Five years ago, I was a magazine journalist and editor working for a trendy publishing company in west London, with a zippy new car, a witty, intelligent journalist boyfriend and a nice house in Highbury. Dinners in trendy Islington restaurants, drinks in hip Soho hangouts, designer clothes, exotic holidays. Now I live in Seville, in a rented flat without proper heating or air-conditioning, I earn a fraction of my previous salary teaching English and writing, and until recently I drove a year-old banger.
I'm married to a Spanish engineer whom I met here and I'm seven months pregnant with our first child; our holidays are spent at the coast or with my family in England. In between, I left the job, dumped the boyfriend, sold the house and travelled round South America.
Like many people in London, I felt bored, wanted new challenges and experiences and, above all, never again to commute on the Tube. I lived in Quito, in Ecuador for a year, where I DJed and worked in a bar, had a dalliance with its owner, taught English having returned to the UK to do a TEFL course , did voluntary work in a travellers' club and rediscovered my zest for life. Deciding that Ecuador was a bit too far from home - family and friends are what every expat misses most, and things didn't work out with the bar- owner - I pondered where to go next.
Close to England; Spanish-speaking; near the beach; warm climate; a small, historic, beautiful city. Seville fulfilled all the criteria.
I arrived here nearly three years ago with a few contacts, one of whom will be godmother to my child. Within weeks, I met my now-husband, Paco. We're both self-employed, so life is unpredictable in terms of working hours and money.
