Saturday, December 13, 2008

The green green grass of home.

It is, of course, tempting when one has taken the plunge and moved to The Island, to sporadically refer back to the old country. How would I be doing if I hadn't abandoned ship?, What would I be doing?, would I be better off?.

Life asks you these questions day after day, wherever you are, but radical changes like migration ask them more directly and more frequently. The contrasts between todays reality and yesterdays memory are more pronounced than many must confront. These questions, however real and tempting they are to hazard a guess at answering, are of course pure folly.

I used to work for the big guys in the city. I wasn't a cocaine snorting, Ferarri buying pin stripe boy, but I was on the ladder and doing nicely thank you for asking. Marked out as a guy to watch, a star of the future. This status, and the delicious jump from grace as I stuck it to the man and announced my intention to 'downsize', fed my adrenaline fuelled leap into the reckless. City boy to Mallorcan chef. 'You must be mad, you´d give up all this?', 'I may possibly be, and you can shove it', was my innner response. My outer pollitical response was measured, the product of a life lived on egg shells that I was glad I would soon be free to stomp all over.

I didn't really know what I was in for. That was the point. The staid life, and securty was exactly what I craved to be liberated from, despite an angel the size of Mike Tyson on my shoulder telling me I was a fool. 'Exactly Mike, that's the whole bloody point'. 'I want to be a fool. I wan't those around me to be envious of my devil-may-care attitude'.

Realty.

What have I done?

Have I really cocked up this time?

Pointless.

Look forward, not back.

Life on The Island is full of people like me. Some left because they had no choice, but most jumped for the hell of doing it.

It's good here, a great place to raise your kids, the countryside, the mountains, the temperate sea never more than a few minutes from your door, and the sunsets. The sunsets. If you ever lament the Christmas bonus forgone, a salmon pink sky as the late summer sun hits the Mediterranean horizon with a blazing finale to another glorious day doesn't light your candle, or illuminate your soul, you are clearly in the wrong place. Money/Mallorca, Mallorca/money, if have to ask the question then head for Stansted and the 0745 to London Bridge.

As for me?, you are welcome to it.

Poor, but happy amongst kindered spirits.


O.