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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 have to be made. Illness, family bonds and a Change of heart all make for challenging times in a life of a 'Roaming Brit!'

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Rab's World!

31/3/2018

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​"It's funny how life continues to teach us things, even when we aren't prepared to learn!"
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Rab's World!

29/3/2018

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"Lazy Rule: If you can't reach it, you don't need it!"

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Back To Square - One Dilemma!

29/3/2018

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Oh dear, here we go again, just when you think you are doing well and getting ahead, another stumbling block, hurdle to cross and a battle to fight. We are used to getting knocked back, but even we can't find an answer to this problem. All day I have been searching for solutions, to what is quite possibly the most difficult dilemma we have faced yet and all because of a driving licence.

A few weeks ago, Darrell surrendered his British driving licence to Trafico, believing he could exchange it for a Spanish one. The process is a legal necessity if you have lived in Spain for a qualifying period of time. Under normal circumstances this is a straight forward process and shouldn't cause any problems. In mine and Darrell's case, nothing could be further from the truth.

Darrell is of course an Australian citizen; he exchanged his West Australian Licence many years ago in the UK, for its British equivalent. Britain has a reciprocal agreement with Australia to allow the transaction to take place. In Spain no such agreement exists; so although he has an EU licence, he is not legally allowed to exchange it for a Spanish one; this is because it was exchanged in the past, from a country not recognised by Spain. In his case he will have to take a Spanish driving and theory test....IN SPANISH!

During this interim period, it seems he wont be able to work in his current job, which, yes you guessed it, involves driving. This leaves us in a precarious position. If either of us lose our jobs right now, we will be left financially destitute and unable to keep a roof over our heads. We have no idea what we can do, we literally don't have any viable options in these circumstances.

Getting a Spanish license with all the expense involved, while not working is not practical, so it looks like we are on plan B....We've been here before. Darrell is going to have to return to Australia once again, try and find work, care for his Mother and save money, so we can both relocate there long term; I will have to stay in Spain. Neither of us can afford the $7000 for a visa to allow us to stay together in Australia, as well as the moving costs involved. Once again we are left in a situation, where we are both split up, living away from one another. Yes we have done this before, but this time it will be for good, until I am able to join him.

We have considered returning to the UK, but once again the expense involved is prohibitive, especially with no home to go to, income and financial support; we are literally in a no win situation and have no where to turn. The next few days will be crucial; Once we know the final outcome we can then make plans accordingly.

Both of us have done everything possible to follow the draconian rules here in Spain and have paid a price for doing so. Despite loving this country, there comes a point when enough is enough and you have to hold your hands up and say 'I've had it!' That's where we both are today. We are not rich or even comfortable; we are barely getting by, money is our biggest challenge. We have no help and no options for surviving under these circumstances. Once again our future lies in the hands of others. It is only a matter of time, before we are well and truly back to square one!
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Short Stories From My Youth - School Dinners!

28/3/2018

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Mrs Brooks class was a hive of activity; each table had their own projects to complete. Paints, Crayola crayons and multicoloured pencils were laying haphazardly across the desks; all of us chatting with each other. I was in a mischievous mood, flicking paint at the girl sat next to me. By the end of the lesson, we were both covered in an assortment of acrylic, not even the plastic aprons would save us. Mrs Brooks walked over, she looked angry, the frown on her face revealing. Taking us both to one side, she gave us a good telling off and a smack on the back of the legs. I’d been spanked before, standing outside the headmistresses office for the rest of the day; I was an old pro, so hardly reacted; the young lass shed a few tears and we were both ordered to the toilets to clean up before lunch. By the time I had finished, I was in a worse state than before, soaking wet, dripping all over the floor. Cautiously I walked back into class, hoping to avoid catching Mrs Brooks eye. Sheepishly, I sat down at my desk, looking away from her gaze. My friend sat next to me facing the other way, so I did the same; friends no more!

It was dinner time, the bell sounded in the hall. Everyone started to tidy their desks. ‘Quietly, do it quietly!’ shouted Mrs Brooks, trying to make herself heard over the commotion in class. ‘I said quietly!’ she repeated once again. Suitably calm and composed, sitting in our seats, we always said a little prayer before dinner. ‘Close your eyes, hands together,’ shouted Mrs B:

‘Thank you for the world so sweet,
Thank you for the food we eat.
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God for everything.’


