20th August 2008

Lying in bed this morning, I was thinking back to that first frantic house-hunting trip to this region four years ago. Fate often hangs on seemingly innocuous things. That English estate agency near here had seemed so quaint, situated in the most picturesque part of the village. I had been so nervous walking down the mediaeval cobbled alleyway towards our first look at our future. Everything would depend on it. However, we were in for quite a few disappointments as everything in our price range turned out to be one renovation job after another. I remembered discovering that the most promising property at that time had a tombstone in the front garden, complete with large cross and rosary beads to the fore. We certainly couldn't live with a dead body lying in our front garden. At that time we had already sold our property in the UK and were desperate to find somewhere - anywhere - or we would be homeless. What a time! However, as you've by now gathered, we did eventually find our current house, a pretty bungalow with sky-blue shutters and roses around the door. After our earlier disasters, it was easily the best we had seen. It had a beautiful natural stone fireplace, complete with insert log-burning stove. The French don't seem to worry about smoke-free zones. Set above the insert was a heavy dark oak mantlepiece, rather like a railway sleeper. But for him indoors, he'd already shaken hands with the owner and the deal done before we'd even walked through the door. Why? Because Monsieur had explained to him that the sit-on mower came free with the house.