It is 20 years, to the week, since I left the UK, one of the best decisions I ever made. I moved to Belgium for work, expanding my horizons, not just in terms of chocolate and beer. Since moving, I have picked up four languages and a partner, grey hair, and a retirement.
I actually decided to leave blighty just after the millennium, but this was during the dot com bust, meaning there was no work available. Once things picked up, I found myself with an offer of a contract with a printer manufacturer in Flanders, which, after much hesitation and cogitation, I accepted. I moved in December 2005.
I subsequently moved to Luxembourg, back to Belgium, Ireland, France, the Netherlands, and eventually back to Luxembourg, as one contract finished and another one arose. In the end, I grew tired of the whole process, so recently retired.
I picked up four languages, one of which, Flemish, I’ve since lost. I openly admit my German and my Luxembourgish are pretty dreadful, but my French is used heavily, if dubiously.
In Ireland, I was first published, and now have five poetry collections and two chapbooks out there. I’ve also self–published four photography artists’ books, and have been anthologised twice. I don’t think this would have happened if I’d stayed in the UK, if only because it was Ireland that kicked things off.
I do miss aspects of blighty, particularly pub culture, but am I glad that I left before the traitors won their referendum to weaken and impoverish the UK. Indeed, the actions of the traitors, particularly their removal of freedom of movement in the name of increasing freedom (a typical fascist hypocrisy), forced me to take Luxembourgish nationality. I can’t see myself returning to the UK.