Funny how four weeks at Casa del Sol have felt nothing like a holiday. Perhaps it’s the lack of return tickets, the absence of a countdown to a return to what was (perhaps still is) home, or just the presence of an overgrown puppy forever after something to eat that will surely rip its insides apart (the pool solar lights are particularly tasty), but books have stayed unread, sunloungers unlounged on. Even the pool has cooled from lack of action. Instead there is a routine of early morning dog walking, school running, weekend piano lessons, fun with new friends and, oh, working.
For you can take the London out of the journalist, but you can’t take the journalist out of our much-loved new home town, Órgiva.
A client asked if I was on holiday after getting the international ring tone. I explained I was not, but still received a slightly provocative “but you can still have a quick Sangria when you fancy it”. Perhaps I protest too much, but if I was working in London during what I read has been a glorious September, would it be assumed that I would nip out for a drink half way through the day?
That said, I found myself closing the bedroom windows to shut out the sound of the swimming pool’s jets after they noisily fired up while I was conducting a telephone interview with someone whose business was struggling and who said they hadn’t had a holiday for years. There was no reason why they would assume the sound of running water was anything other than, well I’m not sure what in the context, but I had this horrible sense that my phone could somehow betray my location to my interviewee.
Working from home in southern Spain for UK clients is clearly going to have its challenges and carry with it a fair amount of guilt. But the bright blue, clear September sky, accompanied by the cooling breezes that attracted us to this valley, make it unlikely that I’ll be returning to Northern Line misery to assuage my conscience any time soon.