Prague was full of street markets which are best explored carrying a cup of svarak - mulled wine stiffened with plum brandy. When you are tired to wandering or have overdone the svarak, you can go to a marionette show, which we did. Fascinating. We also found ourselves in front of a fun house mirror which stretched and squashed us, first inflating and then destroying our self esteem as it messed with our girths. And then we completely messed with our sense of reality by hitting the Salvador Dali museum. Topped it off with a Christmas concert in one of the stunning halls.

I can nearly feel my shoe on the accelerator of my nearly-new Toyota Echo, the wind rushing in the open window, blowing my already-greying hair, and me harmonizing with then-unknown Nelly Furtado. “I’m like a Bird, I want to fly away,” deliberately messing up Nelly’s lyrics, knowing I was doing just that in a few days.

I’m one minute away from the timer going off so I pull a pasta bowl and a colander. I test a piece of pasta - perfect. I drain and plate the pasta, pull the shrimp out, and then smother it all in veggie sauce. Oh who’s kidding whom - everything deserves cheese and I have that edible-but-not-all-that-terrific pre-grated parmesan just for such an occasion. I give it a healthy sprinkle, pour myself a glass of water, grab some cutlery and a napkin, and take a seat with my Netflix dinner companion. Voila!

It was March 1998, not the most appealing season to land first in Frankfurt to change planes and then in Istanbul. I arrived early morning in 12 degrees Celsius, warmer than the -5 I’d left behind but still not balmy. But the good news about going to a tourist destination in the off season is the streets are clear of travellers. At least it seemed like a good thing.

The biggest take-away from that month-long trip in 1996 is that New Zealand is a wonderful destination full of lovely people and beautiful sites. Can recommend.

Tonight felt like a duck sausage evening. I began with thinly slicing half a large red onion and a few baby potatoes and getting them going in the cast iron pan in some olive oil with a little S&P.

In 18 months of living in a laneway suite, I have only one answer to the question “what was the hardest adjustment?”  It’s living with a refrigerator 1/3 the size of my old one.

When she opened the door to the fridge repairman, she didn’t foresee all the doors on the other side.

In this series, you may have concluded I always cook dinner and I try to make healthy choices. That would be insane. And boring. Sometimes I head to the strip on Weston Road and pick up takeout and then indulge in trashy mags or fluffy series as accompaniment. But I still make dining an occasion. I’m worth it. And it’s not hard to do.