That Sliding Doors feeling

Some days I wake up and cannot seem to remember where I am. No, it's not the onset of senile dementia. It’s that 'Sliding Doors' feeling that, somehow, I am still living a life in parallel somewhere else and that the other version of me has got mixed up with this one.

For those who don’t know the film 'Sliding Doors', it starts with Gwyneth Paltrow missing/catching an underground train. In one scenario, she misses the train. In another, she catches it. The outcomes change her life, as we follow the one who missed the train (her life takes a turn for the worse) and the one who catches it (she leaves her cheating boyfriend and runs off with John Hannah).

To give you an example of what I mean, some days I completely forget I must drive on the right-hand side of the road. I have to will myself to remember which way to go around a roundabout. I have to remember which side the gearstick is on. Yet, I’ve lived in Luxembourg for more than four years, so how can it be I still get confused?

It’s not just driving. There are times when I forget my mother tongue completely. Despite not being fluent in any other language, I can only think of the French (and now Luxembourgish) word for something and find myself stuttering them out whilst trying to remember what on earth the word is in English.

The resultant pressure of there being two versions of me means I am continually unsure which one is available that day. Some days I am full of ridiculous English expressions like "cat got your tongue" or "Bob's your uncle", the next I cannot remember the word for 'potato' because it's been pushed out by the words 'grompere' and 'pomme de terre'.

This also leads to slightly schizophrenic behaviour when it comes to social graces – polite queuing at the cash register and an exchange of pleasantries while I try to practise my Luxembourgish, followed by wild and enraged gesticulating at the person who has cut me up on the motorway, where I seem to have no problem at all remembering all the swear words I know in English.

There are days when I rage against the machine, mostly anything that involves administration. Then there are days when I accept this is the way people do things in Luxembourg and get on with it. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised. Exchanging my UK driving licence for a Luxembourgish one could not have been easier.

When I go back to the UK, I have moments when I see clearly how my other life might be. Brexit has certainly helped me view it as less than rose-tinted, but there's nothing like going to a UK supermarket and marvelling at all the multi-buy offers and exotic foodstuff to make you really wish you could teleport yourself there once a month to stock up on Mr Kipling cakes, naan bread and chocolate buttons.

Can’t teach an old dog new tricks

Some people might say this is just homesickness, but I don’t miss home. I love the life I lead here in the Grand-Duchy and know we have a considerably better quality of life than we could ever imagine in London. Perhaps it's more akin to the "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" adage … that my autopilot tendency is to drive on the left, that my impatience is ingrained from years of living in a busy capital city or that my tired, worn brain just cannot compute more than one language.

When I have a 'Sliding Doors' moment, I usually just wait for it to pass. My normal id will return. And I am comforted by the fact the 'other' me is probably having one hell of a time trying to work out whether it's OK to park on a double-yellow line and wondering why she has a burning desire for a glass of Crémant.