Life in Culebrón

We’ll always be the “English neighbours”, no matter how much local paint I recommend or how many Spanish ministers I can name. That’s fine by me—but it’s not for everyone. A Scots bloke posted a video the other day—someone I’d never come across before—wrestling with his doubts about living in Spain. He was heading back to Scotland for a few weeks to test if it was still the place of his memories before committing to staying or going “home”. Reading between the lines of his eleven-minute video, what he missed was the easy comfort and deep-rooted sense of belonging from his past. Spain was great, but he felt he’d never truly belong. And frankly, I suspect he has a point. I’ve never once doubted our own move here. I’ve bought my funeral plan. I expect to end my days here. We didn’t leave the UK for negative reasons; we came to Spain for positive ones, and lots of those things still amuse me even now. It wasn’t even about chasing the sun—our initial plan in Castilla y León would have invol...

I went to the UK, well England, a few weeks ago. I like England well enough but I don't visit that often. I probably go a little more often than once a year but I usually only stay three or four days. My visit in February was my first since May of last year. Both of my last two visits have been prompted by my mum being less well than usual. It's funny going back. I'm English, I'll always be English and my English is still pretty good - a bit old fashioned maybe but good. My language skills and my cultural knowledge make me feel comfortable in England. I usually know how things are organised, how to behave but if things have changed, or start to go a bit awry, I can ask, I can talk to people, find out what's going. Nonetheless I had, at one point, to hold out a handful of coins and ask the person on the other side of the counter to take the appropriate money. I am, of course, aware that simply using physical money makes me a bit odd but, in the heat of the moment, I ...