There’s a little corner of the world that’s saved my sanity more times than I can count. A place largely untouched by the madness swallowing Britain whole.
That place is Mallorca, and I've been going to that island for nearly 30 years, since 1997, and it’s become more than a holiday destination. It’s my escape hatch, my refuge from crime, division, wokeness, and collapsing public services back home.
I first went out there in the late ’90s, before smartphones, before this country lost the plot. It was all about beaches, cold beer, and a break from the grind. Then, in 1998, my whole life changed. I met my wife, Chloe, on that beach, pure luck, and it turned out we lived in the same town back home.
One minute I’m sunburnt and hungover, next I’m chatting to the woman who’d become my world. We’ve been together ever since. We got married in 2008, just across the rocks from where we first met. If that’s not full circle, I don’t know what is.
A little corner of the world has kept me sane for 30 years. It's my escape from hellhole Britain - Adam BrooksGetty Images
In 2014, we managed to scrape together enough for an apartment in the same block as Chloe’s mum and dad. We hit the jackpot, not just financially, but emotionally.
Our balcony looks straight down onto theirs. Every morning in the summer, our kids lean over and shout to nanny and granddad, and you know what?…that’s what life should be. Family. Simplicity. No crime, no shouting in the street, no junkies outside the corner shop, just peace.
My family spends four to five weeks out there every summer. Chloe and the kids are out there soaking up the sun, while I come and go because of my pub and work commitments. But I’ll tell you this, it’s cheaper for me to have them in Mallorca than to keep them here in rip-off Britain during the school holidays. Think about that. In a supposed “cost-of-living crisis,” it’s more affordable to live abroad, a fact.
And what do you get in return? Clean streets, spotless beaches, public services that function, police who mean business. Look, I'm not a criminal, never have been, but even I stand up straighter when I see the Spanish police; they don’t mess around, and that’s exactly how it should be. No softly pandering, no rainbow flags on police cars, just law and order.
Mallorca has been with me through every phase of life. From wild weeks in Magaluf as a lad, to quiet dinners with the kids and in-laws now. It’s part of my DNA. The friends we’ve made there, the locals we know by name, the little restaurants we go back to every year, it’s become home from home. And I mean that.
If I ever hit it big, I wouldn’t think twice. I’d pack up the family and move there for good. Until then, I’ll keep playing the lottery and dreaming!
Because while Britain crumbles, Mallorca reminds me what life should feel like. Simple, safe, and happy.
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