They’re all moving! In this time of financial crisis and House Market plummets, everybody else in our little clutch of outer-village dwellings is moving away. What are they not telling us?
In fact, old Philippe died fairly decisively… the man opposite changed his job… next door but one wants to be near her grandchildren… and two doors down – well, it’s just too sordid to talk about (any more)…
People don’t seem to move as often in France as in the UK, maybe because it’s such a faff. When you leave, you empty the house completely – curtains and rails, handy picture hooks, light fittings with bulbs (although they did leave us a solitary 40w on a scary bit of wire).
George and I landed in this unrecognisably bleak shell one freezing December night straight from final solicitor’s signings to find also that gas, electricity and water were switched off. With our furniture arriving next day, we got wine, water, candles and edibles from the village shops (mercifully open till 7pm), toasted our little cave and shared a sleeping bag, wearing every jumper we’d packed into the one case.
Next morning, our great big van arrived at seven thirty, having demolished a string of Christmas lights negotiating the village. (Perhaps nobody would know it was us…). There followed a frenzy of organising gas, electricity and water – the wherewithal for tea being paramount if we wanted our stuff unpacking...
With daylight we found not only our two cellars, but keys thereto, and the nice man from the water company patiently explained where the stop tap was. (Had we been able to see it the night before, we could apparently have unleashed that utility right away). Once we did unleash it, the water from the kitchen tap went into overdrive-flow and wouldn’t stop – switched on or not.
We then had visits from gas and electricity; French utilities insist on coming to inspect new customers for unfortunate tendencies and out-of-date equipment (which they find), then they tell you to get hold of a private contractor because they wouldn’t touch that apparatus with a barge pole.
In spite of all this, though, most seem to approach moving house with a gallic shrug; presumably they’re resigned to spending several months unscrewing everything because they know the place they’re going will also be devoid of content. Unless you count twenty years-worth of empty wine bottles, rusty garden implements and a gestapo greatcoat that we unearthed later.
Our current neighbours are exuberantly friendly and I’m sure we’ll miss them, but it’ll be exciting to see who’ll take their place. Our estate agent noted with hilarity that English people always ask "what are the neighbours like?" What’s so funny?
Admittedly, you have to try and glean true meanings behind the inevitable “lovely”, "salt of the earth" (or baffled “Pfouff” in France), but pleasant neighbours are a huge bonus. Even Unpleasant, you’ll have to communicate with them sometime, if only to borrow an emergency plaster or to extricate your cat from their dog…
Oh lord, the pets! Now how are they all going to get on?...
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So true about the empty wine bottles and never a full one. We did find a gallon-sized bottle of water white liquid in the celler that turned out to be illegally distilled rotgut (people do keep giving us this sort of thing) but I don't think we even got a 40W bulb.
Hello Dolores!
Hey, what fun! You’ve written another blog – this time on moving house! It’s a great topic! But why did you choose the title “Everybody Needs”? Are you being deeply philosophical here? Is it because you think everybody needs to move house?
If so, then I think you have a point. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve ever found the “perfect” home. My choices have been based on purely practical rather than aesthetic considerations. And the practical needs (like size and layout of accommodation, travel time to essentials like work, shops, and schools, etc) have always changed, often surprisingly quickly. I think that the “key to the right door” is one’s ability to deal with change….
Or to anticipate change!! Don’t the French draw up a list of fixtures and fittings as part of a house sale contract? Aren’t there on-going utility maintenance contracts with safety certificates that a new owner can take over? How about a surveyor’s report? Or is it really as bad as you describe?
There certainly is a lot of property up for sale in Normandy, and the asking prices are much lower than a year ago. But then, it’s the same all over Europe. My friend Pierre’s girlfriend recently bought a three-bedroom detached house with huge basement/garage and walled gardens in the town of Vire for only 115,000 euro – hugely cheaper than anything similar in England (I’d guess at around 50% cheaper). And the surrounding countryside in the Calvados region is staggeringly beautiful. Hmmm, it is very tempting….
