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From a new life in spain, to an old life in britain, 'roaming brit' documents uncertain times!

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On 31st January 2016, my partner and I left Southampton to start a new life as Expats in Gran Alacant, on the Costa Blanca. This blog will document our journey, as we navigate the Spanish system, travelling a path untried and untested. With Brexit looming, political turmoil in Europe, and an unpredictable future, harsh decisions must be made. Illness, family bonds, and a Change of heart all make for challenging times in the life of a 'Roaming Brit!'
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Biopsy Results!

5/7/2025

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When you are confronted by the 'C' word — Cancer, you really can't predict how you will react. All of us are different. When you are told you may have that disease, you deal with it however you can. As a sufferer of health anxiety, I didn't cope with the prospect of having skin cancer too well. To say I was devastated, would be an understatement. All week I have been traumatised, living on nervous energy, and existing, like every day was my last.

This week has been hell, I really haven't known whether I am coming or going. I have very much lived in a bubble. I haven't spoken to anyone, including my husband, preferring to stay quiet — alone with my thoughts I was trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, before actually being diagnosed. In my mind, I had cancer and in my head, I was preparing for the worst case scenario. My mental health is quite simply in bits; I feel like I have run a marathon, haven't slept for weeks and literally been through the mill. I am shattered, tired and absolutely exhausted. This has been a hellish week and one I just want to forget.

The biopsy, itself, has really just been an inconvenience. It is in an awkward spot, in the middle of my back, which is making it really difficult to heal. Whether carrying a bag to work, sleeping in a bed, or sitting on a chair, the friction caused is just exacerbating the problem. I do have some pain from the site itself and having to put on a smiling face each day, has been difficult — especially after recovering from COVID.

My consultant at the mole scan clinic said, the results would be back within a few weeks, and that immediately sent me into panic mode. Health anxiety doesn't make allowances for diagnostic results. Each day of the waiting process is worse than the one before. For me, the 'not knowing' has been the worst part of this whole sorry episode. I can cope with the pain of a biopsy, even the threat of a positive cancer result, but the waiting period, for an anxiety sufferer, is a killer. I might as well lock myself away for a week — functioning at any semblance of normality, has been hard, and I have made myself ill just thinking about the consequences.

Within a few working days, my results had dropped into my health app on my phone. I immediately phoned the clinic for answers, to no avail. The Doctor hadn't looked at them yet, let alone analysed them. Despite pushing as hard as I could, the receptionist just couldn't give me any more information. Of course, my anxiety just increased, as I wondered why the results were not being released — 'what were they hiding!'

The next day, I phoned once more, and again I was given the same answer. The Clinician would phone me as soon as they knew, but 'rest assured they will do it in a timely manner.' This did bugger all to stem my apprehension, and I was probably more concerned than ever. Anxiety is a vicious cycle, as I found out this week, both physically and mentally, taking its toll. Anticipating these results has been lonely and extremely painful. I have lost three kilograms in weight and I look particularly tired and gaunt. Every morning I woke up at 1.30am, sweating, with a fast heartbeat, which as you can imagine, did nothing to alleviate my fears of a positive diagnosis.

By the end of the day, after my second phone call, the Doctor phoned back, while I was in the middle of some end of day paperwork. My heart immediately sank. However, she immediately told me the lesion on my back was benign and referred to it as 'fibrosis.' You just can't imagine the relief I felt at that moment — all of my anxiety immediately disappeared; I felt like a new man!

I resisted the temptation to research fibrosis on Dr Google, not wanting to detract from the good news, at least temporarily. After telling Darrell and my father the good news, I slept like a baby. Yes, I woke up at stupid O'clock in the morning, but there was no sweat, fast heartbeat nor anxiety, and I fell back asleep straight away. It was clear, I was going to live another day, and the relief was palpable.

As ever, with health anxiety, within 24 hours, I was concerned about another pain, this time under my tongue. Whilst searching a possible Squamous cell carcinoma diagnosis, just a few days before, some rather uncomfortable photos of affected tongues came up in my news feed, so I naturally jumped on the anxiety bandwagon once again. This time, however, I immediately jumped off; so far, ten days later, I am feeling chipper, in good spirits and avoiding the anxiety cycle of despair. Thankfully, so far, I am no longer dwelling on the worst life throws my way.

Thank you for all your messages of support and for just being there when I needed it most. This time I was lucky, when so many others are not. To all of you suffering with a cancer diagnosis: you are truly amazing people; your stories have helped me, during a particularly challenging time, and for that I am extremely grateful. Keep fighting, keep the faith — Health and happiness to you all!
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Under the Surface: Biopsy - The Anxious Wait!

27/6/2025

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Mask on, Mood off: Reflections in Isolation!

25/6/2025

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​Well I guess it was only a matter of time before I got the bloody thing again and on Sunday it came hurtling towards me, at break neck speed, hitting me square in the face with a bang.

A friend had come over for Sunday lunch — I was cooking a cottage pie, something I haven't had in years; wonderful comfort food during these long winters months in Australia. I had been feeling under the weather all day. My voice was a little horse and I had a tickly throat. My sinuses appeared to be blocked also, and I was starting to get a cough. 

Dinner tasted great, just like Mother used to make. Savoury mince, carrots and peas, with a garlic mash topping and a layer of strong grated cheddar on top. However, this 'old school' dinner, hadn't done much for my sense of wellbeing, and by the time I had finished, I was feeling decidedly worse. Sitting down in the family room, I decided to take a COVID test. Luckily we had some in the cupboard, still in date. I thought it best just to make sure everything was OK. 

