Finnish guilt

I had a wonderful time in Helsinki last weekend. (You may have noticed...?)

Although my family now live elsewhere, this city was home to me during my teenage years. I also went to university here, so this is a very special place for me.

The main purpose of this trip was to see Daughter who's working there as au pair for a lovely Finnish family. But it was also a great excuse, and a fairly rare one, to get my Helsinki-fix.

On the Friday night we went off to find a place to eat. I hadn't booked anywhere, which is very uncharacteristic of me. I thought the whole world was suffering from a recession, so a table for two in a restaurant somewhere in the centre of Helsinki would not be a problem. I hadn't factored in the Pikkujoulujuhla- season.

In Finland everyone has Christmas parties around the first two weeks of December. Just like here, I hear you shout. Yes, but in Finland I mean everybody. One person may have four or five different groups to celebrate with: colleagues, clients, head office staff, local office staff , a group of friends. You name it, we Finns can make up a group to have a Pikkujoulujuhla with. They go out to eat in a restaurant and then to a bar, then a club for something called Jatkoille. You see we Finns are efficient in everything we do. Whether it's partying or cleanliness. Or mobile telecommunications, traffic, warfare, skiing (enough efficiencies, Ed.).

I'd completely forgotten the tradition. So off we traipsed and after three restaurants turned us away, we finally got the last table at Sasso, an Italian place. I'd been there twice before and thought they'd be the last restaurant to accommodate us, but I'm glad I persevered. Frequent visitors to this blog know that I love all things Italian almost as much as all things Finnish. So I was in heaven. And they were having a Truffle Week.

Now I must say this was not always the way things were in Helsinki. And also not the way I felt about the city. When I lived here some 25 years ago, the city was a different place. And I was a different person. Younger, obviously, but also so much more blinded by things that were foreign. Things glittery and superficial. Things happy and glad.

You may think I still am, and certainly I like beautiful things. But I also appreciate the simplicity and serenity of what is my home city (and country). A good example of this was the Independence Day celebrations.

There was so little fuss.

In the week running up to Sunday 6th December the papers ran a few stories and diaries from the wars with Russia. During the 2nd World War Finland suffered from its own special kind of nightmare: being threatened with invasion by the mighty Soviet Union. In the end they did chop off a bit of Eastern Finland, something those who lost their loved ones and/or their homes will never forget. But we remained independent.

In spite of the great pride we all Finns take in this fact, to celebrate the 92nd year of independence there were no street vendors selling Finnish flags, t-shirts or other patriotic trinkets. There were no banners flying, just a few special displays in shop windows. Perhaps a simple white tablecloth with two blue and white candles on it. And of course there were flags flying from masts. And all the shops and some restaurants were closed for the day.

Then in each city there is a special celebration, in Tampere they have a fireworks display, in Riihimäki (a military town) soldiers march. In Helsinki there was a small torch-lit procession of representatives from all the universities in the city. They walked from the Hietaniemi cemetery, the North of the city, to the steps of the Helsinki Lutheran Cathedral. Not many people had turned up, but then in a country of 5 million residents 10 people make a crowd. The Mayor and a few students' union leaders spoke. The students choir sang Finlandia.

Not wishing to embarrass Daughter, who was standing next to me as we braved the cold under the pitch black Helsinki skies, I held back the tears. And as I thought about what Finnish Independence meant to me, I realised how I have let this, the country of my forefathers, down.

Not only did I move away, I emigrated with a degree. An education which was heavily subsidised by the Finnish state. Just imagine what good I would have done in my small nation with my skilfully trained brain (Hmm, perhaps this is a little exaggerated). On top of that I had two children who'll most likely settle in a foreign country. For a small nation where population growth is minimal this is an important consideration. Then I convinced my wonderful son that there was absolutely no point in him doing his duty of conscription in the Finnish army. And organised a pardon for him on the basis that he had absolutely nothing to do with Finland. And never will.

How did I become such a bad citizen?

