A change of your homeland Prime Minister while living abroad is, I think, a bit like your parents moving house after you’ve left home. Who is this Gordon Ramsey guy anyway?

Being weary of change seems to be basic human nature. No matter how influential or forward thinking an individual is, dragging the rest of the population along with them is a big task.

Television, motorways, abolishment of slavery, mobile phones, theory of evolution, toothbrushes, medicine, air conditioning, elevators and other widely accepted concepts were all (probably) treated with mistrust and disdain upon their conception.

People hark back to their romanticised yesteryears, or even imagined yesteryears from before their time. Stability, calm and “the ways things were” are what keeps a population generally happy. Sure, there’s a lust for what might be in the future, but try and push people into it too quickly and there will be widespread panic.

So how does the human race advance and adopt technologies and ideologies so readily? I think the answer lies with a small tolerance of progression, along with the regular resetting of familiarity.

A generation will accept a certain amount of change and development before it becomes bogged down in closed minds and stubborn refusals. It is only when the next generation arrives, and is environmentally programmed with a new definition of normality, that we see huge leaps in acceptance.

This is probably obvious logic, but after thinking about it for a while, the realisation that rapid human progression only really happens in between generations and not during, was something that thrilled me. Can it be possible that this ‘invisible’ incubation period is the continual kick-start for everything, and that all us stick-in-the-muds can do is try and develop catalysts for it?

If generational cycles ever got into sync (through some mass disaster maybe), would society be propelled into a hyper state?

In contrast, would immortality leave us with a world of people reminiscing about past millennia, whilst refusing to have anything to do with those “hokey-pokey matter-warp-generators, thank you very much”.

Copenhagen was apparently built in an era besieged by heat waves and tropical weather. Everything about the city seems geared towards lazy summer afternoons: the large open areas, cafés with a majority of seating space outdoors, the building colours that complement deep blue skies, harbour swimming places, abundant public barbeque areas and a penchant for cycling and ice cream.

The forefathers must have been truly disappointed when, after their grand architecture and social engineering was complete, the meteorology switched and Denmark assumed its now all too familiar role as bearer of snow, ice, cold and five-hours-of-daylight for ten months of the year.

Curiously, the Danes seem unphased by their small window of opportunity and slip into floaty dresses and pavement culture in a matter of hours. The British embrace their brief days in the sun with an outfit hastily assembled from a teenage Spanish holiday topped off with a Kangol hat, before turning lobster red in a Weatherspoon’s beer garden. The danskere start holding street flea markets, throwing Mediterranean 40-person garden meals and hanging out on their ’stoops’ in white vests like it’s a Los Angeles heatwave, in an eerily natural manner. Inevitably the following day is overcast, rainy, tens of degrees lower and everyone is back wearing scarves and lighting candles, apparently without any embarrassment hangover. Mystifying.