Oh – and yes, I agree! Stopcocks are hugely important! Tell you what – why not acquaint yourself with the whereabouts of ALL STOPCOCKS in the surrounding houses that are up for sale. Your incoming neighbours will BLESS you and LOVE you forever! (especially if you deliver the information with some welcoming plonk and nibbles).
Rotgut, Jon? We only get Jam...
There must be many uses for the potent "water white" though - cleaning the terrace, killing triffids, Bastille Day festivities...
You enjoyed your Normandy trip then, Canary?
'Everybody needs... Good Neighbours' - used to be an Aussie tv soap song. In fact Kylie Minogue was Discovered therein!
'Fixtures & fittings' lists, 'ongoing contracts', 'surveyors reports' - definitely Non! Back in The Old Country, we were always so careful about such things; here we just bought it like a sun hat - it seemed to suit us... Scary, looking back.
Still, I agree that homes & hovels are What You Make Them, and we've made this one into a PALACE! Well, friends say it's Charmant, at least...
Oh, yes, Normandy was exhilarating!
We visited the Pointe du Hoc (between Utah and Omaha beaches), Mont St Michel and Bayeaux (for the Tapestry). But the greatest joys were found en route in our meanderings through the region. Our host Pierre has scores of friends and relatives dotted around the countryside who own gites, bars, restaurants, boulangeries and - fascinating houses! So our travels were punctuated with innumerable stops for refreshment, meeting new friends and exploring their homes and gardens. It seems that nearly everyone in Normandy has a vegetable plot that is twice the size of an average English garden! And everyone was keen to off-load surplus produce like potatoes and cherries – by the sack full. I always knew my roof rack would come in handy..…
So you “bought it like a sun hat”? Here’s my vaguely similar story…
I’d been visiting Tenerife once or twice a year for about ten years, always staying at the same small Hacienda-style hotel. One day, on a whim, I step outside to a public callbox and telephone an estate agent. I explain I am calling to enquire about an intriguing apartment that I see is being advertised for sale in the local newspaper. The agent gives me the address. I have no idea where this address is, so the telephone conversation continues as follows:
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“Where are you?” asks the agent.
“I’m calling from a telephone box outside the Hacienda” I answer.
“Which way are you facing?” asks the agent.
“I’m facing the Hacienda” I reply.
There is a long pause.
“Are you sure you are facing the Hacienda?” asks the agent.
“Yes” I answer.
There is an even longer pause.
“It’s right behind you…” says the agent.
Next day, I pay my deposit, and two months later, I move into the apartment – just across the road…
Perfect, Canary! Was the newspaper ad one of those imaginative agent's images... or did the apartment just sneak up behind you?
Hope you've been very happy there
I would love to be able to contribute a witty and amusing tale about moving but alas most of my moves have been of the nightmare quality!
But wait, there was one time when we moved here from the UK and after waiting a WHOLE YEAR (residency permits and all that)were finally able get our goods and chattles sent over. What excitemnt as all the boxes were unloaded! What hilarity to discover that one huge box was full of....nothing but old newspapers left over from packing by the moving company!
Bliss!!
I’m so glad you are back, Expat!!!! And you’ve reminded me of one of my awful weaknesses!
It’s what happens when I get involved in a house-move and get stuck into the LIFTING and REMOVAL of OLD TATTY CARPETS and UNDERLAYS that have been thoughtfully left behind by the previous property owners. I always fall into the same trap, don’t I?
“Easy!” I say. “This will take no time at all!”
And I’m right. The carpets are up, in no time at all. And I cut them up into manageable disposable pieces. Then I attack and remove the old and broken strips of “Smooth-Edge” (wooden carpet-gripping strips with protruding nails) that run around each room.
I am speed and energy personified!!!
Then, with huge gusto, I start lifting the UNDERLAY.