Everyone queued in two neat lines, boys one side, girls the other, holding hands as we made our way to the hall. We were on the last sitting today, the canteen was running a little later than usual; the queue unusually ending outside the door. Children jostled for pole position, pushing in front of their peers, wanting to get their food first. I was leant up against the wall, patiently waiting my turn. Mum had always taught me how to behave and never to bulldoze my way to the front; it wasn’t the right thing to do.

My new Clark’s sandals were rubbing the heals of my feet; lifting each one up in turn, I tried to ease the pain. Someone kicked me in the back of the legs. The procession of school children was so long, I didn’t see who it was. Turning, I faced the front, standing up straight, arms folded in protest. Scuffing my shoes, backwards and forwards (The mark of a petulant child, Mrs Brooks always said.) Trying to pass the time, I eventually reached the front of the calvalcade; picking up my mint green coloured plate. Today, soggy roast potatoes, lots and lots of cabbage, boiled to within an inch of its life and minced meat in gravy. Funny enough, I still cook this today; comfort food if you like. For desert, chocolate pudding with thick, lumpy pink blancmange; another dish I look back on with fondness.

The noise in the hall was deafening as I hesitantly walked to the table at the back of the hall, where my friends were already sat. I took the chair at the end, leant back and waited for the Dinner Lady to appear. I can’t remember her name now, but she always came over and helped me cut up my food into bite sized pieces and filled the large metal water jugs on the table, that needed two hands to lift. I precariously charged my glass, most of it spilling over, quickly wiped away by another monitor; dressed in a pink and white tabard, wearing a small white hat and hairnet, that really did nothing to stop hair falling into the food. Part of the course when you ate school meals.

Dinner over it was time to return to class, each of us waiting in turn, to be escorted back for an afternoon of ‘Drama and Dance,’ my favourite lesson. ‘Time to work off all that extra energy after lunch,’ said Mrs B! ‘Time to get big and strong!’

I always have fond memories of school lunches; plain, basic filling food, typical of the time; in contrast the lunches of today. As a product of the 70s, we appreciated the simpler things in life; as children we had very little, none of us any more than anyone else. School Dinners are a reminder of the happy times, spent with friends, enjoying those first steps into childhood; a period when peoples values were different; a time of innocence in a changing World!


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Morning Walk!

28/3/2018

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I was up bright and early today, trying to work off those calories I put on yesterday. It's an absolutely lovely day to be honest; hot and not a cloud in the sky. Could winter finally be at an end; lets hope so!

When I got in from my walk I took my blood pressure, after ten minutes; It was 96/77, that's the lowest it has ever been. I am beginning to feel better everyday. I have never really taken any notice of a Dr
in my life, so this is a first for me. However I'm glad and happy that results are showing so soon. As summer returns to Gran Alacant, I'm sure I will become even more active; I may even start learning to swim, something I have never done in my life.

This will be my third summer living on the Costa Blanca; if I am honest, I haven't been great at adjusting to the Spanish way of life. I have continued to eat a British diet and taken little, if any exercise. Now I hope that will all change and I can finally begin to live a healthy lifestyle. The scenery is fantastic in this region, even in winter. There really is no excuse for sitting in doors. A little less writing and a little more walking, is definitely the way forward!

Whatever you are doing today, have a good one!
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Rab's World!

27/3/2018

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"Can't decide whether to be a good example or bad influence...mmmm!"

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Dinner Date!

27/3/2018

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For once I've had a pretty lazy day; I didn't even want to blog this evening. To be honest I have just woken up from a few hours siesta, after taking lunch and a few pints at Rogers in Plaza Mayor. It's the first time I've had anything alcoholic to drink in six weeks. It's also the first time I've been out since I've given up smoking, preferring to stay away, until I was finally happy that there was no risk of having a sneaky cigarette. Thankfully I avoided the dreaded sticks, only had three pints and had something a little healthier to eat....Well relatively speaking. We both had the delicious homemade quiche, always fantastic and tasty.

