Spanish Shilling

I’m surprised we don’t have an identity. There are 307,000 Brits living in Spain and perhaps a million stretched across the whole of EU (nobody seems to know how many). Then there are all those EU nationals who live in another EU country than their own, plus all those who came from somewhere else – South America, Northern Africa, China, The Ukraine and Timbuctoo.

How many is that?

In Spain, there are around 8,500,000 people who are foreign-born, and across the whole of European Union of 450 million souls, we are talking about some 60 million ausländers of one sort or another who have chosen a (new) EU country to make their home.

Begging the question, who are they?

Broadly speaking – we foreigners have come here either to work or to retire.

The workers may be those poor folk who arrived here through economic necessity, sometimes risking their very life for the chance of a better future, or maybe they flew here with just a good job-offer in their pocket.

The retired folk, perhaps because we live better over here (I’m thinking of – oh my Lord: it’s the PIGS countries with their good food, friendly neighbours and warm winters!).

But all of us, we do rather pass without much notice from the local people. There are a few wealthy Hollywood or sporting (probably football) types who grace the pages of the gossip magazines, as we wander through their palatial homes in Mallorca or Majadahonda, accompanied by some bearer of purple-prose; then there are a handful of tame foreigners who have been accepted by the local population (in Spain, we have James Rhodes, Ian Gibson, Viggo Mortensen and the late Michael Robinson); the odd homage for standout political leaders (there’s no Churchill Square but Madrid does have its sublime Plaza de Margaret Thatcher). A few other foreigners from an earlier time are remembered – the various sherry families and the Dr Fleming barrio also in Madrid (he discovered penicillin).

There’s no Glorieta de Francis Drake though… There’s someone who needs a publicist.

Wouldn’t it be fun, if one of our current number became known for his or her literary or musical endeavours, or because he (we!) invented a cure for cancer.

That would make all of us ghosts walk a little taller.

The largely invisible foreigners: whether expats, immigrants, guiris, émigrés, piratas, hijos de la Pérfida Albión or those people who for various reasons find themselves on the run – are all living a better life while admittedly suffering from certain absences; whether family, traditions or a decent pot of Scottish marmalade in the fridge.

What do you miss, the social media sometimes asks.

Me? Nothing, I’ve been here too long.

A useful page to help get through the bureaucracy here in Spain is one called Brexpats in Spain International. The name probably came about thanks to the Brexit (which affected us EU Brits far more than it did you UK Brits). The other day, this worthy organisation decided to change its name to Expat Support in Spain – and were strongly criticised for doing so by many of its supporters. The Facebook announcement quickly got 203 comments before being turned off. The first one said: ‘Whilst I understand that the group no longer fit its previous name, Expat is not a good catch-all either, I and many others are NOT expats, we are immigrants and proud to be so!’

It seems that the Brits have put their foot down – no longer merely indignant about bullfights and uncastrated feral cats, they now have a new bugbear – being called an expat.

The word comes from expatriate, which means ‘a person who lives outside their native country’. An immigrant means something similar, without being as specific. The Brexpat people serve, from their page on Facebook, the northern Europeans (that’s to say, pretty much the Brits, since no doubt the Swedes have their own page) and we all understand the meaning of the word. An immigrant – usually one who moves for economic reasons – will probably be aiming for a passport from his host country, will certainly aim to speak the language, and will most probably be working in some menial position, such as in the plastic farms or on a building site.

In short, we know what the word ‘expat’ means when we hear it.

But what do the Spanish think? Are we guiris immigrants and nothing wrong with that?

I asked a few journalist friends.

·‘It sounds inappropriate. The concept of immigrant in Spain is associated with ethnicity, culture, and, above all, integration. The English, as Europeans, don't consider themselves to be immigrants’. José María (note here he uses another name for the British: los ingleses).

·‘The English who consider themselves immigrants are right, because they've migrated from their country to settle here. That's what immigration is. Coming from one country to settle in another. But you're right too. For a Spaniard, it sounds strange to call a Western European an immigrant, because we have a subconscious understanding that immigration is linked to poverty, to flight, to leaving developing countries to come to more developed ones. So, technically, an immigrant is both a Moroccan and an English person, but in everyday language, an English person isn't called an immigrant, but a Moroccan is’. Miguel Ángel.

·‘I'd laugh. I often defend the English. As you know, some Spaniards are prejudiced against the English. It's also true that they don't usually make much of an effort to integrate’. Says José Antonio.

