The Garden Room That Nearly Qualified for Spanish Citizenship

When Nigel and Susan left Surrey for the Costa Blanca, they had a dream.

Not a big dream. Not to own a yacht or a vineyard.

Just a nice little garden room where Nigel could "work from home."

Susan found this amusing because Nigel had retired three years earlier.

"It's for my hobbies," he insisted.

"What hobbies?"

"I'll think of some."

The plan seemed simple enough.

Find a builder.

Apply for planning permission.

Build a lovely garden room.

Drink wine in it.

Done.

How naïve they were.

The first architect they met asked for a copy of the property's deeds.

Easy enough.

Then the land registry documents.

Reasonable.

Then a topographical survey.

"What's that?" Nigel asked.

"It's a map showing the exact shape of your land."

Nigel pointed out of the window.

"There it is."

Apparently, that wasn't official enough.

Two weeks later, a man arrived carrying equipment that looked capable of locating submarines.

He spent three hours measuring everything.

The walls.

The trees.

The flower beds.

Susan was fairly certain he measured the cat.

Next came the Town Hall.

The clerk studied the plans carefully.

"Muy bien."

Nigel smiled.

"But..."

There it was.

The word every expatriate in Spain eventually learns to fear.

"But..."

"The plans show a lemon tree."

"Yes."

"Where is the orange tree?"

"We don't have one."

"On the aerial photograph from 2019..."

Nigel blinked.

"That orange tree died."

"You'll need to explain that."

"Explain... a dead tree?"

"In writing."

So Nigel found himself writing what was probably Spain's first official obituary for a citrus fruit.

Meanwhile, Susan was sent to another office because one signature needed another signature confirming the first signature could legally be signed.

By now they'd become familiar with the ticket machine.

The receptionist didn't even ask their names anymore.

She simply smiled.

"Planning permission?"

"Yes."

"Take number 73."

"What number are you on?"

"Six."

Wonderful.

Fortunately, there was a cafe opposite.

By the fourth visit, the waiter had stopped asking what they wanted.

"Two coffees?"

"Please."

"And the cheese sandwich?"

"You know us too well."

Weeks turned into months.

Every time they thought they had supplied every document imaginable, another one appeared.

One afternoon the architect phoned.

"Good news."

"It's approved?"

"Almost."

"What now?"

"They've asked whether the garden room will be used as a permanent dwelling."

Nigel laughed.

"It's twelve square metres."

"Yes."

"So unless we're planning to adopt very small children..."

"The council still needs your answer."

Eventually, after enough paperwork to wallpaper a cathedral, permission was granted.

Construction began.

The builders arrived on Monday.

By Friday, the foundations were complete.

Two weeks later, the garden room stood proudly at the end of the garden.

Nigel walked inside.

Sunlight streamed through the windows.

Birds sang outside.

It was peaceful.

Perfect.

Susan poked her head around the door.

"So..."

"So?"

"What hobby are you starting?"

Nigel looked around thoughtfully.

"I was thinking..."

"Yes?"

"...after everything we've been through..."

"Go on."

"I might start a side hustle offering paperwork help in Spain."

Susan burst out laughing.

"Nobody would believe it."

To this day, the garden room is Nigel's favourite place in the house.

Not because of the view.

Not because of the peace and quiet.

But because every time someone admires it and says, "We will get one too!" he simply smiles, takes a long sip of coffee and replies,

"Good luck with that."