Progress slows, down to snail’s pace, and grinds to a HALT.
You see, I’ve been seduced into reading the newspapers that were published donkeys years ago, and which I find are laid out on the floorboards underneath the underlay.
….and I sit there, on the floor, reading, turning the pages, lost for hours in blissful reverie…
:-)
Oh my god...since you are talking about old newspapers...
While I was home for my Mum's funeral, my nephew and I went through boxes of things belonging to his Dad who sadly died in March. And guess what we found??? Half a dozen ORIGINAL (not special edition) UK newspapers reporting on the sinking of the Titanic. And they are in great nick, too. They must have been saved by my brother-in-law's aunt (he inherited her stuff).
Hey, I guess that beats empty wine bottles and white lightning!!
Hi Expat - Titanic news relics - fantastic!
Amazing what can survive in an old box. I was with my Aussie brother once when he opened a carton Mum had posted six months before; it contained several woolly things she'd knitted for her baby grandson.
The first thing that exploded out of the box though, was a huge potent puff of smoke. (Mum used to smoke eighty a day, knitting or not).
Clothes were adorable, though...
I have an Ausssie brother too!!
He lives in Mandura, Western Australia, near Perth.
Good heavens, Expat - your family's all over the place too!
Does your brother know Peter from Croydon, who now lives in Brisbane? (They MUST have run into each other)!
How long has yours been out there? Mine went in 1975 for a year and fell instantly in love with the place. He keeps running into people he worked with in the UK before the Call of the Sun...
(I've got another in Japan - where're the rest of your relatives)?
Mine went out in the early sixties. No other siblings living. I have first cousins in Perth and in Ontario. That's about it.
During her lifetime, my Mum had a ball travelling the world to visit her kids and their families.
PS. I wish I had a dollar for every time an American has said to me "You're British? Do you know so-and-so who lives in London?"
I bet you do, Expat. Wouldn't it be great if you had in fact known so-and-so since childhood and were about to be his bridesmaid...
Hello ladies! You've inspired me to write another blog. It's reproduced below.
Secret Siblings.
When people talk about their siblings I go funny peculiar all over. You see, I was an only child. And I was a bit miffed about that, because all the other kids in my class had at least one brother or sister. So when they went home after school, they always had company, even if their parents, like mine, were still out at work.
But I did have Miffy.
Miffy (his real name was Mif) was my imaginary friend. What a wonderful companion he was! And such an imagination! He was quite definitely the most imaginative person I’d ever met. It was he who introduced me to my imaginary family of siblings, and then showed me that they might not be so imaginary after all.
Miffy’s original idea was that my father had a secret love-child. This seemed quite plausible to me, because my father (who was actually my step-father) spent quite a lot of time away from home. At first, it was just the odd day or two, but as time went by his absences became more frequent. This made Miffy think that perhaps my step-father had more than one secret love-child, perhaps a whole set of secret love-children, possibly by several secret mistresses. All these secret love-children would be my secret half-brothers and secret half-sisters. And in the fullness of time, the children of my secret half-brothers and secret half-sisters would be my secret nephews and nieces. Wow! And the children of my secret nephews and nieces would become my secret great-nephews and secret great-nieces!
Of course, Miffy was quick to point out that none of these secret siblings or their future offspring were blood relations of mine. This was quite disappointing news for me, but as always, Miffy came up with other idea. He said that everything he had suggested about my step-father might also be true of my natural father. Well, I’d never met my natural father, so he was already something of a secret to me. But it was clear that any of his children by other women would be my secret half brothers and secret half-sisters, and these would definitely be secret blood relatives of mine.
It was only much later in life that I discovered that it was me that had been the secret love-child in the first place. Miffy hadn’t suggested that, but I think he was preparing me for the day when the truth finally came out. You see, he’d been right about everything else.
And you and I, dear friends, may have more in common than we know.
Very poignant, Canary, and I Loved the scary ending!