​Within seconds, the second line popped up on the bio-sensor — I was COVID positive! Now look, I know, COVID isn't what it used to be, top of the evening news, or even a brief mention in The Daily Mail, but to some — like me — it is particularly worrisome. At the moment, here in Western Australia, COVID and Flu are on the increase and despite being fully vaccinated and boosted, I am well aware, I suffer more than most.

Laying on my bed, at my Aunts house in Portsmouth, Boris Johnson, The British Prime Minister, gave his address to the nation. We were all told to stay at home, we weren't allowed to go outside, and we had to avoid contact with the most vulnerable people in society. I gently put my mug of Bovril down on my side table and checked my phone. Already, the PM's speech had reached Darrell in Australia, who was completely locked down on the other side of the World. Both of us were trapped in our respective countries, unable to leave, travel and be with one another. After 23 years together, we were finally separated, for reasons beyond our control. At that unhinged moment, in March 2020, I knew things were serious; this was the day the World changed and life went slowly down hill from then — Just look where we are today!

As a key worker, I wasn't afforded the luxury of staying at home. As a supermarket employee, I was part of the thousands of supermarket workers, up and down the country, charged with keeping the food chain going. Without us, people wouldn't be able to eat. We were given a letter to afford us the privilege of walking or driving to work, just in case we were stopped by the police. With the streets of Fratton empty, life, for me at least, carried on relatively normally and for that I was truly grateful.

I contracted COVID-19 for the first time, shortly after lockdown, losing my taste and smell. Because it wasn't on the list of approved Government symptoms, I continued working, doing my bit for the country. As I know now, Anosmia is a symptom of COVID. This was the only symptom I had, and it took several months for my senses to return. I tried everything to get my sense of taste back — chocolate muffins with mustard, chilli and peanut butter — all to no avail! By the time it returned, I was self-isolating with a second bout of the dreaded disease, this time much worse than before.

Working in retail had become hazardous. Having to self-isolate, with symptoms, meant the whole household had to do the same — it truly was a debilitating time. The Government duly paid my wages, at a time when I was forced to remain at home. Darrell kept in close contact, my breathing became laboured, my head was banging and fatigue was the order of the day. These were strange times, unlike anything I had ever experienced before. As my period of self-isolation came to an end, I looked forward to returning to work.

Walking to work once again, I was struck by the Easter posters and advertising in shop windows, still closed in May, nearly a month after Easter had ended and almost two months after lockdown was announced. The streets were still empty, with hardly a soul in sight. Tesco was my saving grace. My colleagues were my family, friends, confidants, and support. This was a period — although dark — that I look back on with fondness. I cemented some truly amazing friendships and met even more amazing people. New colleagues arrived from all over, from different walks of life, all working together to keep the supermarkets open.

​As colleagues became ill, other, new colleagues took over, different faces appeared every day. We celebrated national events and milestones together. Shared Birthdays and Christmas as a family and navigated the strange 'new normal,' as Britain grappled with the increasing number of COVID cases, reported daily on the news. The outlook looked bleak, but, we all had each other and became the support each of us needed, in the absence of friends and family.

From lockdowns to furlough, 'Eat Out to Help Out,' local lockdowns, mandatory mask wearing and the resulting cold sores and the bucket loads of sanitiser, cracked bleeding hands and blisters, we got through it all, mostly intact. Of course, each of us knew someone who had lost someone, but in the main, we all survived to tell the tale. These were anxiety inducing times, but they also made us stronger and more able to cope with whatever was thrown our way.

Today there are no nightly statistics, no records of deaths and no news nightly briefings from the Government. In 2025, COVID still exists, as I can testify today, but simply, it is no longer part of the media agenda. As vaccinations and immunity have slowly watered down a virus, that was so dangerous before — and to some, still is today — we have all learnt to look past the worst and remain positive for the future.

Here I am, thousands of miles from home and a lifetime away from the Coronavirus of the early 20s, but I am still suffering from the dreaded virus, just not in the same way. For most, the Pandemic was a lonely time; for me, it was nothing but. Today in Australia I am more lonely now than I ever was during the coronavirus and that is why I am in a reflective mood this week.

To admit you enjoyed the Pandemic years, is the wrong thing to say, but I do long for a time, where all of us were as one, as we were then, and part of something greater. Suffering with COVID today, just makes me remember how different things could have been. I realise just what is important in life — it's friends and family, the memories we share and the times we had together — I miss that, I miss it more than I can say, I miss it with all my heart!
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Is Gay Pride Still Relevant in 2025!

21/6/2025

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In this week's blog, I want to talk about Gay Pride, an event that I first took part in, in 1993. Recently, I have had a few altercations with gay friends online, who have shocked me with their views on what I consider, an important part of modern gay life and culture. Gay Pride, is in part a celebration of who we are as a community, but it is more than that. It is about showing support, companionship, and esprit de corps with other LGBTQI+ people, as they navigate the challenges of gay life.

Despite the freedoms we have won over the years, all of us still suffer from discrimination and hardships others do not. Back in 1993, many of the people I marched alongside had been disowned by family and friends; they were very much on their own. Marching together, as a group, meant safety, security and finally a sense of belonging.

In 2025, equality is being eroded across the World, as right wing nationalism, populism, and authoritarian regimes roll back the rights we all fought so hard for. I am astounded by my own gay kinsfolk and their rejection of a movement, that has always been embracing of ALL minority groups. 

