because finding that maths game can be the difference between little Jonny not knowing and knowing his times tables, or pre-reading that tween novel is the preparedness required to pique the interest of the sporty kid who never sits still long enough to read. And so teachers put in the extra time, because it pays off, because they're passionate about it, because it matters, and because they have learned that if they do not, then their classroom is slightly poorer for it.

But there is a balance to be struck. If you are exhausted from your 16 hour day the day before, or your 70 hour week last week, or your term of 70 hour weeks, then at some point that fatigue starts to affect your presence in the classroom, your energy that you bring with you into the room. Any teacher will tell you that the energy that you bring into the room with you is reflected back to you by the kids. If you are happy, they are more likely to be settled and calm. If you are loud, your class will be loud. If you are anxious and stressed your class will sense that and they will be jittery and unsettled. There's something primal and basic about it, but I have found it to be true.

So sometimes the best thing you can do to help yourself professionally is be well rested. To say no, what I have done is enough, I will take the tried and true maths lesson rather than preparing a new one, and I'm going to go to sleep / for a walk / for a drink / to play a game because actually the single most important thing in the classroom is a happy teacher.

Balance.

I've looked at it every which way, and teaching will always be an effortful profession. I can't fathom a way around that. But in there somewhere, there is an 'enough', there is a just-slightly-more-than-bare-minimum that does allow one to step back and have a life outside of teaching, and still garner excellent results from students. It also allows teachers to save some of that effort for other endeavours.

To do other things that feed your soul. Or to do nothing. A guilt-free nothing.

I struggle with that one.

The main difference I've noticed is that my default energy level is often a lot greater than those around me. It is lessening with age, a bit, but my mum used to complain about Peter and I that she has one she couldn't start and one she couldn't stop.

I fully embraced this cultural idea that being busy is cool.

Having tasted spare time, I now strive towards less, and actively try to do less. 

My mum has difficulties with energy levels due to Lupus, and so she talks about limitations of effort to put in. She speaks about it in regard to spoons. The spoon theory goes like this:

If I have a finite amount of time and energy, then I have to budget it like any other resource. If I know that I can do a couple of long days, but then I will be tired, I need to be aware of this and look after myself.

If I know that I value the environment, then what amount of time and energy am I willing to put into to this cause?

If I actually want to be a writer, then how much time and energy do I need to set aside for writing? Because these thing don't just happen by accident.

And worst of all - are these goals compatible? Can I simultaneously be working towards a better world and a cleaner environment, and also be working towards being an awesome writer? Do I have enough time and enough energy to do both?

Presently my writing day is being interrupted by needing to go off and meet with someone about a business assessment matrix that I created to assess how environmentally friendly someone's business is.

I'd say there's not too many people who spend their Sunday nights creating environmental standards for local businesses. 

However, the feedback on the matrix I created was super positive and the business owner we met with reckons he can get a whole bunch of other local businesses on board with ridding their businesses of plastic. He said it was well set out, and easy to understand. 

This is simultaneously brilliant and beleaguering. What I'm doing is, in a very small way, in a very small place, changing the world. But - now I'm obliged to do more. 

This is why this feedback loop of putting in effort then having it pay off is sometimes very disappointing. I can't then conclude it doesn't matter. I can't then conclude it's out of my hands. My actions make a difference and a positive difference in this particular set of circumstances and I'm obliged to change my ways. 

Now to start on how the accommodation businesses can rid the world of single use plastic. 

Sigh.

Sounds a bit too much like effort. 

Czech Us Out

So we're just fresh back from a week in the Czech Republic, also known as Czechia, and we loved it! Here is a play by play of our week!

Day 1: Christmas Eve

We flew out of Dublin to Prague, and then got a train to Brno, Czechia's second-largest city, a Wellington sized type of place. Brno is a provincial capital of Moravia, while Prague is in Bohemia.

Something we didn't realise was that in Europe their main celebration day for Christmas is Christmas Eve. We arrived at Prague train station and went to get some food, but Subway closed in our face. We settled for Burger King.

Tourist trap: Do not withdraw money from ATMs at train stations - they take a €35 fee and give a shit exchange rate.

The trains in Czechia are delightful! We paid for a cabin, and nearly had the whole thing to ourselves, with the exception of a French woman who was coming from Berlin. Dark fell as we whisked our way passed desolate fields, tiny towns and picture-perfect water ways.