·‘The meaning of "immigrant" is another’. From Ángel.

·‘No, the term is correct, from the perspective that they are immigrants in Spain and emigrants from the United Kingdom, although they are not strictly emigrants in the economic sense. Nowadays, the word "expat" has become fashionable to differentiate economic immigrants from those who aren't’. Writes Diego.

Why we must label ourselves as anything at all is another question – unless they happened to be handing out a new passport.

The Partido Popular is in some choppy waters right now, with some issues floating up to the surface that they would rather see staying down there with the fishies.

Carlos Mazón, for example, over in Valencia, whose actions during the late October flood – known as the DANA – have yet to be explained. Short of airing the details on that fateful day (we suppose that he had his attention on some other subject) he is under greater pressure than ever to resign.

Another ‘baron’ – as the regional presidents are often called, is a baroness. This Thursday March 13th, a documentary on her mishandling of the covid crisis in 2019 will be shown on national TV. It’s called the 7291 and refers to the number of elderly people who expired in the residencias after medical aid was refused them. ‘They would have died anyway’, Isabel Díaz Ayuso said on occasion in the Madrid parliament. Between the show on the TV (the PP was trying to have it pulled), and the problem with the boyfriend and his tax position, Ayuso is becoming a trifle toxic. She had been doing so well and was being tipped as Feijóo’s successor.

Another potential replacement for Feijóo (when he goes) is Juanma Moreno, still popular but with a few underreported issues – mainly his privatisations, some cavalier dealings and the issue of refusing – in solidarity with his jefe in Madrid, mind – to take a 50% discount off the large Andalusian state-debt. We are talking of 18,791 million euros, and the corresponding drop in interest payments (money that, evidently, could be spent elsewhere).

While Feijoo is what he is – a second-rater who, like Mariano Rajoy, doesn’t speak a word of English - his businesswoman wife has recently been attracting unwelcome attention in Galicia over a property with exclusive beach access.

In an attempt to deflect attention towards the manifold crimes of the PSOE, last week a short video was made, using artificial intelligence, to show (a very muscly looking) Pedro Sánchez and his six-pack abdomen, together with his wife and some other senior figures in the socialist hierarchy, enjoying a jolly day bathing in the warm seas of the Dominican Republic, under the title: ‘The Island of Corruption’. 

That's a case of the pot calling the kettle black.

Understandably, the President of the island didn’t appreciate the joke and the Partido Popular had to quickly pull the offending vid from their website, as Pedro Sánchez was obliged to apologise in the name of the Spanish people for the upset.

The International Women’s Day was last Saturday, and while the womenfolk hit the streets (despite the rain), Feijóo was telling reporters in a folksy way that his mum and granny were both women, you know, and they enjoyed all sorts of freedom (in, er, Franco’s Spain). Vox meanwhile came out with a jolly feminist video to mark the occasion, warning that you girls will all be wearing a hijab by 2030. If not sooner, hey?

Perhaps the answer is to just let Sánchez get on with things – after all, he’s doing pretty well…

Here's a story from Ángel Medina. We used to run a newspaper together called El Indálico.

 ...

It was the year 1974. Franco was still alive, and the regime was tightening in the face of the imminent death of the ghastly old Caudillo. It was rumoured that the borders were heavily guarded against any possible infiltrations of 'revolutionary material'.

Yes, we knew all too well what was meant by that.

Even so, a feeling that everything was soon going to change was in the air. People were already preparing for a major adjustment and the desire for freedom was manifested in all social orders: in the press and on the radio, on the state-controlled television... and also at the cinema.

Censorship continued to prohibit numerous films that were shown around the world and those of us Spaniards who could travelled to France to see them. Several French towns near the Spanish border (Perpignan, Céret, Amélie les Bains…) specialised in organising some weekend film marathons in which, over three days, you could watch films that were not permitted in Spain.

Stuff like The Kama Sutra, The Last Tango in Paris, La Grande Bouffe, Paths of Glory, Emmanuelle…

I had just bought a Seat 133 and decided to give it a good run by going to one of these film events, and so I travelled north with a friend to the neighbouring country with the intention of stuffing ourselves with cinema and at the same time bringing back some anti-Franco press and literature.

We saw a dozen films, bought Che Guevara t-shirts, some communist and libertarian newspapers and also several copies of the book that was on everyone's lips and that apparently brought to light the machinations and internal struggles for power within the Franco regime: “The Holy Mafia”, the history and situation in those days of the fiercely dreadful Opus Dei.