In recent times, our transgender brothers and sisters have become a particular target of hate, not only from people outside the gay community, but also the LGB community itself. I understand there is animosity between factions in the LGBTQI+ collective, of which I am a part, but I do not fully understand the reasons why. On this basis, I do not want to discuss it on here, but invite readers to educate me on their own personal views and experiences, on this rather awkward subject. 

In my humble opinion, as a group, we should be standing together, as we always have done. Unified, we are stronger. If we are attacking our own brothers and sisters because of our own prejudices, we have lost the moral high ground; we are becoming as discriminatory as those who attack and continue to attack us — we are no better. Isn't it strange how gay people, who have suffered so much over the years, can abuse those, who we regarded as friends and family not so long ago. What are we thinking by rejecting our peers and those who have always traditionally stood shoulder to shoulder, especially during our fight for equal rights?

I understand this is a contentious subject and I do not have all the answers, but when you look around this unstable World that we inhabit, surely we can do better than this. To see the LGBTQI+ alliance tearing itself apart from within, is deeply depressing. This isn't about us as a group of individuals, this is more about the geopolitical upheaval we are currently living through.

It is easy to jump on a far right bandwagon and blame one minority group or another for the trouble currently swirling across the globe. The same thing happened just before the Second World War; we have clearly learnt nothing since then. When the planet is in turmoil, it's the people who can least defend themselves, that suffer the most, and the wider LGBTIQ+ community are now doing it to themselves. 

I am a supporter of gay pride, because I grew up in a different age, where the support of friends was important. As a twenty-something year old, I lived in a gay household, mixed with gay people, partied with like-minded individuals and felt secure with those, who, like me, just wanted to be who they were. Gay Pride was about looking after all members of our community and ensuring no one was left out. Today that has changed; as our community fractures and the World falls apart, it appears on the surface, at least, that we are destined to implode as well.

Gay Pride matters today, more than ever, because the rights we have won are being removed piece by piece. As western nations turn their backs on progressive politics, I am afraid of the future, as all of us should be. The World has become a dangerous place and our very existence has become precarious. Don't let the haters divide us, because without each other, we have nothing, nothing at all!
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Surviving The West Australian Winter!

15/6/2025

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​Today I am sat blogging with a hot water bottle under my hoodie. Layers, lots of layers, I am told — as winter begins to bite in Western Australia! Well, coming from The United Kingdom, one would expect me to cope better than most in the colder weather. No, nothing could be further from the truth! I cannot stand the cold, and down under it feels colder than back home in Blighty. Of course that isn't strictly true, but it bloody well feels that way right now!

During the summer, Perth, in Western Australia, swelters in 40-degree heat. The sun is bright and intense, and there is very little humidity. On some days, the hot desert winds are blowing across our inland home, and it's safer to stay inside. These are extreme temperatures, that I have become used to over the three years I have lived here.

Having said that, I still can't get used to the cold winter weather. Perth, as well as being the most isolated capital city in the World, it is also one of the windiest! This creates a harsh environment at this time of year, one which I would rather not be living in. If I could move northwards, to Darwin or even Asia during the winter, life would be pretty damn perfect, but I can't, and we do what we can to survive.

I have acclimatised to the hot Australian weather, so when winter arrives, it really does hit you. This morning, the temperature outside was about ten degrees, and it felt significantly colder. Of course, we don't have the minus temperatures you have in the UK and Europe, but ten degrees feels positively Baltic to an Aussie.

Perth is an outdoor city. There are fantastic beaches, and nature walks right on our doorstep, but during the winter months, the place closes down. The city itself is even more quiet than usual, with barely a soul walking the streets after 5pm. The markets are closed, the beaches are empty, and it's a soulless place to be, as everyone counts the day until we meet summer once again.

Between June and October, I hibernate. You will find me curled up in bed, electric blanket on, reading a good book, blogging or watching YouTube. I rarely go out, finding the dark nights less than inviting. We are lucky enough to have a nice home, two very spoilt cats and enough interests to keep us both busy. Having said all that, homes are just not built to cater for the colder months. We have no heating, just an electric fire and no double-glazed windows to keep what little heat there is, in the house. It is very much like going back to my childhood and my first remembrance of a harsh winter in Britain, in the town where I grew up.

​In 1981, at ten years old, I moved with my parents, from their pleasant warm flat, to an older three-bedroom house, that needed an enormous amount of work doing to it. The only form of heating we had, was an old coal fire in the lounge and that was it. Going to bed was a nightmare — it was freezing. That harsh winter of 1981 saw snow on the south coast of England, which is indeed a rare thing. There was ice on the inside of the rusting, old metal windows of the house, and the wind howled down the chimneys inside. The house was so cold, we often wore our outdoor clothes inside — and I hated every minute of it.

As one would expect, Mum and down did loads of work on the old place and within a few years it was warm and cosy. Like today, the memories of that time are still very much at the forefront of my mind, especially when it has been as cold and wet as it has been recently. In many ways it is quite nostalgic remembering my childhood and thinking about a time, that although difficult, was also carefree and happy!

I've just finished reading 'Addicted to Anxiety' by Owen O'Kane, a fantastic read, if you suffer with anxiety like me. It has certainly kept my attention during this particularly cold week. Next week I am going to read 'The Passengers on the Hankyu Line' by Hiro Arikawa. This is the second publication I would have read by this author, whose book 'The Travelling Cat Chronicles' kept me gripped, the week before last. In truth, I am reading more now than ever, a book a week. I am thoroughly enjoying that hour each evening before bed, I put aside just for me to read and wind down. This is the way I cope with the winter, and it is wonderful to be reading again, when for so long I didn't.

