The man who was “still a UK resident, just on a long holiday”
He was adamant about it, and cheerfully so. He’d kept the flat in Surrey, the UK bank account, the accountant he’d used for twenty years. Spain was a long holiday, he said, that had simply gone on a bit. The fact that his wife and children had moved into the Fuengirola house in January was, to his mind, a detail.
It was not a detail. He’d crossed 183 days without keeping count, his family habitually lived in Spain, and the centre of his life had quietly relocated to a terrace with a sea view. On every test that matters he was a Spanish tax resident — which meant Spain, not the UK, expected tax on his worldwide income and a Modelo 720 listing the assets he’d assumed were nobody’s business here.
Two doors down, someone else asked the boring question first. She counted her days before she booked the flights, checked where the treaty tie-breakers left her, and planned the year knowing exactly which side of the line she was on. Same coast, same sunshine — one of them chose their tax residency, and the other received it by post.
Tax residency isn’t about where you feel you belong or which address is still on the letters. It’s about days, family and the centre of your life — measured by rules you can know in advance. Our job is to count honestly with the tax team while you can still plan, so residency is a decision, not a surprise.


