When you move to a half-finished house in inland Spain, logic goes out the window and gets eaten by a goat. You pack like a panic-stressed raccoon. Things you swear you’ll need. Things you couldn’t possibly live without. Things that end up collecting dust in a cardboard box under a leaking ceiling. So, for anyone else fleeing burnout and buying a ruin in the sun: here’s what not to bring. We’ve tested these so you don’t have to.

1. The Bread Machine – This was Sam’s idea. “We’ll make fresh loaves every morning,” she said, holding it like a newborn. We used it once. On a cool evening. Then realised it draws more power than our entire solar array can handle, smells vaguely like hot plastic, and has a squeak that made Jamie leave the house for three hours. It now lives in the back room. We call it “The Loaf of Shame.”

2. Three Full Suits – Why did I pack suits? Not one. Not two. Three. I haven’t worn a suit in five years, and yet some part of me thought I might suddenly get invited to a gala hosted by rural electricians. They’re still in their dry-cleaning covers. I opened the bag once just to smell a different life.

3. A Fondue Set – This one’s on Sam again. “It’ll be cute,” she said. “Al fresco dinners under the stars.” She forgot we didn’t have chairs. Or tables. Or cheese. I tried melting chocolate in it once using a tea light and nearly set my shorts on fire.

4. Two Copies of the Same DIY Manual – We brought both by accident. One has coffee stains, the other is pristine and unreadable. Neither explains what to do when your water tank explodes sideways or your neighbour’s donkey chews through your hosepipe.

5. An Inflatable Kayak – No river. No lake. Not even a pond. It’s still in its packaging. I think I was imagining something romantic. Now it just sits in the corner like an unfulfilled promise to have fun someday.

6. My Work Laptop (and My Work Brain) – I told myself I might freelance a bit. Keep a toe in. Truth is, every time I opened that laptop I felt a wave of nausea. Not metaphorical. Literal. I haven’t plugged it in since week two. Sam threatened to repurpose it as a chopping board.

7. The “Essential” Tool Kit from the UK – Half of it doesn’t work with Spanish fittings. The drill bit snapped on day three. The spanners are too small. I now have a small collection of beautifully useless tools that I can’t bring myself to throw away because they remind me of how optimistic I used to be.

8. A Set of Matching Mugs – We brought eight. Not one survived. Two shattered in the van. One was lost during the Great Shelf Collapse. Four cracked in the first week thanks to fluctuating solar kettle boil failures. One was used (briefly) to scoop greywater from the bathroom floor before being ceremonially thrown away.

9. A Leather-Bound Planner – 2024. Full of colour-coded tabs and motivational quotes. I opened it once and laughed so hard I nearly cried. It’s now wedged under the bedroom door to stop it swinging open during windstorms. One of its better uses.

And the One Thing That Actually Saved Us: The extension cord with four EU sockets and surge protection. Bought in a panic at a petrol station somewhere near Reus. That thing powers the fridge, Jamie’s laptop, and one very moody floor lamp. If it ever dies, we all go feral.

I guess the lesson is: don’t pack like you’re moving abroad. Pack like you’re entering low-level survival mode with occasional olive oil. The house didn’t need our curated comforts. It needed patience. Duct tape. And possibly an exorcism.

Still, I’m keeping the suits. Just in case.