The big day for children in that part of the world is the feast day of Sv. Mikulas (St. Nicholas/Santa Claus) on December 6th. On that day, Sv. Mikulas walks around in his long red robe, accompanied by an angel holding a large book and a quill pen, followed close behind by a devil rattling large chains. Sv. Mikulas asks the children if they have been good during the whole year. The angel writes down their answers in the book. A good child has to sing a song or recite something for Sv. Mikulas. A naughty child is told they could be put into the devil's sack and taken to hell. (Ah, the ruses we dream up to keep unruly kids under control.) If you've been good you can expect candy, nuts, fruit and small gifts in your shoes. If, on the other hand, you've been a pain, expect potatoes, rocks, or lumps of coal. The tradition is that most children get at least one rock, as no child is perfect. Obviously they never met me.

So the moral is: if you're good, you have to walk round with fruit, nuts and candy in your shoes, whereas if you're bad you get a potato or a rock to throw at someone? I know which option I'd have chosen as a boy.

In the run-up to Christmas Day in Prague, the city comes alive. Winter markets where you can sip mulled wine by candlelight, stamping your feet to fight off the cold, and eat sandwiches slathered with lard and raw onions. (I can tell you're tempted.) You open your presents on Christmas Eve, and then head for an atmospheric Midnight Mass.

At lunchtime on Christmas Day, the traditional meal is carp and potato salad. Back then we bought ours from a market, but in most families the carp is kept fresh in the bath in the days up to the meal, which must make taking a bath a slippery experience. I don't think the potato salad is kept there too, but I may be wrong.

All the while the snow falls softly to the ground on all the cobbled streets around, banking up against the church doors, muffling the footsteps of the passers-by hurrying through the silent, dreamy city.

Quite a contrast from the Christmases I looked forward to so much as a boy. The excitement always began when we were allowed to write letters to Santa Claus asking for presents. I found one of mine the other day, asking in six-year-old handwriting marginally more legible than mine is today, for a sundry assortment of toys, but ending with the coda: "PS. Lots of sweets". Depressing to see that in almost forty years I've changed so little in my culinary tastes. We would receive an Advent Calendar on December 1st with one little chocolate hidden behind each of the 31 miniature doors. The idea was to open one door per day and reward yourself with the treat tucked away inside. I think my record was to reach December 6th.