As well as reading, I am still writing equally, as I always will. This helps me to stay grounded and keep my mind active, recalling events important to me. Also, I am deep diving into YouTube, currently following 'On Tour with Dridgers.' A travel couple from my hometown of Portsmouth are enjoying their best life, travelling the World, especially Asia. Their YouTube channel is honest and down to earth, which I love. These two are keeping me engaged and looking forward to my own travels later this year. YouTube is a great resource for someone like me, always planning mine and Darrell's next trip abroad. As a person who doesn't watch TV, it is the best 'on demand' service there is. I do pay for the premium package, but for the quality of content, it is well worth every cent.

So, there you have it — the winter is here, and I am happy locked away doing the things I love most. I would dearly love to be out and about, walking and jogging, but that just isn't possible. So, until summer returns once again, this is where you will find me. Sat at home blogging, reading a good book or planning my next trip away. Wherever you are in the World, enjoy life and keep on battling. Life can be cold, demanding and a bit 'meh' sometimes, but it is also fun looking forward to something better to come and come it surely will!
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Pipa and Akira enjoying the electric blanket!
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30th Anniversary Blogs - Bullied for Safeguarding Volunteers!

7/6/2025

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Today's blog is about an important series of events that became the catalyst for my blog, 'Roaming Brit.' Ten years ago, in 2015, along with my husband Darrell, I was a victim of sustained bullying, from people who worked for one of the oldest charities in the World. This period was the most distressing and abusive time in our relationship together. Even today, I still suffer from the effects of a phase, that will forever remain a part of my psyche. I will always carry the burden of torment around with me. It was quite simply an interval, a glitch, that was responsible for a change in our circumstances, that we are still living through today, despite the memories finally fading into the background.

Bullying is something you think only occurs in childhood, but when it happens in your mid-forties, you can't believe what is actually transpiring before your very eyes. Both Darrell and I, were working alongside one another as Managers, for a large NGO on the south coast of England. Both of us thoroughly enjoyed our positions, especially working with the volunteers who worked for us. I was always taught, from an early age, to look after and protect the most vulnerable people in society. As a Manager for a charity, it was part of my remit and something I was very aware of, every day I went to work.

You can imagine my horror, when two of Darrell's paid employees, began targeting and abusing a particularly defenseless member of his volunteer team. He naturally asked me for advice. We were both in the same positions at work and as a Manager it is something we had to deal with on rare occasions. I suggested he report it as a safeguarding issue and the HR department would do the rest. I had no reason to expect anything different. Furthermore, I felt sure the organisation would do all it could to protect, the individual concerned — how wrong I was!

Not only did the charity do nothing to support Darrell or the victim, but those responsible started bullying Darrell as a result. From attacks on personal property, to homophobic abuse and attacks at work, the abuse was relentless. Darrell became ill, withdrawn, and his mental health became a source of concern. As someone who had worked for the charity longer than him, I decided to do what I could to help.

Despite doing my best to intervene, I was also dealing with a safeguarding issue at my own place of work, which was also being disregarded by my boss. Later, a former colleague also began to attack me personally, and it appeared on the surface, at least, that both of us were being singled out for protecting others.

With no support from our mutual boss, within a short space of time, we both became ill. We were advised to stay away from work, for our own health and wellbeing. Our mental health was in tatters, as we sought answers as to why nothing was being done to protect us and others. I contacted helplines and organisations who could help. I spoke with my union, ASDAW and anti bullying charities, including 'Solent Mind' based in Southampton. All of them said the same thing, we were being targeted for safeguarding others and as they dug deeper, under the surface, our sexuality was also a factor as well. I can't describe the feeling you get, when you realise you are being mistreated, for just doing the right thing. It hits you head long, like a brick in the face.

For a year we suffered, while still trying to find answers as to why we were being ignored. Despite returning to work for a brief period, in the end, just before our wedding in 2015, we both decided to pack up, sell up and leave the UK for good. Every professional organisation we talked to, said this was the right thing to do. The sociopathic nature of what we endured, would never stop until we made the decision to walk away, from the sinister nature of mistreatment we were dealing with. It took a while, but finally, after talking to family, friends and professionals, we left for a new life in Spain.

My last day at the charity was tinged with sadness, leaving the volunteers behind. We had built up a great rapport over the years, and they were a big part of my life. The Head of HR came in, to try to draw a line under this sorry chapter, and we both spoke candidly about just what had happened. She agreed the way I was treated was a disgrace, but said there wasn't much the charity could do, since its reputation was at stake. Despite knowing just how malevolent and malicious those involved had been towards us and many others, (We weren't the first) there was very little she could do. The primary person responsible was a known bully and abuser, and she had done this many times before.

​Our new life in Spain was a breath of fresh air. We had a new, strong and altruistic network of friends and colleagues and an even bigger group of Expats, who helped us begin the transition from turmoil to tranquillity. We were both as happy as we could be and loving every day again on the beautiful Costa Blanca. Smiles returned to both our faces as we finally escaped the pain we left behind.

Despite writing about my experiences as often as I could, answering emails and messages from readers who were also suffering from bullying, we both enjoyed a happy existence in Spain. I received many cries for help over the two years I was living in Gran Alacant, even from those who actually worked at the charity I once held in such high regard. These were the hardest messages to reply to, and I just gave them the advice that was given to me — Never try to beat a sociopath, you will always fail!