I bought five copies, although I had heard that carrying more than one could mean arrest and even imprisonment.

The night of our return to Spain, we cunningly planned to cross the border in the early hours of the morning, assuming that the civil guards at customs would be half asleep and would not be very interested in searching our luggage. I had the books in question lying on the back seat, casually covered by a trench coat.

A member of the Guardia Civil approached, and after looking carefully through the window, he spoke to me in a placid voice: ‘Would you be so kind as to get out of the car?’

I felt my intestines churning (what is commonly known in Spanish as shitting myself with fear) and putting my hands together as if I were going to be handcuffed, I slowly got out of the vehicle. The cop climbed into the car, sat down, took the wheel and pressed the accelerator and brake, while I was silent, standing at the door of my brand-new Seat, and he said to me:

‘I’m planning to buy a car, and I wanted to see if I fit well and was comfortable in this new model. And yes, I like it. Thanks for letting me try it. You can continue. Have a good trip!’

I just made it around the next corner…

We were talking over a bottle of wine about some of the old times and I remembered this story about one of the many differences that exist between Spain and the UK; and while we should celebrate and encourage those differences - after all, Spain is a wonderful place to live and Britain isn't - this particular item may not be the finest example in Spain's quiver of attractions and curiosities.

I refer to the humble suppository.

Chris had long hair and a thin moustache. He favoured pink shirts and kept his things in an off-the-shoulder handbag. His girlfriend was a pretty looking Danish girl, and we find her seated beside him on a train chugging slowly north towards Madrid.

They had arrived in Mojácar that summer of 1968 in a purple mini-moke, a type of low-slung jeep – much to the understandable horror of the small group of foreigners seated outside the village’s only bar and enjoying their early-morning brandies. Chris, it emerged, was a writer doing research on Carlos, the murderous ex-bodyguard of Rafael Trujillo, the assassinated dictator from the Dominican Republic, whose disgraced minder was now running a beach-bar in our quiet resort. According to my dad, Carlos made a good Cuba Libre and anyway, one should always try to forgive and forget.

Chris’ research, once he got around to it, involved a few talks over a glass of rum with Carlos Evertsz about his ghastly experiences as a torturer, inquisitor and bodyguard and Carlos, a short black fellow with a nasty look to him, must have taken offence at one of Chris’ questions on a particular occasion.

Or perhaps he just had a hangover that day.

The jeep was found, smashed to pieces.

Chris and his girlfriend, Gitte, decided to take off to Madrid for a week for some research and a release from the volatile Carlos. On the way to the train, Chris visited a farmacia to get something for a cold he’d picked up.

We are in the train again. It’s just left Linares where it had stopped for lunch. In those days, the conductor would go through the carriages asking what everyone wanted to eat and would then phone through to the station, where twenty-seven portions of meat and fifteen of fish would be waiting in the restaurant: along with chips, salad and wine, followed by a small plate of membrillo (a lump of quince jelly) for ‘afters’.

Not bad for sixty pesetas.

Back on the train, Chris sniffled again and remembered his package from the chemist. He opened it up and extracted a metal-foil-wrapped bomb-shaped item. The carriage, drowsy from its lunch, watched with mild interest.

Chris had never seen a suppository before and, as he peeled the foil off the plug (principal ingredient: cocoa butter), he decided he couldn’t eat it so, after a moment’s thought, decided to ram it up his nose.

The carriage stirred in anticipation. ‘No’ said some old girl in black.

No? thought Chris. Perhaps, since it’s a streamer, I should open another. He placed the second suppository, with its agreeable smell of cocoa butter, into his other nostril and sat back with a satisfied groan. The two suppositories dangled slightly from his nose, and he found that he had to hold them in place. His girlfriend tittered suddenly and the carriage, released, burst into laughter.

The man sat facing Chris lifted himself partway from his seat and made an explicit motion towards his backside. ‘Aquí’, here.

Chris, his face the colour of his favourite shirt, excused himself and went to find the lavatory. He told us afterwards that he could see the tracks flashing by when he looked down the pan, and that, after an embarrassing but successful operation hovering over the seatless commode, he unfortunately coughed, firing the luckless suppository down the hole and into the heart of the Andalusian countryside.

He eventually completed the book about Carlos, carefully waiting until that disagreeable fellow had been deported from Spain.

I think I must still have a copy somewhere. 