As we watched the TV broadcast from the annual ball from what we Finns call the Presidential Palace, and Daughter calls a rather nice town house ( see what I've done!), I did wish with all my heart I'd stayed in Finland. But then, I wouldn't have what I have now. And this, my Good Life in England, I wouldn't change for anything. Not even a place in the queue to greet the Finnish President in her rather nice town house.

It's a packing nightmare

I'm off to Helsinki for a long weekend. But what to pack?

It's always the same problem. I want to travel ligth but also want to have a choice of what to wear. Which brings the sub-problem of having to take several pairs of matching items of footwear, bags, scarves, or gloves. Which all increase the amount of luggage.

Then there's the additional worry: the weather. This time of year it's very cold in Helsinki, but it can be dry cold or wet cold.

I bought a gorgeous down coat by MaxMara in Rome. It seemed far too sunny and summery at the time to be wanting something for cold weather, but now I'm extremely glad I have it.

But though it's wonderfully warm, it really, really doesn't tolerate rain, or any wet weather at all. The alternative to keep warm and cosy at temperatures below zero is my woollen coat by Joseph, with a really nice collar. But I have worn (and worn) it for two winters already. I could take a dark grey military style wool coat which I bought from the Jill Sander collection for Unqlo in October. Problem is, neither of them are any good if it's pouring down with cold rain.

It seems that I still haven't learned that what I need most of all is a boring, boring, rain proof warm coat. Something like this:

OK, this is Philip Lim at Net-a-Porter and actually rather lovely. But I'd never consider paying £920.00 for a practical coat. It'd be a stretch for a impractical one.

I don't have that coat so I could take the lovely MaxMara one, which does pack into a tiny bag, as an in-case-of-snow-coat (which is forecast) and wear either one of my woollen ones. And keep indoors in case of heavy rain. Or just not go anywhere but Stockmann's department store, which just happens to be opposite my hotel. What brilliant planning on some-one's part...?

During the time I've been living in the UK, the store has grown and grown and now has everything you could possibly want. Ever. So much so that when a few summers ago I was desperate for a haircut, I just walked into the hair salon on the top floor of the store, got a time some hours later, and had the best haircut ever.

But back to the packing. The weather forecast, which I've been following avidly through my daughter in the local newspaper, Helsingin Sanomat, is far too vague and inconclusive. It could be rain, it could be snow.

Helsinki is quite a smart city where people dress nicely to go shopping (at Stockmann's mainly), and I'll be seeing old friends, my daughter's friends and possibly visiting my Father. So a 'good daughter' outfit as well as 'sensible mother', and something snazzy to show off with are all required.

To further add to my packing nightmare, I've just been told by a friend who more or less commutes between Helsinki and London that the Finnair ground staff have staged a walkout at Helsinki airport. And that the luggage handlers will be on an unofficial strike at Heathrow at the weekend.

Oh dear, think I'll stay at home then....

Let's hear it for the boomerangs

I read in one of the Sunday papers that this it what grown up children who return home when they've already once flown the nest are called. A growing phenomena now that so many newly graduated youngsters don't immediately land their dream job. Or any job...

Husband says our boomerang is 'back on the payroll'. Rather harsh in my view as to me he's a gift from God in more ways than one. I shall count the ways:

1. His return coincided with daughter's departure.

2. He's an excellent, innovative cook. We spend hours planning menus with simple fresh ingredients, and sometimes he even cooks lunch after a session in the gym.

3. He knows when I want (read 'need') a drink. He knows which wines I like, usually Sauvignon Blanc, and that it needs to be nicely chilled and poured into my favourite, large glass.

4. He has definite opinions about everything from politics to literature to fashion and can argue his case intelligently until the cows come home (and does...).

5. He's got a wicked sense of humour.

6. Best of all, we never tire of his company as he leaves us for weeks on end to 'be a social butterfly' or to be with his girlfriend in Oxford. A perfect boomerang.