Personal tragedy ended our time in Spain all too quickly. While sat surrounded by packing boxes in the lounge of our villa in Puerto Marino, I received an unexpected call. The Charity Commission was investigating the charity I had worked for and wanted to hear my side of the story. I was finally given an opportunity to give mine and Darrell's side of the events that brought us to Spain; it was a vindication of everything we had gone through — finally someone was listening to us. 

I never found out the results of the enquiry. However, I finally realised that many others in the UK and further afield, had also suffered at the hands of people who had no place working with vulnerable people. I was made aware that changes would take place. Although nothing could be done to save mine and Darrell's careers, we were helping the commission compile evidence, against people who were distinctly corrupt and disturbing in nature, and for that they were truly grateful.

Since then, I haven't thought about that terrible time in 2015 too much. I do have days when the pain resurfaces, and I do suffer with severe anxiety every day, but my life is so much better now than it ever has been. In a way, the success I enjoy ten years later, is all down to the bullies who gave us such a hard time. So I suppose I should finally take the opportunity to thank them, for affording us the life we enjoy in Australia. So thank you — I hope you are also enjoying the fruits of your labour as well.

During the 30 years we have been together, neither of us have experienced blatant bullying and abuse. As I look back over our years together, it is painful to relive such painful experiences, but it was a time that made us stronger as a couple and more aware of the ugly nature of people. Not everyone in your life is good for you, and it really is up to you to kick them into the long grass and carry on living your best life. They were terribly soul-destroying months in 2015, but without them, we wouldn't be where we are today, and for that, fate gave us a second chance and a reason to exist again.
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A Tale of Four Countries!

30/5/2025

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​Today, as part of a series of blogs, celebrating mine and Darrell 30 years together, I am writing about the attachment we both have, to various adopted homes across the World. Darrell and I have done a lot of travelling since we met in 1995 and have lived in a good few places, both in the UK and further afield. You won't be surprised to hear, we have built many emotional attachments to various countries, during our 30-year relationship. We have lived in the UK, Spain and Australia and even brought a house in France. We were both born to travel, and that will never change, no matter where we are in the World.

Currently based in Australia, I think it's safe to say we both yearn for Europe. When we bought our house in France, back in the early 2000s, we both had a dream to live on the continent. Buying a small stone cottage, in the village of Le Lande St Simeon, in Swiss Normandy, meant we finally had a foothold in Europe. Of course back then, we had no idea where we really wanted to be, so bought our house, site unseen, in the hope it would become our forever home. At the time, thousands of Brits were buying up property, especially in France, and we didn't want to miss the bus, so to speak. A small house in France, was a big step on our journey together and the beginning of a love affair, that is still very much alive today.

2000 - 2004 was a productive time for both of us, running our own business in Salisbury. Our time was valuable, and although we travelled to France once a month, our commitments prevented us from taking our French dream any further. Instead, we bought a holiday home up north in the UK and another house to rent out, not too far from our new home in Lancashire. Eventually, we made the difficult decision to sell the French house and concentrate on setting up our life together in the UK. Despite this, our European dream was still there and both of us longed for a new life away from Britain.

Nearly fifteen years after we bought our house in France, we finally realised our dream once again. After our marriage in 2015, we packed our bags and left the UK, heading to Gran Alacant on the Costa Blanca and a new adventure in Alicante. This was a place we could finally call home, and we both fell in love with this little urbanization, just fifteen minutes from Alicante Airport. We had finally found somewhere we both loved and began planning for a future in Spain. Of course, it had its ups and downs, but this was what we both wanted and were determined to make this new journey work for the both of us!

Unforeseen circumstances changed our whole outlook on Spain, just a few months after we arrived. Although we loved everything about our life in Gran Alacant, it just wasn't to be. When I look back now, I am sad we didn't fight harder to stay. At the point we both finally felt settled, both our respective parents fell ill, Brexit became law, and worst of all, the Pandemic hit the World. We probably could have fought harder, but it wasn't a battle either of us were prepared to undertake. After a little over two years, we left — Darrell to Australia and me back to The UK.

My time back in Portsmouth with family was special. I made so many good friends in the four years I lived there, and that's all that mattered. It didn't end well family wise, but the lifelong relationships with people I worked with, has become a great source of comfort living in Australia. We really did make some fabulous memories to take with us, and I will always look back at my time working at Tesco, with immense fondness. Of all the companies I have worked for, over the years in the UK, Tesco has been the best, without exception. At my time of life, it is important to have memories and a sense of satisfaction. Money is no longer critical and my time living back home in Pompey, showed me how valuable friends are!

When Darrell returned from Australia, after his Mother's condition became manageable, we both planned to settle down in The UK once again. We both had jobs we loved, working with people we adored, and at the time, were extremely content with the family bonds we had. I say had, because that changed in the blink of an eye, our fate literally changed overnight; a row between us and my Cousins got out of control and Darrell and I made the decision, to leave the UK for good. 

My family, no matter how much I love them, have always been rather fractured; that is true on my paternal and maternal side. It was no surprise when boiling tensions came to a head one evening at my Aunts house. I felt rejected and cast aside, but that is the nature of my family. One minute your face fits, the next it doesn't. I was never truly allowed to have an opinion living at my Aunts, and Darrell and I never really had the privacy we needed. So in many respects what transpired was good and forced us to finally make the decision to move to Australia, no matter how reluctant I had been, to move here over the years.

