We’ve had our bathroom done. I didn’t want this, but I was outvoted by virtue of being British and therefore having no idea about interiors apparently. My wife, on the other hand, is Danish and can therefore detect bad interior design with her eyes closed. 

To be fair to her, the bathroom had seen better days. Where we live is 120 years old and needs a little nip and tuck. So we agreed to use what little savings we had to spruce up the bathroom.

Like a US bathroom …
Maybe we really did this because it feels disingenuous calling it a ‘bathroom’. Like most bathrooms in Copenhagen, there’s never been a bath in it. It’s barely a room: more a cupboard with a shower head. 

Of course, stumbling upon an actual bath in Copenhagen is even rarer than sighting Bigfoot. Sure, we’ve heard rumours, but evidence is scarce and eyewitness accounts are unreliable. So in the interest of factual accuracy, we no longer have a bathroom, but a wet room. And I won’t lie, I’m not a fan.

Wet across all ledges!
If you don’t know what a wet room is, let me elaborate. You remove the cordoned-off shower area and let the water just cascade onto the entire floor. Eventually it drains off, but to help it on its way, you then take one of those handheld, rubber-tipped car windscreen wipers, bend down and scrape the water towards the drain. 

It’s a degrading experience to be squatting wet and naked, pushing tepid water towards the sewer. For a country where the standard of living is so high, this feels strangely primitive. And grotty. But here we are. 

Bathed in bilingualism
In other news we are currently trying to choose where to send our son to school. He turns six in December, but we agreed with his kindergarten that he holds off school an extra year. His bilingual status has resulted in his Danish not quite being up to speed with his monolingual peers. 

We could have just thrown him in at the deep end and hoped he’ll catch up fast, but he’s a sensitive boy and we felt a few extra months to get more confident speaking the language of his homeland couldn’t hurt. 

Despite being born and raised here, it’s interesting that his grasp of English is better than his Danish. But apparently when very young, bilingual kids will gravitate towards the ‘easiest’ language, and as any of us who have attempted to learn Danish will attest, this makes a lot of sense. But we’re confident he’ll be right on track when he goes to school.

Luck of the flannel drawer
I must confess as the expat: I do feel a little out of my depth finding a school here. I have no cultural point of reference and so have to go with a lot of my wife’s gut instincts. International or Danish? Private or public? Down the road or across town? 

I guess we are lucky to have so many options. At the end of the day, a lot of it is down to luck how he gets on. And as long as he can describe in both languages the difference between a bathroom and a wetroom I’ll be happy.