The New Fence

Patience is a fleeting virtue with me. I've learnt from doing up my first house that things take time, especially when you don't live there full-time to pester potential contractors. So it's extra rewarding when something begins to take shape and you can actually see progress.

When Mme B sold the house, she divided her land in two. Roughly half of it went to me with the house; the other half was sold to my neighbour Jerome. I wish I could have afforded both parcels, but I think she was on an ancient family promise to do it this way in any case.

So a new fence was required, if for no other reason than to stop me dreaming of the huge pool I could never have afforded to build there. Jerome suggested he and Freddie work on the fence together and we split the cost of materials. In the meantime, Michelle, bless her, dug the holes with Jean-Pierre.

I was delighted when work began at a cracking pace first thing the gloriously sunny morning of 7 May. Nothing like a churning cement mixer to bring out the neighbours. They were all as charming and welcoming as they could be. Lucky me.

Here is the work in progress. The posts are in. No longer visible is the red and white tape the geometre had used for delineation. I was glad to see it go. Living in Hoxton for so long, to me it said just one thing "Crime scene. Do not cross".

I had to catch my plane before the fence was finished, so Lizzie sent this picture of it up and running. She and Josh have already begun to plant the natural boundary with these laurier roses. It's going to be beautiful. Lettuces aren't doing badly either!

A Room with a View

In London I've lived for 20 years in a big room with lots of windows but no views. Brick walls with neighbours far too close on every side. It couldn't be more urban. But all things come to those who wait.

In Abeilhan, there were pleasant street scenes out every window. This one benefits from a little zoom action, but still...

Then the roof terrace was created, with views due west and amazing sunsets.

It was going to take some beating, but that's one of the things Top-top has going for it. Since it faces east, this is dawn from the bedsit.

Just think what it's going to be like if I can get windows cut into the east-facing side of the pigeonnier and create my dream bedroom on the top floor overlooking the horizon. For now, I can only provide a teaser by bending round the corner.

Je suis Roujanaise

That fairy dust I referred to in a previous entry was thankfully still clinging to me. Just before the completion of the Top-top purchase, I accepted an offer on my house in Abeilhan. I was surprised it went so quickly. I had been warned: it's a buyer's market, the price is too high, the market is slow, so how fantastic to get a decent offer in such good time. Love those fairies, thank you.

This meant that I might as well move from one house to the other. From a well-appointed completely re-wired and re-plumbed house with two new bathrooms and a new kitchen to, well, Top-top. Where I twitch with fear everytime I plug something into an electrical socket. It can, of course, only get better.

Luckily I have this guy, Justin Gosling, on my side. Hey, it's my blog and I can plug the whole family if I want to. Seriously, I didn't buy the house before Justin (or Freddie as he is also known) checked it out with me. He'd talked me out of one 3 yrs ago, but figured we could do something with this one.

On 4 May, I packed my humble belongings into lots of Pampers boxes, courtesy of Izzy, my friend Nicole's one yr old. And did a lot of stairs. Michelle came over in the afternoon to help and hold my hand, followed by the boys with the van. Despite a bit of light rain, the move went really smoothly. I was over-joyed to have most of it finished (there'll be another smaller load when I'm there in June). My big bed was now in Roujan. This would be my first night there, sleeping in my own house.

I'd recently had all the pine the French use to cover any and everything ripped out of the ground floor bedroom.

It looked like this:

And now it looks like this, with insulation poking out of the ceiling and lots of scary wires hanging around:

All things considered, I decided the safest place to camp for now was in the living room. So, I'm in my bedsit with the big garden. A real Roujanaise at last.

A Delicate Balance

From the moment the top-top garden team were given the keys months before, they had been hatching magnificent ideas for the new space. But we had to be careful. We couldn't do so much that Mme B would feel alienated when she returned, nor did we want to spend too much before the deal was in the bag. So Josh had to resist pulling down an old baby gate, chopping down a dead tree, and rotivating the entire garden. He kept wondering, when?

