I think I might have had a bit of an episode this week. It wasn't a full on diva -esque Prince Philip rant but it nearly headed in that direction. So the roof HASN'T gone on because our new chum the mayor has decided that if we're going to move into the house it needs permission in our name and not of the people who are selling it. So we shot ourselves in the foot by going to see her and enthusing about our plans, bouncing into her office with ipads full of artists impressions of our barn. It's fine for a roof to go on for A.N. Other as part of the selling process but when it's specifically for people with names and faces, a chain saw on their ebay watch list and a copy of Grow Your Own by the side of their bed then it's not alright. No I don't get the logic either. But when I asked if she was likely to approve the new roof I was assured "of course, she wants you to move in so she can have your taxes", I suppose when most of your other citizens have a bell round their neck and answer to Daisy or the French equivalent we must be hot to trot, fiscally speaking.
If that wasnt bad enough the septic tank hasn't gone in either for the same reason. Catering for anonymous effluent is fine but as soon as you think you might know to whom the effluent belongs it needs more permits than a mini break in Tripoli.
And then there's the front door... we think it's not wide enough to take most furniture so we will need to widen one of the doors into the barn. I think we might just do that.......
We had a dress rehearsal for developing gites last weekend. Well low grade corporate espionage with buns for tea. We went and stayed and in a Landmark Trust house for the weekend. No we will never be able to compete with them on architecture and roccoco mouldings but I am hoping we can show them a thing or two about hospitality and making life simple for your guests; like providing matches to light the fire and Scrabble. The Landmark Trust take a somewhat puritanical view to modernity. There was no TV, no wi-fi and no radio. The only books they had were terribly learned on subjects i'd have needed to look up if there was Googling options. I was like a caged tiger 48 hours in and realised that in France I would have to acquiesce and invest in satellite televison. It might even be a good way to perfect my French unless France too has endless programmes about house buying and renovation... "Homes under the Red Tape"? or for the even more stressed "Sedation, sedation, sedation", more likely though "60 month makeover"
Where is Iron Girder? I've not seen her in public since that chap poured those beers down her neck. I've decided she's probably hiding as she now realises she's lent all her money to Greece who will still need lots more and that's before Spain and Portugal knock on her door before going to wonga.com
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