(A re-worked story of mine from 2010. Hey, it's raining here...)

Things are moving fast, and many of us wake each morning wondering what’s the latest shock coming from the Land of the Free. We switch on the TV or check the news on our mobile phone. What on earth is the King of America – and his supporters – up to now? He seems to be breaking things randomly. Silly calls and plastic straws and then some deadly serious issues too. We wonder if we will survive his reign (and in the likely event that he doesn’t last his four years, his vice-president appears to look like being an exceedingly poor choice as his replacement).

We worry about our children and the grand-kids. They won’t have it as easy as we did.

In my own defence, I’ve spent several years in the USA: I love being there, I was married to a wonderful woman from California and two of our three children (all born in Spain) live there. If you are going to be a foreigner in Gringolandia, being a tall, handsome and well-spoken Brit is as good as it gets. 

Let us look then at Spain’s relations with the USA (known here as Los EEUU).

Since the Spanish think of America as being everywhere from Chile to Canada, we call their people los estadounidenses, which is an ungainly word meaning the United-Statesians. Don’t wanna offend no salvadoreño, no.

The USA, a NATO member, maintain a couple of military bases in Spain – a naval base in Rota (Cádiz) and an air-force base in Morón de la Frontera (Seville), although Politico reports ‘American troops in Europe are not forever, US defence chief Hegseth warns. Donald Trump’s man in the Pentagon hints at major disruption to the continent’s 80-year-old protective security architecture’. Meanwhile, some of the lefties here shout: ‘Yankees go home’. Beware of what you wish for.

Spain’s main international disagreements with the Americans are not about their military presence here, but rather to do with Gaza, Cuba and Venezuela; and since Trump’s return, the Ukraine. The Spanish people’s first concern – on another phase of dismay – could well be the shocking American treatment of their Hispanic citizens and immigrants (legal or otherwise). 

Trump launched his first volley towards Spain right after his inauguration (‘Liberty Day’) by (probably) confusing the country as a member of the BRICS, the ‘emerging world economies’ that include Brazil, Russia and China. Maybe he thought the ‘S’ stood for Spain (rather than South Africa). We’re with the PIGS, remember?

Understandably, America’s policies don’t always dovetail with Spain’s – several times, they’ve sided with Morocco for instance.

Right now, there are important economic differences too. Congress wants to inflict tariffs (aranceles) on their trading partners, and an agreement that foreign traders won’t be subject to DEI policies (diversity, equity and inclusion) – which goes against Spanish and European law, social justice and common sense. "We want to ensure that our contracts comply with all U.S. federal anti-discrimination laws and that suppliers do not operate programs promoting diversity, equity, and inclusion that violate existing federal laws," U.S. embassy sources told the Spanish national broadcaster RTVE, as if distasteful Trumpian policies must automatically be observed by the rest of the Free World.

But if trade is one thing, then security is another. Could Trump bring us into a war? Or maybe, could Trump take a step back and bring the rest of us into a war? The Economist says ‘… the Ukraine is being sold out, Russia is being rehabilitated and, under Donald Trump, America can no longer be counted on to come to Europe’s aid in wartime…’

Nominally, or at least in pre-Trump times, ‘Spain and the United States are close allies and have excellent relations based on shared democratic values, including the promotion of democracy and human rights’, says the US Department of State. And maybe the coming breakdown stems in part from the Moncloa. A Spanish newspaper reports that ‘On Monday, Sánchez legitimizes Zelensky in Kiev and puts Spain in the way of both Trump and Putin. He offers his full support to the leader of Ukraine against these threats on the third anniversary of the invasion’. A second article – this time about the Middle East – highlights Spain’s opposition to the ludicrous plan to turn the land into a gaming resort: ‘Sanchez calls Trump's plan for Gaza “immoral”:  and “Gaza belongs to the Palestinians”’, says the headline.

Elsewhere we read (in a blistering take-down of the American leader): ‘Trump's betrayal opens a window of opportunity for Sánchez. Although, what the Spanish president must avoid in any case is that an excessive desire to take political advantage of Trumpian exuberance ends up by seriously damaging our country’.

It would be good to read that Sánchez has the support of all Spaniards (and better still, all Europeans) in his crusade against the current American leader (and his partner Elon Musk), but of course, there’s the Partido Popular, who are always looking for an angle to somehow take centre stage, and then there’s the far-right (are we allowed to call them fascists?) represented by Vox. This weekend at the PSOE Regional Congress in Seville, Sánchez called on Núñez Feijóo to cease his policy of being ‘a collaborationist’ with the far-right, and urged the PP to clearly position itself in favour of Europeanism. "You can’t support Europe only on the even days of the month", he said. 