In the morning it was a trip up to the Doctors surgery. Presently I have a private prescription for my medication; at a cost of 30€ it's not cheap. Whilst I picked up my blood pressure medication from the Pharmacy, Darrell made an appointment for me to see Dr Martinez. I was a little reluctant to go, since we had no interpreter with us; however the good lady Doctor spoke English well; sadly no prescription though. I didn't have the right forms with me; typical for Spain. Still getting an appointment there and then, on the same day is pretty amazing, far better than the UK. When I go back in a couple of days, I can then purchase the same meds for 8€, a big difference in price.

Tonight I've been watching a bit of 'Are You Being Served,' spending a quiet evening in front of the box, after an afternoon of vintage comedy on ITV3; just what the Doctor ordered!
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The Streets - Margaret's Story, Part 4!

26/3/2018

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Tommy salvaged what he could, gently sitting Jerry on top of a bin liner, full of clothes; the only one Margaret had left, after the contents of the shopping trolley had spilled into the street. Jerry quickly curled up and started to close his eyes; he was tired after his ordeal. Tommy sat diligently on the side of the curb, waiting for Marg to return. He didn’t have long to wait, the doors on the back of the ambulance opened and she carefully walked out, guided by one of the Paramedics. She was glad to be in the fresh air, fearing a trip to the Hospital had been inevitable.

The ambulance left and Margaret and Tommy were alone; Marg sitting down next to the young boy. She looked tired and rather despondent, trying to hide her pain from Tommy. He knew there was something on her mind, but didn’t know what; an almost childlike coyness, avoiding the truth. You could see her thinking and rethinking, over and over again, mulling over what to say.

“I’ve been around a long time youngen and yes I grew up next door to Annie, your neighbour. We were really close friends, playing with each other everyday. I suppose you could say we were inseparable; nothing lasts forever as they say,” Margaret explained.

Looking confused, Tommy moved closer. Margaret was quietly spoken; the harsh conditions she had experienced living on the streets had left her a shadow of her former self, her voice had gradually deteriorated over the years; today she hardly spoke a word, especially to people she didn’t know.

“What changed,” asked Tommy eagerly, wanting to hear the rest of her story.

“Annie met a new group of friends. They were a year older than both of us and were not the nicest people in the World youngen. All of a sudden, we had gone from friends living next door, to enemies in the playground. Annie changed; she became distant, angry and worst of all a bully.’ she continued.

“Did she hurt you Lady?” Said Tommy.

“Cuts and bruises heal youngen; the mental scars run deep!” She replied.

Margaret became the victim of bullying often, after suffering as a young girl. Even when she and her Mother moved away from Dockside Mews, she found herself in the same situation, time after time. As she grew up, she hoped the bullying would stop; if anything it got worse. Her traumatic experiences haunted her, following her around, like a great weight around her shoulders. She just couldn’t shake off the spectre of abuse; even her own Mother couldn’t help her; the memories ran too deep! When her Mum died twenty years ago, Margaret was left alone, unable to cope with the daily rigours of life. Mum had always tried to protect her from these harsh realities; consequently she had very little concept of the real World. In the end, she preferred to walk away.

Tommy sat there, listening earnestly, as Margaret opened her heart. This was the first time she had ever done that, but today was the right time; it’s what she needed to do. He looked sad, but finally understood why she didn’t want to see Annie. Even at her advanced age, the agony of what had happened was still etched on her face. She had forgiven Annie for what transpired in her life, but she just couldn’t forget what had happened in the past.

“Will I see you again Lady; will you keep walking up the road?” asked Tommy, not wanting to lose touch with his new friend.

“I will from time to time, youngen. I wont forget you and who knows one day, I even may knock on Annie’s door; just not today,” she explained.

Tommy nodded his head, lifted his arms and put them securely round Margaret’s neck, hugging her tightly. That was the first time she had received such a gesture of affection, since her Mother had died. She barely knew how to respond; briefly lifting an arm, patting the young lad on the back.

Tommy lifted himself up, standing on tip toe, smoothing Jerry, who was now fast asleep, before he went. From his pocket, he took out a crisp five pound note, his Mum had given him for refreshments, handing it to Margaret. “For Jerry Lady!” he said, knowing she wouldn’t take it otherwise. Margaret thanked Tommy, grasping his hand one last time; smiling, she said goodbye. She knew this would be the last time they saw each other; it was time she moved on, uptown away from her old stomping ground. She felt happy to have met the young boy; he had shown her, that not everyone is bad, there are good people out there and bullies are few and far between. After years of running away from the difficulties of the past, she had began a process of healing. At least now she would finally begin to trust people again.

