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It was time for a change. Either that or go home to Žilina and give up.

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I love Slovakia. There’s something exciting about coming from such a young and proud country, like you’re always doing things for the first time. It’s a crazy way to think, really. Slovak people have been here for the thick end of two thousand years, and we’ve got our own language and our own distinct style of medieval architecture that you’d recognize immediately.

But living memory is a bit different. We spent most of the twentieth century being pulled between the competing might of Germany and the Soviet Union, and more often than not, we were paired up with our Czech neighbors. We were finally parted from them without the need for much more than a handshake and a wave in 1993, a process so without acrimony that it’s popularly known as the Velvet Divorce. We still share a lot of stuff with the Czechs. After all, they make the beer, so there’s absolutely nothing to be gained in falling out with them. Oh, and we’re in the European Union, too. I’m looking forward to one of my British friends effectively explaining to me why leaving it is such a good idea. I’ve been waiting a little while now.