From an editorial at elDiario.es, we read ‘…Trump's offensive against Ukraine has left the Partido Popular in an uncomfortable position. Its only reaction to the events in Washington has been to criticise Sánchez for standing out in his denunciation of the policies of the new US government. It is difficult to know the PP's position on international relations, beyond generalities, other than seeing the world through what Sánchez does’.

It’s true that Donald Trump has a few friends from Spain. The Vox leader Santiago Abascal f’rinstance. Even if Trump, at the CPAC (the annual ‘Conservative Political Action Conference’ held last weekend), salutes Abascal from the tribune by mangling his name as ‘San Diego Obascal’. They must be very close.

Elon Musk though, Donald’s first buddy, further encouraged Abascal when he said on Sunday that ‘Vox will for sure win Spain’s next elections’.

No doubt, there’s a lot he can do to help make that forecast come true. 

The Spanish voters are divided, as in most other countries where one is legally allowed to have an opinion, into the four blocks of far-left, left, right and far right. Even the small regional parties must march to this drum, while tending towards supporting the socialists in government (simply because the conservatives would consider their dissolution).

The old Ciudadanos party, which toothily claimed to be a centre party, was proved to be a crutch for the right, and it also showed us – once again – that no one wanted to be in the centre anyway.

My take is that the far left is, as always, too busy squabbling amongst themselves to ever get together to achieve much. They famously did it prior to and during the Civil War and (after being understandably quiet for the next forty years) haven’t achieved all that much since. The Conservative Media, the Judiciary, Church and Establishment all put a stop to their brightest star Pablo Iglesias – he of the ponytail – through lies, innuendo, bulos and lawfare.

In the socialist seats (a party with a lot of corruption cases in its history, particularly from Seville), another strong and intelligent man has risen to take the helm. He is truly a statesman and is well-considered in Europe, if less so here in Spain. Nevertheless, Pedro Sánchez and his government has done surprisingly well for the economy (rarely a strong point with the lefties) and is – compared with the other party bosses – the captain in the popularity stakes.

On the right, we have the party of Capital. Yet, they have a weak leader who is more prone to pointless attack than to mounting any useful opposition. The Right must defend the economy (and profits), but the economy is doing just fine. Could the PP do better in this important sphere? We remember the last time they were in power.

Alberto Núñez Feijóo’s party recently voted against the increase in pensions (no doubt in a gesture towards fighting against rising costs) and promptly got a Black Mark from Spain’s better than ten million pensioners, and was obliged to reverse course in a second vote just a week later. The point of chastising the government is not always going to play well with the ordinary folk queuing up outside the bank or the employment office.

The chances are good that Feijóo will anyway soon be deposed in favour of Isabel Díaz Ayuso or possibly Juanma Moreno (both currently nursing some problems of their own).

If supporters of the Partido Popular tend to think more of their wallets than they do of mine, then the Vox crowd have a different and far more negative agenda based on hatred, fear and jealousy. This party, which has a soft spot for General Franco (and his international equivalents today), is slowly growing in popularity and now stands at around 15% in the polls.

If the ragbag of far-left groups must support the PSOE to keep the wolf from the door, then the Voxxers will be vital in any future election to putting the PP into power, and their price will be high.

Right now, a small but symptomatic headline comes from a tiny village in the forgotten province of Zamora. It appears that no one has given birth in Vega de Villalobos in the last eighteen years, but now everyone there is thrilled by a Happy Event. The ninety-one residents of the village are said to be delighted.

But then a Vox deputy called Rocio de Meer (a good old Spanish family name if ever there was one) wrote on Twitter last week, as one does, complaining as usual about the foreign immigrants and to make her point she refers to the birth of the Vega de Villalobos child saying: ‘The future of Spain is dark’. See, the baby’s name is Ayoub (and not, I don’t know… Manolito). Worse still, she received 10,000 ‘likes’ for her efforts. The parents may be integrated, but they are still newcomers.

The leader of Vox is Santiago Abascal. He is also the president of ‘the Patriots for Europe’ clique in the European Commission and he has just held an international far-right fest in Madrid, with all the usual suspects in attendance, including Viktor Orban, Marine Le Pen, André Ventura, Matteo Salvini, Geert Wilders and Kevin Roberts, president of the sinister American Heritage Foundation (the ‘Project 25’ people).

