Something that’s hard to explain is that although British by birth and having lived pretty much all my life in the UK, there’s a part of me that always feels like I’ve returned home when visiting Spain. I just can’t put my finger on it. A switch flips in my head bringing out the Mediterranean in me. And when the locals accost me in the street to ask for directions then it becomes even more obvious that they think I’m one of them, not some gringo from foreign parts. Not that I can help them in any way as I’ve no idea where anything is but it’s really rather nice to be asked.
Alas, all good things come to an end and it’s probably no bad thing. There’s a reason why you leave home in your younger years; it doesn’t change as you get older. Everyone knows parents will drive you mad sooner or later, mine are no exception. I now need a holiday to get over this holiday!
Besides which I have a long list of stuff to return to such as continuing the wood panelling project I started before Christmas plus getting my head round this new concept called retirement.
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