Category: London to Madrid

The Perils of Television

DVD Boxset, Humorous Writing, London to Madrid, new life abroad, Television, Tv addict

I was a box set addict. I just need to admit that now before we proceed any further. I hold my hand up and declare it. Mad Men, Game of Thrones, True Blood, Breaking Bad – these were just some of my many and varied addictions. “Hello Abigail, how are you?” my husband Leo would ask me sweetly when he came home from work, “Ssssh” I would respond, “I’m in the middle of this scene, I cannot be disturbed, I must know what happens next!” Shrugging his shoulders, he would go off to the other room to watch the news on the computer, his food on a plate with a bit of tin foil wrapped around it keeping it tepid at best. What can I say – I just couldn’t help it.

Each night, once the kids were in bed, I would rush to my sofa, place the cushions in just the right position for maximum comfort and then begin the marathon. Sometimes I could curb it and just watch one, but if it was a Friday night and I knew I would get a lie in the next day, I wouldn’t control myself and would gorge on up to three shows, back to back, devouring them like a predator devours its prey. If it was a”Breaking Bad” marathon, my brain was whirring so much with anxiety and excitement that once the TV was off, I just couldn’t go to sleep. This addiction was destroying my rest and clouding my judgement.

When Leo managed to drag me out to dinners to meet real humans – away from my vicarious life with the various imaginary characters on the screen – I would find myself asking friends if they had seen the latest episode of whatever show I was currently watching. What was happening to me? Those characters on the small screen became as real to me as my own family. It was getting scary – I was doing something I see now as “avoiding” – avoiding taking chances, avoiding thriving and avoiding creating. Photography jobs came my way but my ambition had dried up. I remember my friend suggesting I do another portrait project and the thought of it just tired me out. I was in my early 40s and had basically accepted my lot in life. Ambition and dreams were now for other people. I could feel them slipping away and I mourned them but I didn’t have the energy to chase them.

Then one day my husband started talking about Madrid and the possibility of us moving there as a family. Something stirred inside the lazy husk that I was becoming; some old yearning for adventure began to raise her head and call out to be heard and once she started calling, I couldn’t quieten her. I found myself pushing my husband to talk to his boss so we could make the move. I could feel my urgency – this was it – this was the chance to break free from the clutches of the comfy sofa, kiss goodbye to the characters on the small screen and start living my own life again. I was going to write my own story and be the star of my own show.

Those first months in Madrid, when we were living in a small, cramped air b and b in the middle of the city, with no television, but instead, a throbbing, vibrant real life right on our doorstep, I realised that I was finally liberated from my addiction. Everything, including the language, was new. Life was suddenly such a roller coaster ride that I hardly had time to breathe, let alone watch box sets. Leo would return home from work to our tiny scruffy apartment and do you know what, we sat and we talked.

Over a year has passed since that first month and although I still do love watching television, I now see it as a treat to be savoured, amongst the many other flavours and joys of my week.

So to all of you who love your box sets, I do understand – but just remember, the world out there is a big and wonderful place with a chance waiting on every corner – I just wish I had embraced it sooner!

Pic: My survival book of spanish words and phrases written for me by my son for my first weeks in Madrid!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Road Trip – London to Madrid

London to Madrid, Madrid, Stories, The Open Road, Travel writing

So here we were in the car, driving to Madrid from London to open a new chapter in our lives, car packed to the hilt with as many belongings as we could stuff into it, kids squished into the back between the computer, dog on my lap and the audio books of David Walliams playing on the stereo (his children’s books are really funny).  Each time the story stopped the kids would start bickering, shouting, fighting, pinching, squealing, screaming and generally being the sort of passengers that if they were fee paying, you would pull over and leave on the pavement.

We had had the good sense to decide to break the trip up into manageable instalments. Basically that meant that we stopped in France and Northern Spain along the way, which meant we could rest our weary bodies, walk the dog, stretch our legs and go for a meal and the parents could drink a very large alcoholic beverage (or was it two?) and rest our ears.

