Au revoir et Bienvenue ; part 3

Two days into your new life in France and the house is still a bombsite. Almost every room is crammed with as yet unopened boxes and the remains of hastily scoffed meals litter the kitchen - much to the delight of the resident mice, who are hugely grateful and well aware that you’ve yet to acquire a cat. And thanks to the constant stream of welcoming (and desperately nosey) neighbours turning up on your doorstep, you now know the entire history of the farm - though in truth are getting a little tired of the endless puffed out cheeks and low whistles which accompany each visit.

Yes, there’s quite a bit to do (well, loads actually) and you hadn’t previously noticed that the main chimney stack had a distinctly pisa-esque lean to it. Nor the crumbly window frames and lethal looking bakelite power sockets. Still, the bells are ringing noon from the church across the valley, so it must be lunchtime, and a swift glass or two of the rather good local red should dispel any lingering concerns.

In the courtyard there’s an ever growing pile of stuff you’ve transported halfway across Europe and now realise you no longer need – amongst which is the electric strimmer, hedge cutter and mower. They’re clearly inadequate to tame the jungle between the house and the barn which, though once garden, is now damn near impenetrable and instead could do with a military sized dose of agent orange or a bush fire. Which will then uncover abandoned farm machinery and possibly a car or two. But it’s nothing a sit on mower, butch chainsaw and a second hand tractor can’t sort out, and it’s part of the fun anyway. Honestly.

Having dozed off in the deckchair under the verandah (two lunchtime glasses having turned into four), it’s now mid afternoon. The dogs pant in the unaccustomed heat and even the kid’s batteries are running low. There’s stacks to do, but on the basis that there always will be, you dig around the suitcases, find a couple of towels and set off through the fields to the river. And as the children scream and splash and the labradors explore the undergrowth, you sit on the shingle beach in the shade of the overhanging alders and have a rare moment to reflect. And to realise how lucky you are. Bienvenue.