In early March I jumped the UK ship and set sail to Spain. To live carefree in my favourite country before the Brexiteers bash down my door and steal my lovely burgundy beacon of hope, my pride and joy, my EU friendly passport. I exaggerate… I hope! The rough plan was to see more …
‘I’ve been a Pagan Witch since I was 5 and I’ve been sent to guard the magic square’ said the guy next to me, as I sat cross-legged in a small but perfectly traditional apartment in the heart of Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter. I looked around at everyone else’s expressions but they didn’t flinch. Hmm …
Well meaning folk sit down and chat to me… in Spanish. I die a little inside, give them my biggest grin and tell them I don’t understand (no entiendo), I don’t speak Spanish (no hablo Español) I’m sorry (Lo siento) I’m learning (estoy aprendiendo). Then I whip out my pocket book of Spanish grammar …
I knew this move to Barcelona was going to push me out of my comfort zone. It’s a big step to move country, house and job into a new land where your native language isn’t spoken. I’m here on my own, no network of friends, no UK TV or radio – I can’t understand …
Continue reading “White Noise… Settling into a Foreign Land”
I’m here, I’ve landed and I’m starting to acclimatise! It’s mid-October and the beaches are choca-block, because that’s right boys and girls the sun is shining here in Barcelona. It was a shaky start. My taxi driver from the airport knew no English, I knew no Spanish. He didn’t have a clue where I …
Continue reading “Moving to Barcelona… You Had Me at Picasso”
After winging my way around the world for a year I landed back in England, caught up with a few nearest and dearest but before I had time to unpack I was back on a plane and heading to ‘The White Isle’ for a long weekend of clubbing. A completely last minute thing, a …