I’ve got used to living in Denmark – it’s been a long time since I accidentally bought yoghurt instead of milk. But until recently there was one major thing I had not been able to face, and that was driving. Balletic bumper racing Cars are expensive here; there’s nowhere to park and cycling is so…
I get woken up by a news text from DR. I’ve got blurry morning vision and I can’t find my glasses, so I stumble to the window to get better light. I focus on the word ‘forlade’. I am pretty sure it means leave … it does mean leave. Despite my postal vote, the UK…
Lately when I google ailments I keep getting the words “Common among overweight, middle-aged women”. I like being a woman, but find the rest unacceptable. Hikes in black plastic The middle-aged part I can deal with by disputing when that phase of life begins. It’s always ten years off. But there’s the f-a-t thing (I…
The queue is literally a mile long, snaking through Frederiksberg. The line of chattering girls is punctuated every so often by an accompanying dad, standing head and shoulders above the girly crowd with the awkwardness of a meerkat. S & M, cheeky wink x2 My friend Irina and I are chaperoning our daughters to see…
Stephanie Brickman made the hop across the North Sea from Scotland to live in Denmark with her distinctly un-Danish family. This 40-something mother, wife and superstar is delighted to share her learning curve, rich as it is with laughs, blunders and expert witnesses.
Apart from a couple of times in my early teens, I have never sunbathed in my life. Inherently pointless It’s not because I disapprove, it’s just inherently pointless. I am a born redhead; my skin is pale blue with pink tendencies – tendencies that become rampant when combined with sun. In other words, after a…
I am being half-deafened by the music in the department store changing rooms. “Sleigh bells ring, are you listening…?” “Have I got any bloody choice?” I mutter at the speaker attached to the polystyrene ceiling. The assistant scowls at me and flicks her ponytail as she officiously slams clothes onto a rail. It’s that time of year again: the festering season. Scrooging…
“It just doesn’t help me,” says my colleague. She’s talking about the age-old expatriate ‘sport’ of Dane-bashing – a good old moan about Denmark and the Danes. In her case, she still has to live here and her husband will still be a Dane when she wakes up next to him in the morning.…
And then there’s my friend Tia,” said Mo. “She’s half-Danish and half-Lebanese, so people often don’t realise she’s a person of colour.” Sergio Rossi’s to blame! “Being half-Lebanese doesn’t make you a person of colour,” I protest. I only met Tia once, but she’s definitely a petite platinum blonde. “And Lebanon is Mediterranean.” I’m going…
I’m just not quite sure how we’ll pack it as hand luggage,” I venture as my husband shows me a metre-tall, bright blue giraffe made from recycled materials. We are in a flea market in Washington DC doing what we at Brickman Towers do best: accumulating clutter. Red faces and noses We are always prone…
The thing about foreigners, like myself, is that they need somewhere to live while they are here in Denmark. And that, unfortunately, is where it all falls apart for many. I have been super-fortunate, but in solidarity with others I feel I should put pen to paper … or at least finger to keyboard.…
Sex scenes at the movies with Mom? “Gross!”
