Wednesday, July 15, 2015

The French and Bastille Day, finding a proximate partner and many, many visits


Tuesday 14 July 2015
FĂȘte Nationale 

Sticky and hot 27 degrees

The rest of the world call the 14 July Bastille Day.  The French don't.  The Revolution is not talked about here and hardly even taught in schools.  Perhaps it is something they don't want to remember or think about.  Strange because, as a Brit, my history is still very much part of my present.  The French of my town don't tend to look to the past as a reference for the future, in broad terms, but live in terms of their own family history.  They are not well travelled, except to places where French is spoken.  My neighbour was born in the house where he still lives.  His father was born there.  His mother was born in the house immediately next to mine where now resides my ritzy Dolce and Gabbana neighbour who is better turned out just to hang around the house than I am when going out to work.  He didn't look too far for a wife, commented my neighbour. About 100 yards....  My neighbour keeps chickens and grows veg and has a pig which he slaughters and makes lots of cuts and puddings and lives on for many months of the year.  He is registered blind, which his excuse for looking very closely at lady's cleavages.  He drives around the locale in his tractor.  His glasses are as thick and smooth as sea glass.  He loves a gossip.  He is the owner of the jumping labrit who I have now decided that we will have to train.  The poor dog is desperate for attention though I will have to throttle it if it jumps up and dirties my dresses.

Up and on with the motley at an early hour and down town to meet yesterday's clients.  OH decided to take the dog for a walk and do some shopping, claiming that despite the fact it is a national holiday, the shops would be open (they were).  I met up with people, who were looking very keen and were on time, and we rolled off into the bright morning, with the roads empty and winding through the sparkling green fields of maze and sunflowers.  The house was in a village with a bar/restaurant and we parked in the large car park and into the cool of the house.

Built in 1771 it is a substantial stone built property with high ceilings, beams, fireplaces and the most stunning tiled floor, each tile outlined in oak.  There is a separate gite, large extension and garden with the required potager and chicken run.  No hen house.  The chickens roost in the trees.  I wonder how they find the eggs.  It must be like the Easter egg hunt every day of the year.  A cockerel sings to the skies from the high branches.

We then go for a coffee and they say they would like to revisit three of the properties on Friday.  Great news, drop them off and back home to make the appointments.  Discover that the assignation letter sent to the US lady has come back with address unknown.  Email her and she says she has sold and moved out and wont have another permanent address until late August and is 'waiting to hear' from her ex husband about the penalty monies.  If she thinks he is going to let these become part of the payment for the house, she is mad.  It will involve more attestations and more time dragging on and the seller's mother is booked to go back to New Zealand and she is the one holding the power of attorney.  Oh when will this bloody case ever come to conclusion?

All too soon it was time to go back out again and meet the second set of clients.  They also were on time and we walked into town, enjoying the exhibition of paintings in the public gardens, and had a coffee in the middle of town.  The Place was lively with tourists, bunting and music.  The couple were entranced.  They said it was much better than where they had been looking.  The man was sensible and listened.  The woman, an ex teacher, talked absolute bollocks and I was fed up of her within ten minutes.  There was some confusion because the agency software had shown them living in the UAE and they said they were in Ludlow in Shropshire.  Anyhow, we got around that one and set off to see the first house.

This house was built in the 1950's and is large and rambling.  The woman opened a door. Is this the toilet, she asked?  No it is the throne room.  Of course it is the sodding toilet.  There is only one thing in the room and it is a toilet....  I hope her students listened to her more than she listens to other people.  Talking to her was like trying to grasp mist.  The man was stunned by all the rooms.  They helped me to close up and then we went to see the second house which was of a more manageable size.  They also loved this one.  We finished up and the man said he had been very impressed and we arranged to speak Saturday.  I am going to need a holiday by the time next week comes around.

Back home and updated software and did feedback on the visits.  I have another order for the resin buttons!!  Tiny hearts again.  Finally ran out of clear resin.  Dug out the yellow stuff. Might try black inclusions and sparkly stuff.  Poured two pendants using the snail shells and investigated purchase of manual jewellery drill.