I had the good fortune to skip off to Prague last week for a fabulous stay with my pal Orla Doherty and her family. Did we laugh? Yes, we did. But it wasn’t all laughs, we had a few boxes to tick along the way.

It would be an understatement to describe me as The Grinch when it comes to all things Christmassy but even I have to admit a snowy, wintery, Prague would warm the cockles of the Grinchiest heart.

Let’s deal with the snow first. Snow in Ireland is a hassle. We can’t cope. This is a fair statement because we don’t get enough of the white stuff regularly to merit the snow ploughs, winter tyres and all the rest. I think I have a snow shovel in the garden shed but it hasn’t seen a flake as yet. And long may that last.

Prague on the other hand was -8℃ but I was prepared. The night before departure I filled my head with happy thoughts and dug around in the hellish dumping ground that is the cupboard under the stairs to find a hat, scarf, gloves and ski jacket. Skiing – don’t get me started. I say a firm ‘no’ to having my feet set in concrete and strapping two sticks to my size sevens before sliding down a hill. No!

And thermals…did I mention thermals? Remember thermal underwear from the 80s, thermal vests looked like the material from net curtains. Thankfully things have evolved since then. Having said that my thermal underwear collection is lacking. I opted instead for 40 denier tights under my jeans. Simple, yet effective. Denier, a measure of fiber thickness, ranges from 5 to 100. I didn’t know that until I Googled it about 5 seconds ago. Anything over 50 is opaque. 100 denier must feel like walking around in tree trunks. What on earth would 5 denier feel like – 2 ply toilet paper is my guess.

There were two things on my Prague bucket list. The first was the Charles Bridge. If Carlsberg did bridges then the Charles Bridge takes some beating. King Charles IV lashed it up in 1357 to cross the Vltava River. It’s stunning, no other way to describe it. All the more stunning on a crisp, snowy December day with the dregs of hot wine mulling through my digestive system.

And do you know what else is great about the Charles Bridge, it’s around the corner from The Three Fiddles Irish bar. It’d be rude not to and we’re not rude. Orla and I were giddy leaving it and got the tram (initially in the wrong direction – Orla’s sense of direction is almost as bad as mine) home.

The second thing on my bucket list was to check in with one of Ireland’s celebrities. Ireland has three celebrities, Bono, St Patrick and the Child of Prague. Or as the locals probably refer to it – the Child. It’s effectively a statue of the infant Jesus in Prague. But here’s the thing, the good people of Prague don’t hold the Child of Prague in the same esteem as we Irish do. Mind-blowing, right?

Back in the day, there wasn’t a household in Ireland that didn’t have a Child of Prague statue in it. I sold many of them myself when I had a summer job in a souvenir shop in Knock (another story for another day). The deal is, if you want good weather on your wedding day you behead it and leave it out in the garden the night before. The whole beheading thing doesn’t sit well with me. I left one out before my wedding day, with its head intact, and a gorgeous day followed. I’ve heard of people sticking it head first into a bucket of clay and I can’t get on board with that either to be honest.

There’s a reason why I’m not a travel blogger and this blog is probably it. Nevertheless, my recommendation is ‘Go to Prague, it’s Great.’