Little Britain abroad

They moved from the bustle of Acomb to a restful village on the outskirts of York and a house with a large garden and a pub across the road.

The ideal place, they thought, to wind down and slip comfortably into the twilight phase of their lives.

Maybe it was the harsh winter or the tedium of being in a village where a passing car was deemed an event, but their new existence became uncomfortably dull.

I met Tony and Irene last month while sunning myself in Murcia.

A family member had convinced them that a warmer, more sociable retirement would await them there. The atlas and climate might tell them it's in south-east Spain, but in many other respects they have moved to an English outpost.

They have rented a handsome three-storey apartment for an initial six-month period in a complex boasting swimming pools, pubs, restaurants, and even a bookies.

The lifestyle had cured their boredom, Tony told me, and most importantly they could still watch EastEnders on satellite. What a relief!

"It's much more sociable here," he said.

"Everyone wants to talk to you and have a good time. The only thing I miss is my garden."

With the advent of low-cost air travel, there are thousands of people embarking on the exodus to Spain.

Polaris World sell "luxury" villas and apartments in the Murcia region, and recently staged a property exhibition in York.

"Live the dream" in a paradise of comfort, the company's brochure gushes, with golf courses designed by Jack Nicklaus, stylish bars, designer shopping and gourmet restaurants. With property prices starting from £110,000, it's easy to see why retired folk and holiday home hunters are enticed.

I even know of one print worker from North Yorkshire who has bought a villa in the area. While his wife and children adjust to their new surroundings, he commutes back and forth every week.

I'm told he flies into Leeds-Bradford on Saturdays, completes two 12-hour shifts and jets back to Murcia on Monday mornings before most of us have got up.

Imagine the coveted looks he will get from colleagues this winter, particularly if his nose is peeling.

Having built a lifestyle around bargain flights what happens if they suddenly end?

Personally I won't be rushing back to Spain to live this dream.

Four of us stayed in a smart apartment for a week in a complex largely made up of retired British and German people who are permanent residents.

The property belongs to a York family who stay there in the school holidays and rent it out for the remainder of the year. Our whole trip, including flights, cost just £170.

We paid a heavy price in other aspects, however.

If our resort, Los Alcazares, was typical, then the biggest victim of the property-buying frenzy has been Spanish culture.

I could forgive the sight of red cranes hovering over endless rows of gaudy, half-built apartment blocks, and the face of Jack Nicklaus smiling at me from every billboard. Even the local convenience stores with the signs saying, "We sell Iceland food here" were bearable.

No, I was most taken aback by the compromise made on that greatest of Mediterranean passions - the bars and restaurants.

Stroll down the resort's main tourist hub and you can tuck into "Parliament-sized" hot wings at the English-run Big Ben's fried chicken joint. Further on and you can devour a prawn Madras at an Indian restaurant and even scoff sushi with chopsticks at an Asian eaterie.

As for alcohol, your options include creamy bitter at Penny Farthings bar, or a pint of the black stuff in The Celt.

Could we find a paella accompanied by an ice-cold San Miguel? No senor.

Most shocking of all was the Spanish-run place by the beach that only served microwave-heated pasta.

I'm hoping our experience was an aberration, and not typical of the sort of resorts Brits are retiring to.

If not, then forget living the dream. It would be my idea of a nightmare.

Then again I suppose I could always open a novelty attraction - a Spanish-themed restaurant.

Updated: 10:33 Friday, November 04, 2005