(Also available on 'Canary Islander' blog - a simple click at the top of this page)
VERY scary ending, Dolores! (but if true, then maybe that explains why we like each other lots?).
:-)
A poignant tale indeed. How many times have we, who were (blessed now but burdened back then) with siblings, wished to be an only child so as not to have to share our parents' time and affection? How many times did we take for granted being part of a traditional family of Mum,Dad and brothers and sisters? Too many.
Canary, I am humbled by your life story and in awe of the special lady you were priviledged to call Mum. What courage to raise a child alone back then! And you are the wonderful person that you are today because of that courage and the lessons of love and life she taught you.
If I may speak for Dolores, as well as for myself, we would be proud if you would consider us the sisters of your heart.
Now I am deeply moved, and reminded what magic we can weave in this world of ours. It only takes a few gentle words to make someone feel so special. Now you’ve done it for me. Bless you,Expat !!!
Yes, Expat & Canary, I would indeed be jolly proud too. (much as I struggle to say it here)
How splendid that our web paths intertwined... do you ever wonder how Constance is - she who made it happen...
Well, I'm happy as a sandboy!
Dolores, your mentioning Constance has reminded me: a chap called Bilby mentioned you on MyTelegraph yesterday. He said you were one of his favourite people, so I gave him your blog address here.
I had great fun playing the nutty numerologist on Constance's blog, but the bestest fun was getting to know you both. To think that we were completely unaware of your great blog here! But we certainly survived the "house moves" from her blog to Jon's blog and then to here, didn't we?
Am I right in remembering Constance's real name as Ceri Radford? I too, wonder where and what she is writing now. Hmmm, perhaps Google will unearth her….
Well, if it was Ceri, she is living a quieter life now. Her most recent article for the Telegraph was about "A" levels!
There is a summary of her previous posts at http://www.journalisted.com/ceri-radford
Expat - you are the skilled detective amongst us (you solved "Nothing Ill Hate"). Do you think it was Ceri?
Oh, I know for certain it was Ceri. She must have hit a wrong button one day and blogged under Constance Harding but with her own photograph up. I caught it fast and gently alerted her (something along the lines of "someone at the DT must have made a mistake here...") and it was fixed toot sweet. and I never let on to anyone at the time, even you guys.
But when you look at Ceri's photo and recall Constance's avatar, you can see the resemblance!
My God I'm so Thick, It never occurred to me Constance was Ceri.
I do bloggingly know the Delightful "chap called Bilby", Canary, from MyT (which I haven't been on for a while though) - I remember my ASTONISHMENT at discovering he was a SHE!
I check MyT from time to time to see what goes on and whether Flavia's book has been published, whether you've blogged, CI...
(you never had the urge to blog there, Expat?)
If either does post elsewhere, how about noting the http address here so we know to Dash off & read it...
http://vendeeblog.net/?p=312
Lovely Jon Doust of The Vendée Blog has received a Golden Blog Award. He's very kindly passed it on to me!
For now, it's beyond my brain capacity to display it here, but this is the link to where it was received & displayed by VendéeBlog.
Very Exciting!
Yippee! Congratulations, Dolores!
But what's it all about? I'm off to Jon's blog to have a look! xxx
I'm still a bit mystified! Is it a "chain letter" type award? What a fun idea! And congrats again!!
Wonderful, Dolores! And well-deserved for both you and Jon.
I do miss his DT blog.
Me too, Expat, although Jon's doing a goodly bundle of Vendée blogs at the moment.
He's also found the time to reply to my call for help about the Enormous & Shiny Golden Blog award, so I shall shortly attempt to Display it!!
Thank you both for your kind words - I'm somewhat baffled too, Canary, for example, where did it begin? Could anyone start one off?
Where will it end? (Probably with some dope like me getting stuck with the technicalities)
Damn! I was right!
Shall not surrender for now though - For the Golden Blog Must Get Through!!
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