All it took was a six-day trip to Spain to confirm my very worst fears about Britain - Renee Hoenderkamp

The sat Nav warned us of heavy traffic as we set off and re-routed us away from the first choice M25 route. It was torturous; road works, never seeing a man working, temporary traffic lights that allow two cars through after a wait long enough to boil an egg and severe weight of traffic on roads that were creaking under pressure.

Along those roads, we encountered fly-tipped sofas and mattresses, rubbish in the gutters from passersby and from those deciding to shed their car litter whilst sitting in traffic, all on a backdrop of very little greenery, just brick after ugly brick of building. It was the grimmest scenery as we wound our way through the suburbs of London from North to South.

Finally, we made it to the M25 just three junctions away from the M23 turn off to Gatwick. Phew. Suddenly, the traffic started slowing, and then we stopped, and we stopped we stayed. I frantically googled the various ‘live’ traffic sites, and nothing could explain what was happening. Every now and then, we would move 200 yards, get excited and then our hopes were dashed again.

The time of arrival on the sat nav ominously ticked up until we had to face facts; we could well miss this flight. We started to call the airline, which was as helpful as they could be, but cheerfully informed us that they would not get us on another flight for three days. I googled the 3 other airlines flying to Malaga; no flights for three days, as it was half term.

It soon became clear what the issue was. At the slip road to the M23, a van had been in an accident and was on the grass between the M25 and the M23 slip road. Someone, in their wisdom, had chosen to close the slip road which was unaffected, and cars could have passed up it, past the van, as they were on the other side of the M25. One simple decision, leaving hundreds of families' travel plans in disarray…

Anyway, through some luck (we had checked in and had boarding passes, we had small cases that didn’t need checking in, the security queue was understanding and allowed us to jump the queue and the final evidence that there is a god, the Gate was next to the exit from security) we made it to the gate as they made the last call and tragically there was a couple with three kids waiting for us to not turn up. Why? Because the airline had overbooked the flight and bumped them off, and they had been told that if we didn’t make it, they would. They didn’t.

Thankfully, we landed in Malaga. What a different place to broken Britain. We sped through customs. Notwithstanding what Starmer would have us believe, there was no queue (the biggest queues we have ever encountered since Brexit have been on the return to the UK).

The car company had pre-checked us, so we literally walked to a desk, collected the keys, and we were off. Off onto roads that I can honestly say always flow.

I met traffic in Spain once when there was a very bad accident. We always know that once in the car, we will be at the house in 20 minutes. We stop at the supermarket on the way.

The beautiful, humungous supermarket with free parking. All stores where we are in Spain are easy to access with free parking. Once inside, the choice of fresh food is just so eye-opening that the first time ever there, we were like children in a sweet shop. It was hard not to just buy everything. The fresh fish counter is 25 m long and there isn’t a fish or shellfish that I can imagine isn’t there.

The meat counter is the same. The dried meat selections are insane, all the way up to whole legs of ham. Almost all of the fruit and veg are picked and packed. Very little pre-packed, and they make a big thing of labelling Spanish-grown produce. Eating healthily is easy there.

Back in the car to the house. On the way, there are some roadworks (it happens), but not only are there always many men working, but they let the traffic sort itself out around them. It works. Cars drive slowly, but they drive. They are respectful, and no one is delayed or run over!

As you drive along those roads, they are beautifully manicured. Flowers are planted in the troughs, oleanders along the roads, and there are council staff sweeping, weeding, cutting and tidying all of the time. It is a scenic joy as you traverse the local area. And yes, the sunshine helps, but we can’t change that in the UK (in fact, we are actively trying to dim it).

A day or two at the house, and we need to take the rubbish out. No bin collections here. In almost every street, and on long streets, there are large communal bins for glass/metal/plastic and other rubbish. We either walk to ours, it's 50 meters. Or if going out, pop it in the boot and just stop en route. It can be a chore, but then Spanish people take responsibility for their rubbish and nowhere is there fly tipping. If you have a bed or something big, you call the council and they come and pick it up free of charge. There is no incentive to dump.

Shopping centres are big, easy to access, and parking is as everywhere else, free. They are clean, tidy and easy to navigate. People are polite. It’s a joy, not a chore. And when you are ready for the beach, they don’t disappoint. There are showers and toilets, and they are cleaned every few hours, and always a lifeguard in the tower.

This was just a six-day trip, but due to the grey hairs grown during the journey to Gatwick, it got me thinking about what does and doesn’t work in the UK. Sadly, I have come to the conclusion that nothing really works. Nothing is thought through properly in terms of layout and design.

Decisions that are massively impactful are taken without thinking about the people they will affect. Nobody gets any kind of service from their council, rubbish tips charge or needs pre-booking, so people fly tip (I’m not condoning this).

Shopping centres are few and far between, and most charge exorbitant amounts, and high streets are dying because you can’t park.

Supermarkets are purveyors of pre-packed, poor-quality food with limited choice. There is no care for the communities we live in and very little upkeep from the council despite the eye-watering council tax that we pay.

I can’t remember the last time I saw a drain cleaner out and about, or someone planting/tending flowers, cutting hedges or doing anything else to make the space around us look lovely. It's sad.

We have lost our way. Money is being spent on things that don’t enrich lives. People who don’t care about their locality or anyone else.

Then there's the creaking infrastructure, around which planning is poor. I am not sure it's fixable, and not even the sun shines to make it look and feel a little less grim, that I am finding it.