​Mine and Darrell's life has always been a rollercoaster ride. We have had great productive periods, like when we lived and ran a business and Salisbury, but in the main it has never been stable. When you marry someone from a different continent, life will never be the easy ride your peers enjoy, although they may of course disagree.

Having lived in Australia for three years now, we are finally doing the best we ever have and achieving everything we have ever wanted. We bought a new house and car, we both have fantastic jobs we love, and we can afford to travel whenever we want. In Western Australia, we don't want for anything. If we had moved here years ago, I think both our lives would be very different today, but we didn't, and we struggled as a result.

​Despite the success we now enjoy, neither of us are fully content with our life down under. People here are not as welcoming as those in Spain or The UK, and although we have a very close network of friends, who we value immensely, we don't have the integrated structure we had living in Europe. That does make for a very lonely existence if I am perfectly honest, and both of us really do look back at our previous life with envy.

We are well aware of where we are better off, however. For the next ten years at least, we will be living here, working hard to pay the bills, accumulating enough money for the next stage of our adventures. In retirement, we will probably not be living in Australia. It seems likely we will rent out our house here in WA and live a more frugal existence in Asia. Initially Spain would have been top of our list once again, but with uncertainty on the continent and geopolitics playing its part, I think we would prefer a more balanced, anchored life, in Thailand or Vietnam.

We will have many more options available, once the house is paid off, and until then we will just continue to strive for a better retirement. Neither of us knows what will happen down the road, but we can at least plan for every eventuality. We will never be multi-millionaires or indeed well off, but we will always be able to survive in circumstances, where others would simply fail. This journey has taught us much about the meaning of life and at 54 years old, it isn't over yet. Despite everything, despite the way we feel and despite the challenges ahead, both of us are looking forward to a productive future and the beginning of the final chapter in our partnership together!
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Remembering Giles

25/5/2025

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This week has been another challenging one, as I discovered yet another friend had passed away back in the UK. Giles, had been a friend for about twenty years and once again, I am totally devastated at losing yet another person in my life. Coming so soon after, I discovered my dear friend Myra had died, a little over a month ago, I am wondering what will happen next!

Despite only finding out Giles passed away just a few days ago, I discovered he actually died last year. I had been so busy and preoccupied with building a new life down under, that I hadn't spoken to Giles, in a year and a half. Awful isn't it; I had literally been too busy to care, and I couldn't feel more guilty. In truth, this was the relationship Giles and I had; we would sometimes not chat for long periods of time, but when we did, we just picked up from where we last left off!

​A few nights ago, I had a dream about Giles and immediately woke up in a cold sweat. That doesn't happen too often, so I knew I had to check his social media, to make sure he was OK. As soon as I was fully awake, I started to scroll through his Facebook page. At first, all seemed well; there were the usual Birthday messages from friends, but I soon realised, these were no ordinary messages of congratulations, these were tokens of affection from friends and family, remembering Giles on his Birthday. For a moment, I just laid there in bed, mouth open wide, in shock. It couldn't quite believe Giles had gone. I was immediately overcome with guilt, realising I had missed his passing. Aghast, I was literally overcome with emotion, as happens all too frequently these days.

Since moving to Australia, I have become so wrapped up in my own life, that my dearest, closest friends, have taken a back seat. It was a horrible feeling, thinking, maybe, I could have been there or done something to help. Sadly, I have no idea how or why Giles died, and I really don't think it is appropriate to delve further into the whys and wherefores of it. It won't do me any good to know what happened, and it certainly won't bring Giles back. I just need to remember him as he was and concentrate my efforts on reconnecting with others, who I haven't seen or heard from in a while.

Giles was always there, especially at the most difficult times in my life. Giles, or 'Barge Queen' as I knew him, was a wealth of knowledge and experience and always gave me advice when I needed it. Without him, my life would have been so much poorer.

A former drag artist and costume designer and creator, Giles worked with many celebrities over the years. He often wrote for my blog, especially at Christmas, detailing his designs for the latest pantomime he was a part of. His social media was always a positive happy place — full of happy, wonderful, smiling photos of him and the people he worked with. He would frequently tell me stories that would make your hair stand on end, but was a huge part of our friendship together and always made me laugh. His routine was so far removed from my own, that his pantomime tales were always a welcome break from my own trivialities of life and of course, a big part of who Giles was!

Giles was proud of whom he had become, and I admired him greatly, for his amazing sense of humour and ability to make you feel good about yourself, even during the darkest of days. Not only did he write for my blog at Christmas, but he also took part in 'Photographs of Hope', during the pandemic, when readers of Roaming Brit, send in photos of 'things' that gave them hope for the future, 

It was always a joy being around Giles. I last saw him in 2022, when he visited me at the pub where I was working in Portsmouth. He was down working at The King's Theatre in Portsmouth, a place he loved with all his heart. Despite living in St Helen's, he, like me, was a Portsmouth boy, born and bred and never forgot his roots, always relishing a return to The Kings at Christmas.

This is of course another sad farewell to a beautiful soul, who is no longer here. It is difficult believing he has actually gone. Seeing him in my dream a few nights ago, was a sign from him to me, that I truly believe, no matter what others may say. This is also a time for me to reflect on the unique character, who was a part of my life for so long and remember the amazing friendship we had, even if it was mostly from a distance. Giles will always remain in my heart as a friend like no other and, like all those I have lost over the years, I will make sure he lives on in the memories of all of those who knew him. Goodnight my lovely, you will always be in my thoughts!
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Click above to take you to Giles' Photographs of Hope entry, from April 2020!
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Giles and actress Sue Pollard
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Toxic People and Insomnia!

