As much as the Scandinavian countries sound positively utopian with their progressive social policies and their high standards of living, there is no way on Earth that I would ever choose to live in one of them.
Had it been me that Crown Prince Frederik had taken a shineto at the Slip Inn in Sydney when he was visiting Australia for the 2000 Olympic Games, I wouldn't have upped and married him and gone to live in Denmark, Crown Prince or no Crown Prince. Princess Mary is made of stronger stuff than I to endure those endless frozen months, devoid of sunshine.
It's not at all surprising that diagnoses of depression in Denmark increase 8 per cent a month after the start of winter. I find it tough enough in Auckland. It's not that it's cold so much – it more the grey, dreary skies and the constant rain that does my head in.
Not for me any of that princess malarkey of HRH Mary. Photo / 123RF
Living in Central Otago wouldn't be so bad in winter. In fact, living in Central Otago wouldn't be so bad at any time of the year. Their seasons are clearly delineated; spring, summer, autumn and winter know exactly how to behave and follow the meteorological rules.
Auckland tends to march to the beat of its own drum, weather wise. To be fair, I can't complain about the past week. I was dreading coming home after our three weeks away. We'd had a family holiday in Otranto, right in the heel of the boot of Italy. It was a million miles away from anywhere and the house we rented had access to a private beach which was picture postcard perfect and ideal for the grandchildren to get used to the ocean. The water was crystal clear and warm, and the beach was shallow for a very long way out to sea so the kids were completely safe.
Our London-based family, my husband and I had three weeks of sunshine, swimming and family time and it was utterly, utterly blissful.
The weather in Central Otago is perfectly well behaved. Photo / 123RF
This part of Italy is very laid back. Everything shut down between noon and 4pm and people napped, which is a thoroughly civilised thing to do. Or they swam. And my goodness, there are no problems with body image in southern Italy. The men were magnificent peacocks no matter their age or shape, strutting down to the water in their teeny, tiny budgie smugglers and white canvas shoes. And the women all wore bikinis, again no matter their age or shape. Beautiful bellies that bore the heroic marks of child bearing and child birth were displayed on every beach and if boobs were starting to show signs of age and inevitable collapse – a bit like some of the Roman monuments – well, what of it? Those who bothered with them, just tied the strings of their bikini tops into double knots and let the chips fall as they may.
We're very lucky to have the time and the opportunity to spend time together. I know some grandparents who haven't seen their grandchildren in years and that must be soul destroying. Yes, we should be doing more sensible things with our disposable income, given that the husband and I are a couple of a certain age, and there aren't that many more pay cheques we can look forward to in the future. But when the kids come home, as they promise they will do, sooner rather than later, we want the grandchildren to know us.
I don't see the point of introducing ourselves to two small humans, and explaining that we're their grandparents and, although they don't know us, they might be interested to know that we have a freehold house and a term deposit. No, the time with the family was worth every cent. It got me past the shortest day so we arrived home in time for the up turn to summer. And Auckland was good enough to put on a week of sunshine and blue skies to make the homecoming less painful. And the good news is that it's just five months til summer.