We arrived in Brno about 6pm, and walked the 20 minutes from the station to our hotel pleased for a stretch of the legs. I had feared that things wouldn't be open Christmas day, but as we walked through the deserted streets, I realised my fears should've extended to Christmas Eve as well. I had bought a croissant on the train, and we shared that and some shortbread for dinner. Nothing else was open. There were no signs of life.

Day 2: Christmas Day - the first day of Christmas

Both of us had a lot of sleep to catch up on, so most of our days on holiday, we surfaced about midday. This worked out well, as after some research, I discovered that three out of four Christmas markets in Brno were still in full swing, and definitely open on Christmas Day, from midday on.

Christmas Tree made out of bee boxes

One of many pretty churches in Brno. This is the church of St Thomas.

The closest we got to snow - skud off the ice rink

Grog... because... why not?

Inside St James' Church

We started our market adventures with Bombardino at Liberty Square - similar to eggnog, with a lot of brandy or whiskey in it. It was warm and creamy and one cup full was very potent. We moved on to other stands where we tried mulled wine, an amazing drink called strudel which is hot apple juice with cinnamon liquer and raisins for good measure, and also foooood - giant potato pancakes, grilled cheese with garlic and jam (he looked as us weirdly when we wanted those on separate bits of cheese, not together).

Bombardino!

Please see the variety of hot alcholic beverages available to numb you to the 1 degree temperatures.

We found other markets slightly further up the hill, with even more offerings of grog, fruit punch, mulled wine and jagermeister. After admiring the life sized wooden nativity scene,  we went through the council building complex and ascended a nearby hill to Spilberk Castle.

Cabbage Market Square

The castle itself was closed, but the grounds were open, and the view out over the city was breathtaking - although that might've just been from climbing the hill. We were serenaded at the top by bells playing Christmas carols from inside the main courtyard.

Spilberk Castle was used as a prison for a long time

St Peter and Paul's Cathedral from Spilberk Castle

Even the doors are pretty!

We headed back to the city just before sunset, and found our new favourite place with a dessert cabinet to die for. It became our mission to try as many of these delicacies as possible during our stay, starting with the windmill cake - basically a cake version of a coffee eclair. We quickly learned the Czech word for cake - dort.

Statue in Market Square that celebrates the Trinity

DORT!!

After a feast acquired from the markets we relaxed in our hotel room watching movies.

A very interesting chocolate stand

Chocolate peni? Brilliant souvenir...

Devilled sausages, potatoes and gnocchi - rich and delicious Christmas dinner

Day 3: Out and about around Brno - Dec 26 - the second day of Christmas

We decided we should go on a proper adventure and that this would start with the zoo, knowing that it would at least be open. The day was cold and bleak, but clear, as we caught a tram to the North West of the city on the delightfully frequent, cheap and easy to use trams.

We arrived about 11am, greeted at the first enclosure we saw by a tiger, who was looking rather fed up with his cage, and it already sported some cracks in the glass, so we moved on quickly.

We happened upon the polar bear, who appeared to have fallen asleep in the door way.

Not sure if hibernating or....???

The arctic wolves were out and lounging on top of some rocks.

The owls were out and awake, as was the bald eagle and the sea hawks, but there were a number of enclosures that were empty or had animals cowering from the cold.

I was intrigued by the Siberian camels, with their thick fur and seeing a bison up close as a sight to behold.

We even found a Kea from New Zealand!

After a lot of walking in the cold, we were hungry and sought food at the cafe, back by the tigers, but they'd just closed the kitchen as we arrived, so we ambled over to KFC and got a small but expensive feast.

Returning to Brno city, we decided to indulge in the Advent Ferris wheel which was adjacent to the tram stop where we disembarked. It was surprisingly high, and we could see out a long way to the Brno city limits. A delightful end to the day.

Advent Wheel

Day 4: Dec 27

We started the day with a walking tour that Jared found online. We missioned across town to commence the tour and found ourselves with a spritely septuagenarian, and us her sole clients. Her English was good but she seemed to be translating from Czech to German, then from German to English, as she asked us a number of times if we knew this or that German word.