The day of the official handover, moments after the toast in the previous picture, Michelle, Josh and Poppy arrived. Josh had that hungry look for power tools, but had to wait just a little longer. We waved good-bye to Mme Bossi and her daughter Cecile. "The staff" went for lunch at the Grand Cafe. After omelettes all round, we adjourned to the top-top garden.

Months of planning leapt into action. They were off like runners out of the blocks: rotivating, strimming, sawing, pruning, weeding, planting, watering. The garden was a joyous hive of activity!

Josh rotivated several new beds and sawed down a tree, Michelle planted carrots and radishes, I was on weed duty (they're breaking the city girl in gently). Ali bought a funky new wheelbarrow, and Lizzie was a blur between trimming bushes, getting to grips with the well, fielding questions and plotting the new design.

One more member of the team merits a mention. Josh was dog-sitting so we even had a mascot. This is Dolly.

By the end of the afternoon, new plants were in and the design had taken shape. I couldn't believe it. It's going to be fantastic! Thank you one and all !!

Mine at Last

When I signed the preliminary contract in December, I still didn't have the financing together, though I was led to believe by various advisors that it would all work out. After a few false starts, at the end of March, I really did have my hands on the money to buy the top-top house. Cue huge sigh of relief.

Mme Bossi and I set our date for 10 April at the notaire's office. Lizzie and Nicola, who'd been there for the preliminary round, thankfully again came to support me. Our notaire introduced us to the other parties as Mme Bachem et son staff. It set a light-hearted tone for the proceedings as Mme Bossi and I signed and initialed ourselves into a frenzy. An hour later, I was the owner of not one, but two little French houses. (Abeilhan is still mine for now, though I don't mean to be greedy).

We went back to the new house, where Ali greeted us with a bottle of champagne and Mme Bossi finally solved the mystery of the missing water meter. No wonder we were stumped; it lives a block down the street, who knew? She turned the water on and we strolled back to the house, only to find that whoever had moved her dishwasher hadn't bothered to cap it off. Water was gushing everywhere. Mme B ran back down the street to turn it off (note: stopcock actually inside the house would be a nifty idea). Ali put down the champagne and ran for mops and buckets. We soaked up the flood, and then had a toast in the courtyard, my trousers still rolled up from the little baptism. O Happy Day!

Top-top Man

One of this year's bonus discoveries is that Josh, Lizzie's 14 year old nephew, has taken a keen interest in gardening. He started off helping his aunt, and is now developing into a talented gardener in his own right.

Here's a link to Josh's blog: http://web.mac.com/lecouvent/iWeb/gardens/Welcome.html

It's a must-read when I'm trapped at my desk in London and need to check on the 'growths'. I really appreciate all his efforts in the garden. Thanks pal, you're the top-top man!

Here's Josh working the heavy machinery.

The Garden Came First

When Mme B and I shook on the deal, long before any money changed hands, she gave Lizzie the keys to the garden when she went back to Switzerland in October. It's the type of act that makes a notaire break into a cold sweat. Madame is a trusting soul, but I suppose she also knew that if things didn't work out, at least some work would get done in the neglected garden. There was no hiding the gleam in Lizzie's eye; she couldn't wait to get her mitts on it.

Lizzie and Josh began to turn the garden around last autumn, so this spring we already have some great looking (and tasting) vegetables.

It went from this:



To this:


And I don't even own it yet!
Here's how my garden was named. At Le Couvent, L&A have the bottom garden and the top garden. So the new addition (mine) quickly became known as TopTop. I like it. You can also call the house LFH. If you are a French citizen of Roujan, you probably know it as Le Pigeonnier. All of these are welcomed and acceptable. But 'pigeon trailer' is not.

Closer Inspection

I had only just gotten back to London, having used up all my holidays -- and then some. Could I really be entertaining the idea of buying another house in France when I'd barely finished renovating the first? It was completely crazy, but it simply wouldn't go away.

