Five years ago I finally said Bye-bye not so Great Britain and started my long journey (via Qatar, Thailand and Singapore) for a new life in Australia.
My decampment from the ‘United’ Kingdom had been a long time in the planning stages. In fact, having lived in The Netherlands from 2002-2003 I’d tried it once already, and knew upon my return to Blighty that my days residing on the septic isle were numbered.
However, when the news guy told us to prepare for the longest, coldest snowiest winter for many a year in 2014 I made a snap decision to bring forward my abscondment at the earliest opportunity, and left the majority of my possessions in the loft of my London house to be retrieved at a later date.
I arranged a multi-stop ticket through the delightful Nathalie at the Ealing branch of STA Travel and on 14 January 2014 (yep, 14-1-14) Alan Ezen, my personal trainer at Fitness First, was kind enough to drive me from Teddington to Heathrow.
With a haversack and some trepidation, at 15.05 I took off on Qatar Airways flight QR8.
Never no turning back, right?
It’s not as if I don’t visit get back to visit. I’m not entirely sure why but in the middle of 2018 I actually spent more time in the UK than my summer house in the south of France. It’s often fun jetting back for little cultural trips and to catch up with old friends and family in that damp and grey place I used to call home, but as a country to live in? Are you mad?
Of course, there’s been some pretty gargantuan ch-ch-changes since I left. Four of my teenage heroes – Prince, David Bowie, Steve Strange and Pete Burns – were very much alive, as were George Michael and Aretha Franklin, one whom I knew and one I admired from afar, though I was lucky enough to witness live in one of her final concerts. And as if by magic, here it is.
Margaret Thatcher looked like being the only female PM forever, leaving the EU under this bonkers Brexit plan looked like a pipe dream by a narrow bunch of silly little Englanders, and my dad, a lifelong card-carrying Labour man and former union rep would never have voted Conservative in a million years… or driven a Mercedes.
The changes? That don’t impress me much (ok, the Merc kind of does). But one thing remains the same, Rip-Off Britain often doesn’t work very well, and the glums that live there put up with lousy weather and lousy service at hilariously inflated prices. Anyway, we’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. What a surprise.