It’s a hard life at times. I woke up this morning to a howling wind outside and newspapers full of bad news. The rapidly sinking pound made me think of returning to the UK, once again.
It now appears I would have to learn Polish to live in large parts of the UK. Funnily enough, I don’t mind dabbling in other languages, my Castellano isn’t too bad and I can get by in Valenciano, I liken it to French without speaking through your nose.
And someone posting in the middle of the night accuses me of having no morals, tax-wise, I think. I hope, anyway. Well, maybe I will give myself up to Hacienda, I might find myself queuing up with Rajoy if he gets a touch of conscience too.
It’s either that or buying myself more brown envelopes, I’ve run out and two Spanish tradesmen are coming to visit me next week – and it might be three if my toldo gets ripped by the gales.