In Northern France we spent the night in Rouens in a wonderful hotel and I have to say that I did feel terribly liberated and adventurous!  I rather admired us! Here we were, free, roaming across Europe, only the clothes on our backs and the luggage in our cars, no house, no ties, no beds, no fixed address, just the future beckoning before us – well, you get the picture, I was getting carried away with the romance of it all!

We wandered around the pretty town looking for a place to eat that would take us and our dog Skyla. I was a bit worried they wouldn’t let her in, but no, in France you can take a dog anywhere – I even saw some in McDonalds! The French love their dogs, I mean really, really love them and even for me, who is quite obsessed with her dog, it seemed a little extreme, but I wasn’t complaining, it meant Skyla could go everywhere with us, even to dinner!

We woke up to a beautiful breakfast, French style, our plates filled to the brim with crusty bread and mouth watering freshly baked croissants. The children drank thick, strong hot chocolate in bowls whilst I enjoyed my own tea, brought from England, complementing the perfection (I take my own tea wherever I travel – I’m English- one must!) What a good start I thought, this was definitely a good omen.

We then squeezed back into the car and a number of hours, shouts and David Walliams stories later, we arrived in San Sebastian in Northern Spain. Now, I have to say, San Sebastian is gorgeous. We found a restaurant in the town square and again, Skyla was welcomed without fuss. It was tiny, scruffy and empty, yet we feasted like Kings, eating and eating tapas after tapas, each delicious mouthful competing with the next. This was a sign. We were on the right path, spiritually speaking, we were doing the right thing. I just knew it!

Pic: Our hotel in Rouens, Northern France

Becoming an expat… how it all began

Expat Life, London to Madrid, new life abroad, Observations, Spain, Stories, Struggles in Spain, The Open Road, Travel writing, Travel Writing

Moving country is not something to be taken lightly. First up, if as me you are a parent, you need to convince the offspring that moving house and country and leaving friends, family and familiarity is a really good idea. I can tell you from experience that this is not easy. It takes an awful lot of cajoling, faith and some excessive amounts of optimism. 

Our first move to Madrid took us two years to plan – yes – two years! It took us all a long time to decide that it was a good idea to break free of London and you know what pushed us, finally, to just say yes – the “Beckham Tax!” Yes, that tax incentive for England’s favourite footballer when Real Madrid were luring him to Spain, is now set in place for all future British expats. This meant that my husband would be on a really low tax bracket for the first six years, so we could actually start to save (who saves in London?) and have, we hoped, a pretty good life. On top of that, Madrid is infinitely cheaper than London and infinitely warmer. You can drive to the beach, the people like kids and the food is delicious!

Actually leaving our lives behind was harder than I thought it would be. The tears when my son Xavier (aged 7 at the time) left his tiny school, hugging each teacher tightly in turn, made my heart hurt. I have to say that it actually felt like torture during those last goodbyes and I did wonder what we were doing.

I decided we should drive to Spain instead of flying. I thought the children would realise how close we were to London if they could physically see how many miles we travelled and how easy it would be to just drive back. I was also worried about my little dog and how she would handle the plane. The idea of a road trip felt exciting and adventurous, rather than just another anonymous two hour plane ride.

As we had no fixed address yet for Madrid,  we found ourselves an air b and b. It looked reasonable but the owner, who was very charming, convinced us that we would be better suited to her other apartment, which was more “arty” and in a “livelier” part of town. Good idea, we thought, it will make our transition more fun until we found a permanent home. 

On the day of departure my father helped my husband load up the car with as many belongings as we could get into it and on top of it. We wouldn’t get our stuff for another two months so we squeezed it all in, – in went the computer, the music system, the dog’s bed, the dog, the kids (only just, it was a very tight squeeze), the clothes (for all weather, just in case), my special pillow, coats, hats, a kettle, tea (of course!) even the roller skates – it all got squeezed and squashed into the car. I really did wonder if it would just sink and give up on the way but off it then trundled, us all packed in like peas in a pod, our hearts a mix of anticipation, anxiety and sorrow. 

These were our first steps to an unwritten future, destination known, destiny unknown.

Pic: Xavier stares out to sea in Northern Spain.