18/5/2025

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Well, as I'm sure you are aware by now, this week's blog, is about toxic people, a subject I have plenty of knowledge about, after working for the most toxic charity in the United Kingdom, for eight, long, years. If I am perfectly honest, I am sat here exhausted and feeling particularly debilitated. No, not because of my job, but because of 'TOXIC PEOPLE' who have made my life a misery this week. I am so thankful it is the weekend right now, and I am able to recharge, after such a horrible seven days. Sometimes, I think I am too old for having opinions and speaking my mind — maybe it is time, to just settle down and live a peaceful life?

Every Sunday, I like to blog; this is the moment I can really sit down, think about the ups and downs of the past week and finally relax. Since an altercation with several people online, I haven't been on social media and so far I don't have a desire too. To think, the way I am feeling now, is all because of a complimentary comment I made towards, a rather famous comedian, after commenting on how wonderful they looked. Usually this would be an acceptable way of expressing one's thoughts towards another human being, but because this comedian is transsexual, I have experienced a crescendo of abuse, like you wouldn't believe.

I was attacked verbally online by a person I do not know, much else, ever met. They decided to stalk me across all my social media pages, and describe in graphic detail, how I should be strung up and publically hung in the street. This individual said plenty more that is unprintable and would go against my contract with Google, if I mentioned it today, so I won't. That person caused me enough pain and upset, without Google cancelling my account as well.

The person in question was a Reform Party supporter; it was emblazoned across his social media page. In his words, when Reform wins the next election, people like me will be dealt with. As a gay man, who grew up in the 1970s and 80s, I am well aware of what discrimination is and feels like. Darrell and I have been discriminated against all our lives, and I really thought the World had changed. Clearly, from the tone and behaviour of this far right supporter, nothing could be further from the truth, and I still feel shocked to the core at the language he used.

After thinking about it, I responded to his diatribe, by sharing a post about Reform. I suppose it was to make me feel better and just get the anger off my chest. I literally thought nothing more about it, until several friends also started to verbally assault me for posting it. One of those has been a friend for over thirty years, and we both are polar opposites politically, so I accept his comments, as I always did in the past. His friendship is far too important to me to do anything else.  The observations he made were neither offensive, nor over the top, and certainly didn't cause me any upset. The other guy, however, was a volunteer, who I employed whilst working for Oxfam — I have no such loyalty or attachment towards him, and am totally flabbergasted by his outburst.

There wasn't an ounce of empathy, and he couldn't care less about my feelings. There was no understanding at all. His behaviour was pure toxicity, and I was in no mood to take any of it. I replied several times, when I decided to just block him and get on with the rest of my life. Judging by previous experience, this is the only was to deal with someone like that. 

Trying to put this kind of thing to the back of my mind, can be difficult for an insomniac like me. Over the last few years, my sleeping patterns have gotten steadily worse. Some nights I only have 4 hours sleep, others a bit more. I sleep a maximum of six hours, and I am wide awake at 4am every day, ready to start the day. Believe me, I have tried everything to solve this, but to no avail. Today, I just live with it and hope it gets better.

I strongly believe, my insomnia is a result of the severe anxiety I suffer with. I no longer wear my Fitbit to bed to monitor my sleep, as I believe it has made my sleep anxiety worse. I have also started to switch my phone off several hours before sleeping and make sure the bedroom is as dark as possible. Luckily, Darrell and I have a three-bedroom house and I can sleep alone when absolutely necessary, which helps us both in the long run.

As a nervous individual I do not cope with anxiety and stress very well, so when anything happens, that upsets my wellbeing and sense of balance, I can not sleep at all. What happened this week has just tired me out. I know I should learn to ignore the haters, but I do have a voice and an opinion, which I am entitled to express. No one should try to silence anyone. I believe in mutual respect and understanding and would never attack someone for their views.

After this blog today, offloading all the hate, I will not mention this incident again. The therapeutic nature of blogging is such, that I will never need to. I can, however, look back at this entry in a few months time and hopefully learn from the hurtful comments, growing stronger because of it. Yes, at 54 years old, I am still learning and will always continue to, until the day I die. I like to think I am better than all the hateful people in the World, especially at the moment, and look forward to a time, when we can all live together in peace and harmony once again… Until then, I guess there will be many more episodes like this, but each one is a reminder to do better, strive for more meaningful friendships and above all, rise above the fray!
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Goodbye Aunty My!

11/5/2025

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Today has been filled with mixed emotions, as I heard of the death of one of my dearest friends from the UK. Aunty My, as I called her, was a lady I had known for about twenty-five years and someone I loved with all my heart. After reposting a photo of me, Myra, and her sister Jean, on Facebook, I was informed that Myra passed away at the end of March. I was totally devastated and upset — this was a lady who I regarded as family, along with her sister Jean. She was a friend with a heart of gold, who I can't believe has left this mortal coil.

I have lost count of the number of people who have died, while Darrell and I have been living abroad. Sometimes it feels that everyone who has ever been close to us, are no longer here; the passing of friends, no matter how close, never fails to pull at my heart strings. Aunty My was a wonderful lady, who I had some truly wonderful times with, We would often go out on the lash, (an English saying for going out to get drunk), ending up in a curry house or club afterwards. I have so many happy memories of her and all of us together, that I just don't know where to begin, but begin I will. She deserves to be remembered, as one of the most caring and supportive people you could ever wish to have in your life, and that was so important to me, especially in recent years.

