Jim Lawley

Once upon a time, when travel was still allowed, I checked into a small hotel in back-of-beyond Extremadura, in South-West Spain. The receptionist asked for my passport, I searched my pockets in vain, went to look in the car and then remembered that I’d left it on the table at home. 'Well, your national identity card then.' 'We British,' I replied 'don’t have identity cards.' She stared at me. 'If you don’t have identity cards … how do you know who you are?' Leaving the house just got a lot more complicated in Spain. As of Saturday there are a whole raft of new rules to obey. After 48 days of strict confinement – proper lockdown – millions of adult Spaniards (and me) are finally allowed out for a walk, fresh air and exercise.

Here in Spain we have proper lockdown. We're not ‘allowed out once a day for exercise’ over here. ‘You Brits don’t get it,’ my neighbour chuckled over the wall. ‘You’re teetotallers – apart from a glass of whisky every day,’ he continued. ‘You say, “Brexit means Brexit”. Well, lockdown means lockdown!’ But even though we have ‘proper’ lockdown, he and I can’t complain. We live in Avila in central Spain. From our houses we have beautiful views of the town’s medieval walls and ancient cathedral, and beyond to the snow-capped mountains. Most Spaniards live in flats but we have gardens and patios.