Move to Spain and I’ll Divorce You !
I’ve always had a hankering for Spain. Don’t know why really when on my first holiday there I got an ear infection from the then rather dirty sea. Off I went to the doctor in the town who had no difficulty in working out what was wrong. Off I went to the chemists where I was given a pack of the largest tablets I’d ever seen. They tasted so soapy and it was only after I went back to the pharmacist and they collapsed in fits of laughter that I finally worked it out. I was inserting them in the wrong part of my body – they were suppositories !
But even that experience did not stop my love of Spain. It’s like France with, in my opinion, better, more varied food, friendlier people and the required sunny climate. I’ll watch any programme on Spain – Living in Spain, Living in the Sun, Flloyd on Spain etc etc. I even supported Spain in the recent European Football Championships – and they won !
In fact I was thinking of re-locating there having spent a wonderful holiday in Nerja when I was invited down to Tourrettes for a romantic weekend. Ten years later I’m still here but I still hanker after Espana. It’s one of those few places in the world where you can ski in the mornings and sunbathe by the sea in the afternoon (of the same day) and I must admit to being completely surprised by the fact that in Tourrettes you can do that with half the driving time that it would take in Grenada.
Spain is also cheaper than France and now I’m a poor old pensioner, the fact that we could sell up and move to Spain and have a great, financially trouble-free life is very appealing. However, ‘her indoors’ is dead against any plans to relocate. She protests that after 10 years, every shop in the giant mall down on the coast welcomes her by name. It would be awful to have to start again in Spain. Similarly, having tried every expensive restaurant within 50 miles and having whittled them down to a preferred short-list of about two dozen, she would not wish to have to go through that gruelling culinary exercise again !
So, I have to admit to being astonished when Julie and the kids accepted the offer of a friend of mine to use his villa in a small northern Spanish coastal resort. Car was loaded up, Thomas was kissed goodbye and off they went on a 600 kilometre drive to Callela. Initial reports were favourable. Nice villa, nice pool but just up the road were ‘kiss me quick’ stalls – quel horreur ! Pretentious or what ? Further reports stated that every beach was full of tourists (well what did she expect) and that it was very hot ! The food was ok but some places were just full of Brits !
I ignored all this drivel whilst I luxuriated in my own company – well just me and Shadow (the dog). We watched what we wanted to on telly, had lunches out and basically just did our own thing. Then the text arrived. ‘If you move to Spain I’ll divorce you’. Well, talk about a red rag to a bull (continuing the Spanish theme). I responded that I’d already looked up some Spanish estate agents and things were on the move. Within 36 hours the ‘mob’ returned, 4 days early with the kids having been brainwashed on the 6 hour drive home to slate Spain and all who wish to live there. Apparently, the final cultural straw was a group of old foggies dancing to Una Paloma Blanca in the town square. I cant wait !
I’ve always had a hankering for Spain. Don’t know why really when on my first holiday there I got an ear infection from the then rather dirty sea. Off I went to the doctor in the town who had no difficulty in working out what was wrong. Off I went to the chemists where I was given a pack of the largest tablets I’d ever seen. They tasted so soapy and it was only after I went back to the pharmacist and they collapsed in fits of laughter that I finally worked it out. I was inserting them in the wrong part of my body – they were suppositories !
But even that experience did not stop my love of Spain. It’s like France with, in my opinion, better, more varied food, friendlier people and the required sunny climate. I’ll watch any programme on Spain – Living in Spain, Living in the Sun, Flloyd on Spain etc etc. I even supported Spain in the recent European Football Championships – and they won !
In fact I was thinking of re-locating there having spent a wonderful holiday in Nerja when I was invited down to Tourrettes for a romantic weekend. Ten years later I’m still here but I still hanker after Espana. It’s one of those few places in the world where you can ski in the mornings and sunbathe by the sea in the afternoon (of the same day) and I must admit to being completely surprised by the fact that in Tourrettes you can do that with half the driving time that it would take in Grenada.
Spain is also cheaper than France and now I’m a poor old pensioner, the fact that we could sell up and move to Spain and have a great, financially trouble-free life is very appealing. However, ‘her indoors’ is dead against any plans to relocate. She protests that after 10 years, every shop in the giant mall down on the coast welcomes her by name. It would be awful to have to start again in Spain. Similarly, having tried every expensive restaurant within 50 miles and having whittled them down to a preferred short-list of about two dozen, she would not wish to have to go through that gruelling culinary exercise again !
So, I have to admit to being astonished when Julie and the kids accepted the offer of a friend of mine to use his villa in a small northern Spanish coastal resort. Car was loaded up, Thomas was kissed goodbye and off they went on a 600 kilometre drive to Callela. Initial reports were favourable. Nice villa, nice pool but just up the road were ‘kiss me quick’ stalls – quel horreur ! Pretentious or what ? Further reports stated that every beach was full of tourists (well what did she expect) and that it was very hot ! The food was ok but some places were just full of Brits !
I ignored all this drivel whilst I luxuriated in my own company – well just me and Shadow (the dog). We watched what we wanted to on telly, had lunches out and basically just did our own thing. Then the text arrived. ‘If you move to Spain I’ll divorce you’. Well, talk about a red rag to a bull (continuing the Spanish theme). I responded that I’d already looked up some Spanish estate agents and things were on the move. Within 36 hours the ‘mob’ returned, 4 days early with the kids having been brainwashed on the 6 hour drive home to slate Spain and all who wish to live there. Apparently, the final cultural straw was a group of old foggies dancing to Una Paloma Blanca in the town square. I cant wait !
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