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Rab's World!

25/3/2018

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"Been to hell so many times, that the devil pulls up a chair, puts the kettle on and says, 'What's happened this time?"
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All Things Crafty - Guest Blogger, Penelope Wren!

25/3/2018

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One of my favourite lessons in Miss Trill’s class at Fareham Park Junior School was sewing!  I do not recall if Miss Trill taught the lessons or another teacher came in to help with the activity.  I remember cutting out the green material for the rabbit and doing the embroidery for its face.  I remember sewing it up by hand.  I don’t remember what I stuffed it with, but I do remember the great feeling of satisfaction I felt when it was finished.  I also got to make a lion.  Looking back I’m surprised that I could sew;  it was as if I always could.
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My mum keeps these two hand made toys on her bed.  She has had them for over forty-five years!  I don’t remember what the other children in my class made.  I think this may be due to being so engrossed in this project.
 
From this experience at school, I have developed a great love for making things with yarn and thread.  My friend’s mother taught me how to crochet; I remember her teaching me to do a crochet stitch.  One day my friend and I sat in the Wendy house that my Dad made at the bottom of my garden and we crocheted together.  I was so fascinated by it that I saved up my pocket money and bought a crochet book and some wool; I must have been about ten years old.  From this book, I taught myself how to do it.  I made a little cardigan out of crochet motifs for our neighbour who had a baby girl.  I made blankets - saving up more of my pocket money for wool.  At the bottom of Fareham Park Road, there was a little wool shop.  I remember the shop being very small and cramped, but I loved to go into it and look at the colours of the wool and imagined what I was going to do with it.  I have missed this shop so much; It was taken over by a grocer many years ago.  Now I can’t really tell which shop it was.  Last time I went home, things had changed so much at the bottom of Fareham Park Road.  The Post Office that stood on the corner is now someone’s house and the pub opposite has been demolished.   The other shops are all different businesses and the launderette is now a dry cleaners.  I spent many hours on Thursdays at the launderette doing the family’s washing.  Everything up Fareham Park Road to Coppice Way seems so built up now with new housing taking the place of bungalows and land.  It seems very cramped and claustrophobic.
 
My grandmother was a seamstress.  To help the family budget, she would make people’s clothes and do alterations.  She would also knit.  She would give me her left-over wool which would go into my blankets or I would make dolls clothes with them.  My grandchildren now play with those dolls clothes.  My grandmother lived into her 90’s. When she felt too tired to do any more knitting or crochet, she gave me her needles which I still have.  When she moved out of her house in Highfield, Southampton, she gave me her old Singer sewing machine.  It is a treadmill sewing machine in a cabinet.  This sewing machine has sat in my homes in Telford in Shropshire, England; California, Arizona, Minnesota and now in Utah.  One day it will be passed on to my daughter and her daughters.
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In senior school, a friend’s mother came in after school and ran an embroidery club.  I remember that I had quite a conflict when this opportunity came, as I had also been approached by Mr. Mullins to learn how to sail after school.  Both after school activities were on the same night.  The pull to go and sew was greater than the pull to go yachting.  This was probably because I was worried that I would get seasick.  One time we went on board the Ark Royal when my Dad was returning home from a trip at sea.  We went out on a smaller boat, boarded the Ark Royal, and then sailed back into port.  Unfortunately I spent most of my time on deck.  We had been in the mess below, but I had become quite queasy and had to go up to get some fresh air.  It has always been a standard joke in my family that I can get seasick even when the engines are not running.  When traveling across the English Channel in future years, I usually fell asleep for the whole trip after taking some Dramamine! 
 
When I travelled to University on the train from Fareham to York, I taught myself to knit.  I got quite a lot done on that journey.  As a young mum, I took up cross stitch.  I had done this a little bit in embroidery class.  Now I go to any of these activities in my spare time especially when I need to relax or ponder. They are my therapy!  I think it is amazing how an activity in junior school had such an huge impact on my life.
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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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    A place to call home
    Finally, a place we can call home.  A community of like minded individuals, who used to call Britain home.  Now Spain is our choice, an altogether gentler, happier, sunnier and safer experience!
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