Saturday, March 28, 2015

It is just not their French dream or why TV programs make my life difficult...

Thursday 26 March 2015

Sunny periods 10 degrees

Woke up extremely early and wrote for a couple of hours and then went back to sleep, with the result that when 9 am came around, I was completely disorientated.  Sat on the sofa with OH and stared vaguely at the TV and we were shocked to learn that the Airbus was deliberately crashed by the pilot, who locked the co pilot out of the cabin and decided not just to end his own life but those of everyone on board - all 150 of them - spread like end of life confetti over the French Alps.  I understand that someone is sad and ill and desperate enough to want no more of it but I don't understand why they need to take others with them. Such as parents who decide to gas themselves in their vehicles and gas their poor children at the same time.

Someone who has been dead a very long time was buried today.  The murderer, Richard III, was interred with honour and respect in Leicester cathedral, after being found under a car park which was the site of a former priory.  No word was said of his killing the princes in the tower.  I would have been there with a placard, protesting.  Only myself and Polly Toynbee seem to be of this opinion.  Have started a petition to bring him to trial.

Interestingly,people in South America, have signed already.  I will be watching this one with interest.

As the coffee kicked in, I realised that I had said I would go and pick up some keys from a colleague who was going out at 11.45.  Phone said 11.11 (more repeating numbers) so I threw on some clothes, picked up the keys and headed down to the weekly market.  Before I could get there, the phone rang.  The seller of the beautiful llama farm had gone to see her notary and the notary was fuming because the seller had told her to get the reservation contract done today or she would find another notary.   I rang her notary and let her rant on loudspeaker for five minutes before establishing that she was a notary who would get off her backside and do something but that tomorrow was cutting it fine.  The buyers notary had only just sent over the relevant information so she said she would get things under way, I spoke to the seller who agreed to take over the paperwork required by her notary and I finally got down to the market.   Had coffee in the lovely tea shop and an extremely disappointing biscuit.  Did some spontaneous choking on its very dry contents.

Back home and find OH and dog covered in mud.  Have lunch and then go to the hotel car park and lurk and wait for clients.  Every time I organise a meet in this car park, the people are late.  40 minutes later, an airport hire car arrives but not before at least three people have come up and engaged me in conversation and obviously know who I am.  I say 'what is your news and how are you' and try to hide it when it suddenly hits me who they are. Feel rather strained by the time we get to meet the new people.  Prise the car keys out of OH hands and let him do the talking whilst we drive to the first house.

Constructed in the early 30's, it is a great house in a not quite so great location and is very reasonably priced.  The people hmmm and suck their teeth and it is not their French dream. Take them to our big rental unit - they really like this but no room to do a BBQ.  Take them to a beautifully renovated town house with BBQ room to spare in the small garden.  This house is too 'done' and they couldn't put their mark on it (they wouldn't be saying this if they knew just how much making their mark is going to cost them over here), take them to see another renovated house, extremely ugly from the outside, but lovely inside with garden. The stairway and hall is very narrow and the clients fill it.  They feel hemmed in.  OH goes home to make dinner and I take them to a neighbouring large town.

The first house is one that they had actually asked to see.  It used to be the home of the oldest woman in France and has lots of original features, including quite a lot of mould as the owner has been in the UK, enjoying her daughters central heating, since the back end of last year.  They love this.  I then take them to another house in the village which has the main property, built sometime in the early 20th century plus the original tiny 16th century house which is like something out of a Thomas Hardy novel.  A novel hovel if you will.  The roof is new but otherwise, there is a blackened hearth with massive oak chimney piece, beaten earth floor and a stone sink.  They are stunned and say they are ten years too old for this one.

We go for a drink.  They love the houses in this town but they don't love this town.  They love my town so I need to find something for around 150000 euros with outside space.  That is one tall order.  Go back home and OH says I am wasting my time with them and they will never buy anything so we have words and then we have wine and then we do catch up on the emails.

Speak to Russians on Skype.  They say it is -2 during the day.  I am not surprised they want to fly south but hope the weather is better when they arrive.  Heavy drizzle through the kitchen window.  Blue tits and grey tits battling it out on the fat balls.