Donald Trump received suitable adulation from all those present (as Europe waits for his tariffs to kick in).

The phrase Make Europe Great Again appeared on the rostrum during Vox’s ‘Cumbre de Patriotas’ (celebrating the utopian and largely fictionalised past of our continent, or are we thinking of Mussolini and his partners of ninety years ago?).

Apart from the music, I can’t think of a time when Europe was greater than it is now.

Thus Spain has its four political groups (plus some small and eccentric satellites). As for the large number of foreigners living in this marvellous country, 6,800,000 of us, well we don’t have the vote and, sad to say, we don’t count for much with the politicians.

Unless we misbehave of course.

Or have a baby.    

In the bad old days, the village postman wasn’t much good with foreign names (although he liked to collect stamps, sometimes removing them with a certain amount of bureaucratic relish from the corner of the envelope). It was no big deal: in those times, the twenty pound notes tenderly send by my dad’s sister would be folded inside within a sheet of carbon paper to fool the early X-Ray machines in Madrid.

I’d be sent to Old Martín with instruction to collect all the foreigners’ letters – at least those of the foreigners who were sat in the village square, drinking and gossiping.

It’s not as bad as it sounds.

The correos opened in those day at the reasonable hour of 3.00pm.

Anyone who wasn’t in the square drinking naturally risked losing his twenty quid.

It’s a far cry from today. Now we don’t know each other – there’re too many of us – and the post office wouldn’t give out the mail to some spotty foreign kid anyway. Now, it’s either delivered by a person dressed in a yellow uniform driving an equally buff-coloured three-wheel motorcycle, or its placed in a tin post-box and you come along during opening hours to see what – if anything – is new.

As for the folded twenty pound notes, now the British Government lets you take abroad as much as you like: to spend freely on rounds of brandy, weekends in a Parador or buying a second hand car with no MOT and the steering wheel on the wrong end of the dashboard.

Before they took to delivering the mail, I too had a post box: un apartado. Nº 35 it was. Then they started charging a heavy sum for its rental, insisted that each person who used the PO Box would have to pay separately for the same number, and they introduced (free) house deliveries anyway.

It was an easy call, although any letters which later arrived at my Nº 35 were solemnly returned to sender, unread.

I’m sure that as the result of the Person Unknown stamp on the repatriated item, the editors of my old school magazine were convinced that I had precipitously joined the list of ‘the dearly departed’.

Which, on the bright side, saved me continuing with my modest annual subscription.

The world moved on, and someone invented emails, which took the wind out of the sails of the Spanish postal system. Then along came DHL and their parcel-totting competitors, plus those fellows who whizz through the city traffic on their bicycles with an urgent message stuffed down their Velcro pouch.

The post office was on the ropes.

So it invented in own high-speed parcel delivery system, operated as a bank for a while, started to sell books by right-wing authors (have a look next time), sent and received money abroad, sold stickers, lottery coupons and magazines and generally moved, as they say, forward.

The postage stamps were another change. Instead of a stamp which one could lick and affix, the new ones have peel-off backs. Or, and more usually, they print out an inelegant sticky strip with numbers and bar-codes, and press it onto your envelope – as often as not hiding part of the first line of the address.

So today, I went to post a letter to foreign parts and said that I wanted a stamp rather than an adhesive label, if it was all the same to them.

There was a fuss, but eventually the clerk played ball and found two stamps. The first had a peel-off back, the second did not. It has to be glued on, she said, as – not finding the glue-stick – she sellotaped it onto the envelope.

But let me leave on a positive note.

I always used to joke that when I grew up, they would put me on a postage stamp. Now, it appears, you can take along a photo to the correos and they will run you up a set of 24 street-legal stamps, with a sticky back, and bearing your smiling image.

I think I could have some fun with that.    

This seems like a good time to write about Brexit, which finally came to pass five years ago this February 1st. No doubt, like the majority of Brits living in Europe at the time (many of us without the vote on this considerably important topic), or in Gibraltar, I was decidedly against it.

My passport used to say that I was a European citizen; and now, it doesn’t.

But let’s start with the British opinion on the Brexit, where a far from thunderous 52% of those who voted back in June 2016 wanted out of the EU.

The Telegraph says: ‘Brexit wasn’t a failure. It liberated us from the declining, dictatorial EU’ (the right-wing organ introduces the above with the slightly inelegant ‘The Telegraph is publishing a series of essays on How to Save Brexit from expert commentators…’).