I asked Mme B if it would be okay, in the first instance, if Lizzie & Ali could take some photographs for me. She kindly agreed. Great friends and intrepid spies, L&A went up the hill on reconnaissance. Within three hours, I had 90 photographs! To ponder, over and over and over again.

It is here that I can begin to dispel some of the romantic notions of the first blog entry. On closer inspection, this place was in need of some serious work! I wasn't sure I liked anything on the inside. But overall, it had some real advantages. Roujan is a bigger village with more amenities where most of my friends live, which is good for a non-driving wimp like me. And very unusually, this house had a big garden with beautiful views, right in the centre of the village. Such finds are truly rare. I booked a flight.

From one side, the house has some character, with the old pigeonnier. You enter through a lush vine.





But from the other side, it looks like a trailer!








However, the potential was there. The garden would be amazing one day -- maybe even the house. With just enough money on an overdraft for a deposit, my offer was accepted. It meant I had to rush home and begin raising the rest of the dosh, which took months. Luckily Madame was in no particular hurry over the winter, and I must have been sprinkled from head to toe in some kind of house-buying fairy dust. Things worked out astonishingly well.

Houses in locations like this don't come up very often. This one never hit the open market. My heartfelt thanks to all my friends and neighbours in Roujan, who not only helped, but actively encouraged this transaction, and to my friends world-wide who supported the dream. The preliminary contract was signed on 11 December 2006. How happy am I?

First Encounter

I'd dreamt of owning a house in France for as long as I can remember. I toyed briefly with a small garret in Paris -- don't we all -- but I began to look seriously in the Languedoc region in the south of France in 1999. A lot of ground was covered, from the Rhone to the Pyrenees and back again. Houses came and went for various reasons before I finally took the plunge and put my signature on an Acte de vente in 2004.

At the time I was staying at my friends Lizzie & Ali's splendid 17th Century chambres d'hotes, Le Couvent.

Late the sweltering afternoon of 26 July (the day I'd signed the final deed), a fire broke out nearby. It's terrifying in that part of the world, where it's baking hot and tinder dry. The Canadairs, filled with water, were swooping so low they seemed to skim the top of the Virgin's mantle. We later learned that it had been the déchetterie (UK = tip, US = dump) that had gone up.

After the drama subsided, I remember noticing the house above Le Couvent for the first time. What a fantastic position. I said, I wish I could buy that house up there. Lizzie explained that it had been in the same family for several generations. The way French inheritance laws work, you assume it will go to the children, so I never really thought about it again. Besides, I had just bought this sweet house in Abeilhan, 8 kms away. The ink on the contract was barely dry.

Fast forward nearly three years. The renovation in Abeilhan is just about finished, costing -- like they all do -- about double your original intent. I'd run into my share of drama in the form of termites, but the house had finally been sorted. A roof terrace had been added with magnificent views; the house now had its bit of highly-coveted outdoor space. The sunsets were breathtaking! I loved spending time there, particularly with my wonderful friends in the surrounding villages, and was looking forward to getting some enjoyment out of the place now that tools had been downed.

During a routine visit at the end of September 2006, L&A couldn't wait to show me the new bikes they'd just bought for guests to use. Where did you find such great bikes? From Madame B who lives in the house above, she's having a clear-out because she wants to sell the house. Oh-oh. Time stood still for a moment. There was a look of wide-eyed recognition...you mean to tell me that house is for sale?? My life changed from almost that instant.

Like an old-fashioned screen goddess, she's best lit from underneath.

I had to return to London the next day, having only snooped around the outside. I found myself waking up in the middle of the night; I couldn't get the house out of my mind. I hadn't seen inside and didn't know the price, but it was in the best location I could ever imagine. I got in touch with the owner. Mme B was getting ready to pack up and head back to Switzerland, where she lives most of the year.

She asked, could I come down to see it the next fortnight?