The Brexile starts: so far, so good.

“So far, so good” are the words of the man plunging past the 50th floor of the Empire State Building towards the ground. Which makes the expression a little limited in value. Still, with all the caveats that implies, I can say that our Brexile in Valencia has got off to a good start.

Not that getting here was all that easy. Blanche du Bois always relied on the kindness of strangers. We always rely on the kindness of friends. In this particular case, our thanks would go to our friends Bruno and Jose who provided us with breakfast before we left, after which Jose took us to Gatwick airport, supervised the process of getting our dogs through security and our luggage onto the plane, and then headed back so that he and Bruno could repair to our old house in Luton (which they are buying) to keep our cat Misty company.

Because Misty, sadly, has stayed behind for now. He’s a cat who’s always been used to going outdoors or coming back in when he pleases. But, until we can find a suitable house (where suitability is a compromise between desirability and our budget), we’re living in a flat. Misty’s 12 now and I think it would kill him to be locked in all day.

So he waits in his old home until we can provide him with a new one. With Bruno and Jose to look after him, he’ll do just fine. And we’ve tested to make sure that he gets on swimmingly with their dog Nina, too.

The dogs, on the other hand, came with us. Which wasn’t pleasant for them. They had to go into carry cases which they hated, and at the airport security officials took them away from us to put them through various checks before returning them to us at the departure gate. The dogs took a very dim view of that. Indeed, Toffee, the more devilish and nimble, went so far as to open one of the zipped-up ends of the case and get out, making a beeline for the baggage conveyor belts. Who knows where in the world she might have ended up had the border staff not caught her, stuffed her back and tied up the openings with string.

The dogs had to go into the cases in the plane, too, which they didn’t like either. I travelled with Toffee, Danielle with Luci. Toffee gave me such a pitiful look that I took her out and put her on my knees. But then I saw that Danielle had done the same thing with Luci, which made me feel less guilty. And the cabin crew, being Spanish and sharing the Latin sense that rules are merely guidelines, markers for aspirations rather than descriptions of behaviour, made no comment until we began to land at Madrid.

Toffee fed up in the plane

We were happy to take the dogs, because they can cope with apartment life for a few months, even if it means that we’re popping out with them four or five times a day. A small price to pay for the benefit of leaving Brexitland before the xenophobia there turns even more toxic. I hope Brexit may yet be avoided but, if it isn’t, I’m glad we got out when we did.

Not that we’re really refugees, here in our rather pleasant self-imposed exile. We didn’t have to pay money to people traffickers, unless you count the airlines. We didn’t have to climb onto overloaded inflatable boats and attempt a dangerous crossing with only an inadequate life jacket between us and drowning.

Why, we didn’t even face the same difficulties as my grandmother. Her father travelled from Vilnius to London in 1902, so he had a job and accommodation for them before she, her mother and brother followed him the next year. And we weren’t fleeing pogroms in the deeply anti-Semitic Russian Empire.

Instead, we were able to find a flat here, equip it properly, and even try it on for size last autumn, with the dogs, so that our departure into ‘exile’ felt more like a homecoming. Comfortable refugees rather than desperate ones.

All the more so as I’ve always preferred warm weather to cold. I was glad to cast aside last night the jumper I wore from London. And this afternoon, it was the long-sleeved shirt and cords. And that was after having breakfast out of doors this morning.

Breakfast out of doors

The dogs, too, seem to be doing well. Pretty much fully recovered from the trauma of the trip. But then, they’re back on the couch they came to know and love when we were last here.

Sofa so good, as I’m sure they’d say.

Toffee and Luci: sofa so good