It’s funny being here again – so familiar and so comfortable.
I can talk. I can understand other people talking. I can drive without having any worries about making a mistake. I am surrounded by familiar things which I find pleasing – paintings and sculptures, chairs and curtains, plates and cups. (I am a Taurean so these things matter!)

My animals sleep in front of the log fire. When something went wrong with my van today I knew who to ring and he fixed it for me on the same day, because he knows me.
Here I know what to do and how to be and who to ask and where to go.

But on a long walk with Bonnie today I realised I don’t want to live here. I like living in Catalunya. I like learning new languages, I enjoy the challenge of being in new places and meeting new people.  I like the warmth of my new life – I don’t mean just the weather though. The first thing people here say is ‘it must be lovely to live somewhere sunny’ and of course that is true but it isn’t the most important thing.   I like how people kiss each other on greeting, how they so hate to say goodbye that it can be an hour from the first sign of departure to the moment when they disappear round the corner.  Perhaps it is to do with the weather after all – when you can spent more time outside it is much more possible to be sociable and relaxed and physical.
Many people that I know in Barcelona and Granollers have not moved very far from their first home. Families are still well within Christmas visiting distance and if you ask most people where they come from they will name some place within a few kilometres.  It’s no longer like that for many people in the UK and I have moved from Scotland to London to Cornwall to Catalunya – letting my heart lead me south while trying to find my roots inside myself rather than in native soil. I’d like to think that I carry my home within me but it is a work still in progress.

What do I call this?
Coming home?  Coming to the UK?  Having a holiday in Cornwall?
Certainly it doesn’t feel like a holiday although I suppose it could be seen that way.

For me one of the things I wasn’t expecting when I moved to Spain was how it would feel coming back to my old home.

Perhaps it would be different if I had left here with the intention of not coming back. Or if I had at some point packed up my house and belongings and driven south to take my chances in Barcelona. Or if I had got four pet passports and taken two dogs and two cats in their cages across the sea from Plymouth to Santander and driven them barking and miewing down to Catalunya.

But I didn’t do these things so when I come back to Cornwall I find a house, filled with my stuff, lived in by my animals (as well as my friends who look after them).  I am met with happy barks and purrs which make me feel guilty as I know the day will come all too soon when I bring out the suitcases again.
I left them for three months and ended up staying in Catalunya for good. I am still in transition one and a half years later and I wonder if other people have this long drawn out moving process?

There is a mountain of post to deal with, dripping taps to mend, damp corners to worry about, overgrown brambles to cut, bills to pay, vets to visit and a lot of questions to think about while I search for answers.

• Is it fair to take a 15 year old deaf collie to live in a hot country?
• What is more important to a cat or a dog – familiar home or loving owner?
• What furniture would I drag across a continent to a new home?
• Where can we  find a home close to Granollers that has a lovely big garden and is not too close to a busy road nor part of an urbanisation?

 Apart from these and many other questions that wake me early every morning I am having a lovely time. There are vegetarian options in the cafes, the view of St Michaels Mount is as beautiful as ever,  the air is fresh and the night sky is crammed with stars. Today I bought fresh fish from Stevensons in Newlyn.

It is cold but still dry and after we cut back the brambles around the trees that I planted over ten years ago we had a huge bonfire and I burned several bags of letters and photos as part of my attempt to clear the clutter in my house and head.