The Brits are coming. Thousands of them. They're spooked - selling their Spanish retirement homes at panic prices, packing up the straw donkeys and the Sun robes and trekking home. Their expat copies of the Daily Mail will have prepared them for an Islamist Hell paradoxically populated by puking drunk ladettes and chavs, with stalled property prices and a fascination with Pippa Middleton's arse. You can pretty much pick up a Spanish home on your credit card these days - if you've still got one. THIS delightful village house is estimated for auction at €9,000 but will actually sell for about €15,000, about half the bank valuation, in common with nearly all Spanish property.
And what are they going to do when they get here? £10k isn't enough to start a small wine bar in Slough, and their income is hardly likely to afford them the relaxed coffee and aguardiente culture back here. They may have to re-enter the job market; will the aisles of B&Q then be filled with elderly permatanned sun-shade experts? Will they live with their children, or perhaps, having blown the kids' inheritance on the Costa, will their kids have them?