To which I say ‘indeed’.

We might as well do The Express (the low-brow right-wing newspaper): ‘Has Brexit failed? It’s the patently stupid question that people won’t stop asking’. Answers on a postcard.

John Redwood writes the Conservative line: ‘The voters were right about Brexit. We now need a government to use the freedoms we have gained’.

The BBC brings us a cautious ‘Brexit has some benefits, No 10 says on anniversary’.

There’s Adam Bolton over at Sky News writing ‘Most people think leaving the EU was a mistake - but don't expect politicians to reopen the Brexit question. Five years on, even many of those who still champion Brexit, including Nigel Farage, concede that it has "failed" - so why are the main parties afraid to tell voters they got it wrong?’

The Guardian also wonders whether there’s a light in the tunnel: ‘Hope mixes with anger on Brexit’s fifth anniversary’.

The European press (unless they are supporters of the AfD or Geert Wilders) are worried that any fresh departure from the EU could only weaken the rest – and we all know that there are some dangerous creatures out there circling the wigwams (or was it the wagons?).

To turn to the Spanish media, we find El País with ‘55% of Britons regret the EU exit as the British government cautiously approaches Brussels. Keir Starmer is quietly seeking greater cooperation with Brussels to revive the UK economy’. elDiario.es, reporting from Oxford, has ‘Five years of Brexit, the reverse that has slowly sunk the United Kingdom amid popular disappointment. Only 11% of adults now believe that leaving the European Union has been a success while the country suffers the obstacles of the self-imposed border to buy tomatoes, sign footballers or sell sandwiches in its supermarkets outside the island’. Sandwiches always were a problem, that and bendy bananas.

The ABC assures its readers that ‘57% of the Brits would vote to re-join’. 62% of the Brits, says another Spanish paper doubling-down, think that ‘the Brexit was a fiasco’.

A local Brit blogger calls it ‘The worst day in modern British history’.

There is some question about whether the UK should look to shelter under the wings of the EU or grasp the US nettle held by Donald Trump. None of the Spanish media appear sanguine about the UK going it alone (Bravely, By Jingo), but accept that there won’t be a cautious Return to the European Union for a long time, although, as a pundit tells 20Minutos, the two powers need each other.  

How’s business here down the line? Todotransporte says ‘After five years, Brexit has not been so bad (for Spain)’. It says that Spanish exports to the Sceptred Isle are actually up by 25% over 2020 with Spain enjoying an annual surplus of 12,500 million euros.

To return to those Brits who have a connection or a sympathy towards Spain, we have the (apparent) future issue of the 100% tax on non-EU citizens buying a home here, and the ongoing one of those who own a place, but don’t have residence and thus fall under the 90/180 day issue, obliging them to leave the Schengen Area – and indeed their Spanish home – for lengthy and unnecessary periods.  This second issue, of course, wouldn’t be fully resolved by the UK re-joining the EU – it would have to sign into the Schengen Treaty.

Which, ‘like Breturn’, is a non-starter.

The FITUR – Spain’s gigantic tourism fair – is now over. Deals have been struck, hotels booked, new attractions publicised and above all, 2025 is met with optimism and faith.

The goal is to bring 100 million foreign tourists to Spain this year (it was 94m in 2024) – and to increase the money taken last year (a tidy 126,000 million euros), and just maybe increase the percentage of Spain’s GDP to be marked down to tourism.

Tourism is an excellent industry, as they come, they pay, and (best of all) they go. During their brief visit, they spend every day on drink, on food, on hotels and on souvenirs. Apart from a tee-shirt or a decorated pot, they won’t export anything from Spain in exchange for their money much beyond a hangover, a sunburn and a maybe a secret telephone number or email address from someone they met at the hotel disco.

And all that lovely money. Most of it is spent in places where neither Spaniards nor foreign residents tend to go: whether the tour-hotels; those AirBnb homes; the spoiled and overcrowded attractions (think the Alhambra, the Grand Mosque, the Sagrada Familia or other ‘untenable popularity’ places as listed recently by Fodor) or indeed in the tacky souvenir shops. Those businesses relying on tourism – rather than residents – will have their own solutions to bring to the table: more tourism please, and let’s stop with that ‘Tourist Go Home’ stuff.

FITUR was good for tourism, but it was also good for Madrid. 225,000 people came to the show, and the city took in, says a tourist-page, an extra 445 million euros in those five days.