Just a casual hotel lobby of glorious beauty

Parnas Fountain in Market Square

Quirky workmanship - protest at the City not paying the craftsman properly

She told us about what Brno was like in the middle ages, through the Austro-Hungarian Empire, how it was affected by the first and second World Wars, and what it was like to live through Communism. Her love for local architecture was self-evident, and she gushed over the Baroque and Renaissance buildings. She told us the intriguing story of why there's a Brno midday at 11am.

Gift from the Egyptian Pharaoh 

St Peter's and Paul's Cathedral

We walked up to St Peter's and Paul's cathedral which dominates the Brno skyline and can be seen from nearly any point in the city. They happened to be playing the organ while we were in there, so it was a special treat.

She told us about a number of underground attractions - the Labyrinth under Cabbage market square, Zelny Trh, the City Mint, under the City Council buildings, and we concluded the tour by St James' Ossuary which was only discovered at the turn of this century and is the second largest collection of human remains in a crypt, only slightly smaller than the catacombs in Paris.

I was fascinated by these underground storage places, and we started exploring with the St James' Ossuary. It was the single creepiest thing I've ever witnessed. There were hundreds, probably thousands of people's worth of bones in the underground cellar, and the exhibits explained that when they found it, it was so densely packed that it was floor to ceiling in an area about equivalent to St James' church. It still is in some places, but it has all been artistically stylised to make a stair case and some funky wall patterns and a giant pillar that appears to actually have a structural element. Bones are one thing, but knowing that a) there used to be even more bones here, and b) they've been moved to make decorative wall features I think took the level of creepy to a whole new level for me. Most of the bones were from the deaths that happened during the plague, which saw all of Europe decline in population by a third.

We then went to the underground mint at Zelnry Trh, and it was underwhelming to say the least. Half of the exhibit was about a church that had been torn down to make way for one of the roads. There are a small group of passionate history zealots who condemn the city for demolishing the church and are wanting it to be fully restored. Later that night we found another church that looked nearly identical to it in a different part of the town, so that compounded my uncultured ideas of generally not understanding what the big deal is about one not-all-that-pretty church being demolished.

Tourist trap: there's a pass that lets you go to all of the underground things for a cheaper price, we only found this after we'd already been to 2 out of 3 of them. It can be bought at the Labyrinth under Market Square.

I had spied some cool second hand shops on the way to the walking tour that morning, so we went back to look at what they had on offer. I found a really great full length turtleneck dress, and a cute navy dress which had its inaugural outing that night.

We treated ourselves to more mulled wine from the markets on our way home to get ready for our evening out.

I'd booked a dinner for Christmas day and then been told they weren't actually open Christmas day and to reschedule, so Dec 27 we had a beautiful 4 course meal with our own personal waiter as we had the entire restaurant in a wine cellar to ourselves. We were even treated to our own live musician! It was a delightful evening and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Moravian wine is gooooooooood

Day 5: Dec 28

Most of the time we were there, the temperature was floating between 0-3 degrees C. This particular morning, it was frosty, clear and sunny. But there was snow in the air, which was thoroughly perplexing, due to the lack of clouds. However, we enjoyed snow in the air for about 3 hours, until it warmed up a little around midday.

We continued our tradition of cake and coffee for breakfast, then went on a tour through the 1km aptly called the Labyrinth under Zelnry Trh. It featured an underground storage system for the above-ground market stalls in the square, an underground pub, a well, the water table, a prison which doubled as a torture chamber, and another pub.

Underground metal smelting

Underground pub

She touched the butt!

At 3pm we headed across town to our first ice hockey game. The only tickets we could get were ones where you stand in the end zone behind the goal, and they were packed! We were at the end where the Brno equivalent of the Wellington Phoenix' Yellow Fever would sit, and they were pumped!

The local team is good, nearly top of the table, and they were fresh off a win two days earlier. There were giant flags, drums and constant chants from our arrival 5 mins before the start of the game until after the victory lap, the bows, the encore victory laps from the goal scorers and general continued merriment, about 30 mins after the game finished. We'd never seen celebrations on this level - even after the All Blacks won the Rugby World Cup!

I managed to record one of the goals from the local team:

We finished the day by dining at the hotel restaurant where I got to break out my Lao knowledge and language, and realised... how much I'd forgotten haha.