I suppose when I was younger, I was somewhat of a social butterfly, unlike today. Darrell and I would frequently throw large, lavish fancy dress parties in our house in Southampton. So many friends and family would come, dressed in fabulous costumes — we would party the night away, until the early hours; happy times filled with laughter, music and over the top camp partying.  Myra and her sister Jean would always be there celebrating landmark Birthdays, royal weddings and anniversaries. All of my memories from twenty years ago, include Aunty My — in all but name, she was family and a huge part of my life.

As my life changed and Darrell and I moved away to Spain, Aunty Myra, was still there, messaging, chatting, and always sending her love. Not long after we moved to our new house in Gran Alacant, I recall receiving a message from Myra and Jean, who were at Alicante Airport. If I remember rightly, there had been a problem with their booking at a hotel in Benidorm, not too far from where we lived. Myra asked if they could crash for a few days while they sorted out somewhere to stay — well, of course, how could I say no. I was delighted they were coming my way!

Seeing them both turn up in a taxi outside our Spanish casa, was an absolute joy; I was so glad to see these two friends, so rooted in the story of my life, waving outside. After the traumatic circumstances, that brought us to Gran Alacant, nearly ten years ago now, It was so good to see friendly faces. I spent five wonderful days with My and Jean, at a time when I needed it most.

​In 2018 my time in Spain came to an end, as Darrell and I separated to be with our respective Mothers. My Mother and Darrell's Mum were seriously ill, and the only thing we could do was leave our dream home and, in my case, be close to Mum during her final days. It was a sad ending to our deeply personal journey, to a new life in Gran Alacant, that we haven't fully recovered from, even today.

It was a frantic time, as I tried to sort out somewhere to stay in the UK on my return. Aunty Myra immediately stepped up, saying I could stay for as long as I wanted. Towards the end of May, after an emotional farewell to friends in Spain, I arrived at Myra's. There was a massive hug and a home cooked meal on the table — I truly felt happy, content and thankful to be with someone, who always made me feel welcome. 

From Myra's I moved on to my Aunty's in Portsmouth; all the while we kept in contact, never losing that connection we had built up over many years. She was a real support during some difficult days. While Darrell remained in Australia caring for his Mum, I was so glad she was at the end of a phone.

​In 2020 the Pandemic took hold, and the World shut down. This was the most difficult time in my life. Darrell was locked down in Australia, and I was locked down in the UK. Alone, I reached out to Myra, and throughout the duration of COVID-19 we spoke every single week. I knew then just how sick Myra was. She had COPD, and I could tell how each phone call, would be more difficult than the last. She insisted I kept phoning, however, and not to stop. We talked about everything, from the Pandemic and the emergency packages she received every couple of days from a local charity, her beautiful family, and the memories we both shared. This was someone who was fighting harder and harder, and I encouraged her to be positive, happy, and always look to the future — God knows she tried, bless her!

The last time I heard from Myra was at Christmas, as I did every year, receiving her neatly written card. This was a security blanket for me at least. This card was a link to my past that was no longer there, and I bloody missed it, and her, her sister Jean, and the great, memorable times we had together. I can't tell you the amount of times, I just wanted to go back to what was the happiest time in my life. However, having a little piece of Myra here with me in Australia, was just enough to jog my memory and keep me fighting, just as she had fought for so long.

​COPD is an insidious disease — one day you feel fine, the next not. Sometimes Myra was full of life on the phone, and others not, but she was still the happy, glamorous, perfectly manicured lady, I had always adored. I just hoped and prayed she would be fine, putting the worst outcome to the back of my mind, until today. I will miss her with all my heart, and will put her last Christmas card up every year, next to Mums. Remembering her, and the zest she had for life, will be a gentle reminder of the funny, beautiful lady she was, and I was honoured to call her my friend.
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We spent Saturday afternoon with an old school friend of Darrell's, having lunch in Mandurah, along the coast. Despite feeling down about Myra, I was glad of the company. Initially, I just wanted to be alone, but I am glad I went. In my heart I toasted Myra, her life and our friendship. Like me, she enjoyed a beer or two, so it felt apt, to be sat in a bar by the sea in Australia, thinking about her and the memories we shared. She was a truly remarkable lady, who always looked out for me and Darrell, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Each loss of a friend hits me harder than the last. Myra's has been the hardest of all, but after everything she had been through in her life, I know she has gone to a much better place. As I have gotten older, I realise just how important people are to me now. I have made my family over the years, not in the traditional sense, but through choice, mutual love and respect, and of course out of fate. Fate has brought all of us together — a hodgepodge of diverse individuals who, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have ever met. Thankfully, we did, and I am able to write about Aunty Myra today.

My life became a little lonelier today, less rich, emptier, and a hell of a lot sadder. Rest in Peace, Aunty Myra — you touched my heart, which is why it hurts so badly. Without you, my life would have been all the poorer; your memory will live on, your laugher will continue to fill my home, and your kindness and courage will be a reminder of how brave you were, and how loved you will always be… Goodnight, Aunty My, sleep well!

… And finally — Thank you all for your Birthday messages. I no longer celebrate in the same way I used to. At 54 years old, I have become rather distant from significant milestones, that just add more years to one's life. With the death of Myra fresh in my mind, my Birthday serves as a reminder, to live my life in the best way I can…
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    51-year-old Author and professional blogger. Expat formerly living in Gran Alacant on the Costa Blanca! Currently, residing in my adopted home of Perth, Western Australia.

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