We didn’t get a McDonald’s in Tasmania until 1988 – when I was 18 – and therefore I never got hooked on that horrid synthetic crap.

A lot of Jerez’s bars close on a Sunday after lunch and don’t reopen until Tuesday or even Wednesday. I made this list for our own benefit.

“Can you teach normal Spanish too?” There was a brief pause while we each processed my question. Carmen teaches Andalucían Spanish

“There are loud Spaniards and dogs barking and dog poop everywhere, I dislike having dinner at a restaurant and having to shout at my wife …

We grabbed a table, ordered a drink, and watched as a couple of dozen locals rocked up 15 minutes after kickoff, such is the Spanish relationship with punctuality. 

But Australia is such a beautiful place, she says. Why would you leave? We explained how the government is tearing apart the environment, described the loss of real industry in exchange for mining and forestry.

Eye contact among bar staff works differently in Spain. Sure, if you walk into a quiet bar and the barman is right there you’ll get a friendly buenas.

Choosing our favourite restaurant in Jerez is like nominating a favourite child, when you know full well that one day he, she or they will crash your car or tell you they want to be an influencer.

We and our friends were perched at a barrel in one of 180 casetas, drinking beer, when Derek said, this is better than watching TV. Words will never do justice to the sight of thousands of people dressed in traditional flamenco and riding attire.

They say that you only truly understand something if you can explain it to your cat. Here’s how I explained to Ted the mysterious 183-day rule that underpins the requirements for the Spanish non-lucrative visa.

It comes as a minor annoyance to some visitors when they discover that finding a flamenco performance in Jerez can be tricky.

The Netflix show Chef’s Table featured this guy called Ángel León, a crazy genius who lives on a bog. Well, more of a marine wetland, where he grows, harvests and cooks a whole bunch of stuff that’s presumably covered in flamingo shit.

I love the Jerez train station because you can buy a beer and drink it right there on the platform. No last-minute dash through the crowd or arriving early only to stand in the blazing heat watching the clock.

Just like that princess from the fairytales who could pee through a hundred mattresses, I’m a rather sensitive soul.

For us it was the best demonstration yet of not only the superbivity of Spanish seafood range, but also just how different each of the fish tastes. It’s wild. Uniquely and unapologetically un-Japanese. Proudly Andalucían.

This is the entryway to our new house, which we have the keys to, legally, and we can come and go from any time we like, as long as we remember to bring the keys.

Our favourite bars were full, tourists loaded to the gunwales with shopping bags got in the way wherever we went, and every inch of the beach was covered in bodies of varying shades of pale and circumference.

Sure, it’s like listening to a Tasmanian devil that’s just been stung by something (if you’re not from Tasmania, think of a werewolf that’s just been bitten by a Tasmanian devil) but it was a first-rate spectacle.