It’s easy to convince yourself that Britain is now an unsalvageable basket case, a country that’s slipped into a pair of Fairy Liquid butter trousers and is currently hurtling down the slide of doom into a broken future full of nothing but taxation, crime and disease. The only consolation we have is that France might get there first.
I can sort of see why you might think like this. The economy is flatlining, the housing market is stagnant, the police have become pretty much useless, many towns feel like pot-holed no-go areas, and everyone is always furious. And we are being led by a bunch of people who are alarmingly unintelligent.
And while these dunderheads are on the south coast, bobbing about on a lilo with a vape and a handbag full of scratch cards, the country is becoming more and more unhappy, and as a result, a lot of people are now seriously thinking of upping sticks and moving to somewhere else.
So where could you go, realistically? Australia and New Zealand are obvious choices, and America too, if you’re of a Trump disposition, but I’ve had a look at how this might be possible and it seems pretty tricky. You can’t just buy a house and open a local bank account. There are forms and requirements and it all looks a bit tiresome.
So what about Europe? It’s tempting, as I’m sure many of us have sat on a pretty beach in the Mediterranean and entertained whimsical notions of perhaps moving there full-time. But have you seen Corfu in the winter? No, of course you haven’t, because there are no flights. It’s literally Alcatraz. I suppose you could dinghy over to Albania, to show them how it feels, but that doesn’t seem like any kind of salvation.
I love the south of France but I fear moving there would be like jumping out of the frying pan and into a vat of boiling oil. Italy is probably a safer bet and property prices are reasonable. But have you ever tried to get an emergency plumber in that neck of the woods? I’m not sure you could, and this might drive you a bit nuts.
You have to be realistic. You want to live in a country with, at the very least, a smooth supply of electricity, so that brings us to Denmark. But I think I’m right in saying they tax you over there for sneezing. Eastern Europe? Well, yes, but it’s got Andrew Tate in it. Germany? Austria? Be serious. Living in Austria would be like living in your grandma’s Sunday-best tea set.
Then there’s the problem of Europe’s unpredictability. One minute Portugal has the welcome mat out for Brits who wish to escape from the menace of Keir Starmer, but then they change their minds. I bet the same thing happens in Italy sooner rather than later. You move there, find schools for your kids, do a plumbing course so you can mend the lavatory by yourself and ten minutes later they elect a communist president and someone from the new state police comes round to confiscate your dog. The only long-term European safe haven, really, is Switzerland, but no, OK? Just no.
I’ve been around a fair bit over the years. I’ve seen the morning in the mountains of Alaska, I’ve seen the sunset in the east and in the west, I’ve sang the glory that was Rome and passed the hound-dog singer’s home and once, I saw attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. Or was that a dream? Anyway, I know the world quite well and I can’t think of very many places at the moment that aren’t either boring — Switzerland — or bloody risky.
The emirate of Dubai seems to have realised this because subliminally, and liminally, there are adverts for the place everywhere I turn. No income tax. Petrol 50p a litre. The police do what they’re supposed to do and it’s sunny most of the time. What’s not to like?
• Is the shine coming off Dubai for British expats?
I suspect quite a lot, but figures out last week show that since 2020, the number of people thinking of moving from Britain to Dubai has risen by 420 per cent. There was a 50 per cent jump in the past 12 months alone. And many aren’t just “thinking of moving” — Brits are now the second-largest purchasers of property in the emirate, after Indians.
I used to enjoy Dubai back in the early Nineties when there were no people in it and only one hotel. But today, it feels like the bastard love child of Las Vegas and Mickey Mouse. If Katie Price’s face were an emirate, this is what it would look like.
The Palm Jumeirah development in Dubai
GETTY
And there’s more, I’m afraid. If you close your eyes and picture the sort of chap who would move from the UK to Dubai, I’m fairly certain you’ll be imagining a dead ringer for the guy in my head too: a stubbly man who teams a suit with a T-shirt and does not wear socks. You see him at the races with his terrible friends, drinking champagne from the bottle, or on a golf course, or in Manchester. He’s probably a football agent. And his watch is preposterous. I do not want to live on the same street as someone like this.
And what do you do in Dubai to entertain yourself? I’m not going to pretend I while away my weekends in the UK looking at Roman remains or going to the Ashmolean to see, er, whatever it is they have in there. But it’s nice to know I could and that I sometimes see people who do.
And that brings me right back to the beginning. If you move abroad, in three-and-a-half years you will be living in another country, and God knows what it will be like there then. Whereas if you stay here, in three-and-a-half years you’ll be surrounded by your friends and family. And the horror of Starmer will have gone.