Dave and Beb are moving to Spain.
On Monday I helped my Dave move a car load of stuff from his flat in Glasgow to his Mum’s shed not far from Dumfries.
They don’t have a job to go to.
They haven’t learnt the language yet.
They don’t even have anywhere to live.
They just decided that after 4 years they were fed up with Glasgow and fancied being somewhere else.
Dave carves small stones with Celtic designs on them and sells them as pendants on the street; Beb is an artist and French.
They’re heading for Andalucia.
They’ll probably stay in a hostel or something until they can find a place in a mountain village somewhere.
They made enough money over the summer, mostly street trading at the Edinburgh Festival, to cover their expenses through the winter.
There’s just the two of them.
They’re flying out on Tuesday.
They have only the roughest of plans, which mainly consists of “we’ll figure it out when we get there.”
I’ve never been to Spain, so have no idea whether it’s somewhere I’d like to live.
After the struggle trying to learn a few words and phrases in French for our holiday back in the summer, I don’t have a strong desire to learn a completely new language.
I’ve still yet to figure out how to make an income in the UK, let alone in a foreign country.
While Rogan is likely to be very adaptable, Meg prefers her routines and I’m not sure how enlightened some other countries are when it comes to supporting people with Down’s Syndrome.
Language, income, the children’s education – all these things mean that I wouldn’t consider doing something like that for a single moment.
Not at all.
Really. It’s not my kind of thing.
So where does that yearning ache of envy come from?
Why do I feel like I’m bit dull and boring?
I’ll be looking for an excuse to go and visit once they’re settled though.