The Year of Living Danishly Read Free Page B

so safe that they left babies’ prams unattended outside homes, cafés and restaurants. Bikes were apparently left unlocked and windows were left open, all because trust in other people, the government and the system was so high.
    Denmark has a miniscule defence budget and, despite compulsory national service, the country would find it almost impossible to defend itself if under attack. But because Denmark has such good relations with its neighbours, there is no reason to fear them. As Christian put it: ‘Life’s so much easier when you can trust people.’
    â€˜And does Denmark’s social welfare system help with this?’ I asked.
    â€˜Yes, to an extent. There’s less cause for mistrust when everyone’s equal and being looked after by the state.’
    So what would happen if a right-wing party came to power or the government ran out of money? What would become of the fabled Danish happiness if the state stopped looking after everyone?
    â€˜Happiness in Denmark isn’t just dependent on the welfare state, having the Social Democrats in power or how we’re doing in the world,’ Christian explained. ‘Danes want Denmark to be known as a tolerant, equal, happy society. Denmark was the first European country to abolish slavery and has history as a progressive nation for gender equality, first welcoming women to parliament in 1918. We’ve always been proud of our reputation and we work hard to keep it that way. Happiness is a subconscious process in Denmark, ingrained in every area of our culture.’
    By the end of our call, the idea of a year in Denmark had started to sound (almost) appealing. It might be good to be able to hear myself think. To hear myself living. Just for a while. When my husband got home, I found myself saying in a very small voice, that didn’t seem to be coming out of my mouth, something along the lines of: ‘Um, OK, yes … I think … let’s move.’
    Lego Man, as he shall henceforth be known, did a rather fetching robotics-style dance around the kitchen at this news. Then he got on the phone to his recruitment consultant and I heard whooping. The next day, he came home with a bottle of champagne and a gold Lego mini-figure keyring that he presented to me ceremoniously. I thanked him with as much enthusiasm as I could muster and we drank champagne and toasted our future.
    â€˜To Denmark!’
    From a vague idea that seemed unreal, or at least a long way off, plans started to be made. We filled in forms here, chatted to relocation agents there and started to tell people about our intention to up sticks. Their reactions were surprising. Some were supportive. A lot of people told me I was ‘very brave’ (I’m really not). A couple said that they wished they could do the same. Many looked baffled. One friend quoted Samuel Johnson at me, saying that if I was tired of London I must be tired of life. Another counselled us, in all seriousness, to ‘tell people you’re only going for nine months. If you say you’re away for a year, no one will keep in touch – they’ll think you’re gone for good.’ Great. Thanks.
    When I resigned from my good, occasionally glamorous job, I faced a similarly mixed response. ‘Are you mad?’, ‘Have you been fired?’ and ‘Are you going to be a lady of leisure?’ were the three most common questions. ‘Possibly’, ‘No’ and ‘Certainly not’, were my replies. I explained to colleagues that I planned to work as a freelancer, writing about health, lifestyle and happiness as well as reporting on Scandinavia for UK newspapers. A few whispered that they’d been thinking of taking the freelance plunge themselves. Others couldn’t get their heads around the idea. One actually used the term, ‘career suicide’. If I hadn’t been terrified before, I was now.
    â€˜What have I done?’ I wailed,