Day 6: Dec 29 - Brno to Prague

After trying another couple of cakes from our now usual place for coffee and cake for breakfast, we boarded the bus that would take us to Prague. (We have concluded that trains win for loveliness of journey.)

We oriented ourselves in Prague with a walking tour. Free walking tours are my favourite way to get to know a city - cool guides, nice and cheap, and get some exercise in.

Our pint-sized guide started by showing us Wenceslas Square, then led us to the astronomical clock in Old Town Square, showed us a few good local pubs, churches, to the Jewish Quarter and finally along the river, to a view of Prague Castle and the Charles Bridge at sunset.

Little to no idea of how to read this but apparently it has normal time, seasons, phases of the moon and zodiac phases. Here's a bit more of an explanation

Another pretty church in Old Town Square

Medicinal local liquor

Inside another pretty church

Oldest Jewish Synagogue in Prague, and Europe.

Prague Castle at Sunset

Prague Castle up a bit closer

The entrance to the Charles Bridge

We obviously went to get more warm alcoholic beverages at the Old Town Square Markets, then spent a titillating couple of hours in a sex toy museum we stumbled upon.

Day 7: Dec 30 - Prague

We started the day with lunch in an underground bar. Apparently this dungeon of a place used to be at street level, but as time went by, the street level has gotten higher and higher, and the bar has remained in the same place, and now requires one to go down 2 flights of stairs. Their food was positively delicious, and their decor delightful.

Mulled wine to warm the cockles of your 'eart

Beautiful venison

We booked a tour to Prague Castle, because although you can 'just turn up', it is actually easier, and cheaper, to do it with a tour guide. The time between Christmas and New Years is their busiest time of the year, and so there were throngs of people everywhere, and most of them seemed to be at the Castle.

Prior to the tour starting we went to get some much needed coffee, and found a concert hall and a stunningly beautiful art gallery. I love that architecture is an art form in Czechia.

Our tour was supposed to start at 2:30, but actually commenced about 3:30 by the time 3 buses actually made it up the hill. We got through the Cathedral just before they closed it for the day, and then went to various courtyards to learn about the history of each.

Neo-gothic cathedral that took 600 years to finish - finished in 1929

Main Entrance

Government Quarters and Chapel

School for girls created by Maria Theresa

Some more pretty buildings and also some more Christmas Markets

We descended down through the 'Golden Mile' where a whole bunch of really old homes existed that once housed alchemists and people who worked at the Castle, and now house tourist shops.

Just casually some canons hanging out

Looking out over Prague

The tour went underneath the Charles Bridge to the Peace Wall, inspired by John Lennon, and we, of course, dined at more Christmas Markets before going to a church close by for an evening concert.

The only problem with that was that there are two churches by that name, and the link in maps from the tickets had taken us to the wrong one.

So we hoofed it across town to the right one, and made it just as the doors were closing.

Chandelier that was swaying ominously at St Nicholas' church

Chandeliers are a big feature in an building in Prague. Czechia is known for its crystal and their chandeliers are renowned the world over. This church was no exception. We had an engaging hour of orchestral music, with solo oboe players, violinists, and singers, all while watching the gargantuan chandelier rock back and forth in the cross-breeze and praying that all the wires that were holding it up would continue to do so.

Given it would be our last opportunity, the remainder of our Czech money was spent at the Old Town Square markets, downing more bombardino and mulled wine.

Day 8: Home

Our flight was at 8am, and we left at 5am just to be sure we got their in ample time. It turns out that security at Prague airport is next to each gate, so this was grossly unnecessary, and just resulted in us losing more sleep than we had to, but better to be safe than sorry.

We enjoyed New Year's Eve in Dublin with our friends at Charlotte Quay, with a 5 course tasting meal augmented by cocktails and fireworks, and were safely home by 1am.

Hanging out at Charlotte Quay

Grand Canal Dock on NYE

Nearly every building in Czechia is like a work of art. The whole place is beautiful, colourful and bespoke. They take great pride in this, and coming back to Dublin, even our Georgian street seemed drab and boring in comparison.

It was pretty easy to find people that spoke English in Prague, but Brno was a little more challenging.

Traditional Czech food is delicious - definitely get your chops around some beef goulash, and there's another one that involves venison which should definitely also be on your to do list.

So our mission to have a white Christmas was kind of successful, but definitely lovely.