Spain, says CNN, and looking at the American market, is ‘the red-hot tourist destination’.

In his New Year’s speech, the mayor of Málaga Francisco De la Torre warned about La turismofobia and calls for moderation because, he said, "the success of Málaga" depends on tourism’. We need to take note of this, because not only does tourism help Spain’s GDP, it is also less tiresome for we residents than living in a town dedicated to factories or heavy industry.

Under a photo of the Minister of Homes and Urban Agenda and a logo that reads, ‘Housing: the Fifth Pillar of the Welfare State’, an article from Spanish Property Insight (the best English-language site on the subject in general) says ‘The Spanish government floats radical tax plan targeting British and other non-EU property buyers’.

They aren’t alone. Dozens of headlines say something similar. The Yahoo news site quoting some regional Brit newspaper, says ‘Warning to Brits after Spain reveals 'extreme' plans targeting them’ and The Telegraph says ‘Spain wants to kill off the British holiday home dream, here’s what you can do about it’. Some erroneous hyperbole quickly arrived from The EWN saying that ‘Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez shook the world with the ambiguous claim that his government planned to tax properties owned by non-EU nationals by 100 percent’.

My favourite one though comes from The Times, with a comic but despairing piece called ‘Spain’s anti-Brit tax is a reminder: no one wants to be driven out by immigrants’.

Ah yes, the British fear of Johnny Foreigner. No wonder they chose Brexit.

I imagine that well over half the people reading this are neither British nor American citizens hoping to move to Spain (although, for sure, it’s a good time to come).

Come quickly though, as Sánchez later refined his plan, to say that all sales to non-EU foreigners could be halted. "We will propose to ban these non-EU foreigners who are not residents, and their relatives, from buying houses in our country since they only do so to speculate", Sanchez said at a political rally in Plasencia, in western Spain, on Sunday.

For balance, know that all the Brits currently resident in Spain (around 300,000) or Americans from the USA (perhaps 64,000) are evidently a lot fewer in numbers than the 1,560,000 foreign EU citizens living here.

And there’s the key. I think we Brit/American commentators take an – perhaps understandably – parochial view of our importance to both the Spanish people and to their political concerns.

In reality, we are fairly small fry and, worse still, we live in small and relatively unimportant towns along the coast and islands. Andalucía has the most Brits (and that would be in Marbella, Mijas, Estepona or Níjar with around 3,000 in each), followed in order by the Valencian Community, the Canaries, Catalonia, the Balearics, Murcia and only then the Madrid Region. As a matter of fact, Pedro Sánchez when looking out of his window doesn’t see hoards of resident Brits tucking into an English breakfast on the Avenida de Castellana.

Madrid, by the way, has a population of 3,400,000. 

The point being – the Spanish government will be looking at its own citizens (especially those that vote) rather than at the foreigners who, Bless them, come here with full wallets to buy a home on the coast.   

In short, with this suggestion, the Government is looking elsewhere.

Two considerations here - the foreign vulture funds are the main buyers of property (to speculate usually as corporate landlords), and secondly, it’s the wealthy Latin Americans who are taking over choice properties particularly in Madrid (there are now well over a million of them living there: with some wealthy ones in the smarter areas, which is now known as el Miami de Europa, and with other poorer immigrants and perhaps even living without papers down in the workers’ neighbourhoods). Both issues being far more important than the plight of our British and American cousins who may have waited a bit too long…

Maybe Sánchez was reading a recent piece from El País which says ‘They are not guiris, they are the new Madrileños: today, 40% of the residents of the centre of the capital were born outside of Spain’.

The concern, then (at least in anglo quarters) is that the tax on buying a property could go up maybe later this year or next – or even to be closed off entirely – and this would certainly put some non-Schengen buyers (already concerned with the 90 in 180 day limit within the region) off. One way around would to be to rent and take out residence-papers, as the proposed surcharge is only for non-resident non-EU citizens. Or maybe there will be early elections, as La Razón hopes, and the PP will get in and smile on us foreigners once again.

From the Spanish point of view, the increase on property tax for non-EU foreign investors might be little more than wallpaper (there are a number of rather more useful proposals), but it shows that the Government is thinking of its citizens, for all that the conservative media runs articles about the inconvenience towards foreign-buyers.   

Or maybe not: ‘Closing the country to rich foreigners might win some votes, but it won't solve the real problem’ says El Economista sententiously.