The spectre recedes and a new deal is struck

Friday 17 April 2015

Warm with blue skies and cumulus - big storm later

Have uneasy night's sleep, worrying about having to get the NZ ladies to sign a compromis and then withdraw in order to be able to buy the other house.  To my relief, when I open my emails, the angry seller has demanded a written withdrawal from the ladies and says they will be getting a letter from his advocate if they don't supply it.  That would be a challenge for the advocate, bearing in mind he does not have their address but this is simple to remedy and I ask the agency for a form of words to pass to the ladies.

Do catch up on various emails, wonder why WF never has his phone on and chat to RJ on FB and he says he is still waiting to see his new contract.  He sends me some photos of the most beautifully presented dishes - one a salmon sushi dish and the other a foie gras one. The sushi is a harmony of beautiful colours and patterns and the foie gras is garnished with the most delicately ethereal mushrooms and rocket.  I had no idea he was working so high end.

    

In the afternoon I go and show a farm house to a French couple from Toulouse.  They are very late and I doze off in the car, lulled by the rain hammering on the roof.  They bill and coo as they go around the house and the huge black retrievers are tearing around the terrace, chasing a large stone with their noses and oblivious to the rain.  We try and see the garden from upstairs. The wonderful views of the Pyrenees are completely obscured. The non double glazed windows run with condensation.  We repair to the end of the hill and, to my surprise, the lady says she thinks it is too isolated.  They both really like the house and they say they will think about it.  I suggest another property and they say they really liked that one but not the fact that it is stuck to the village church.   So, they want to be not isolated but not have neighbours too close, even ones that are dead.  It is interesting that people say they feel uncomfortable in such close proximity to the church.  I feel that the house is protected by the immense walls of the church, which fortunately doesn't have a bell that rings the hours.

I once sold a house to a French couple and they were aware that the adjacent church did ring the hours (and the quarter and half hours) and they said it didn't bother them.  After a couple of days, they started their campaign for the bells to stop during the night.  After six months they moved out and the lady was on tranquilisers at that point.

I then pick up two partner agents and we go and see a lovely farmhouse which I have just brought onto market and which they will be showing for me during my holidays, rapidly upcoming and not as yet prepared for.  The man talks a lot and I feel tired.  I dont know how his partner puts up with him rambling on about stuff all the time.  It must be a French thing.  At least English blokes give you periods of amicable silence.  If a French bloke is awake, he is talking.  It would drive me nuts.

Home for quick cup of tea then down town to meet the owners of the Villa.  Because the mother is now dead, the daughter has been bunged out of the apartment and is putting up at a local auberge.  When I enter the foyer, they are ranged around a table and looking at old pictures of the house.  In sepia, it looks rather sinister.  Edwardian ladies are posing next to a car in the driveway.  It is all rather Downton Abbey on a week away at a spa town.  The nephew is present, and despite being born in only 1973, looks like he is in his mid sixties. The daughter's son is also present and we sign the offer form and complete the seller details form and drink to the future of the house.  The daughter says her mother and grandmother would be so shocked to hear that the new owners were married ladies - married to one another that is.  The atmosphere is jovial and the kir - a mix of blackcurrant cordial and white Jurancon wine - goes straight to my head.  Arrive home, eat supper, and pass out on the sofa.

Out of the blue, complications arise...

Wednesday 15 April 2015

Hot and sunny 23 degrees

Opened emails and was shocked to see the owner who had refused the offer made by the NZ ladies had now accepted it, but with the proviso that our fees were cut by 55%.  I decided to ignore this, and made an appointment to open negotiations with the owners of the beautiful Villa in town, which is in fact the owners preferred property.  The sun was hot and I waited on the steps of the Villa and admired its tower and metal fretwork window frames.  Tiny white clouds drifted past the weather vane and the roof tiles shimmered and shook in the heat haze.  The grass had been freshly cut and the earth heaped up around the rose bushes.  The scent of wisteria was heady.   The owner arrived and she hadn't brought the keys either so we sat on the steps and I made the offer and we discussed it and then came to agreement.  She filled out the owner details form and told me something of the history of the house.

It had been built by an architect for his daughter, and named after her, at the turn of the 20th century.  She had died without issue and the house had passed to a number of relatives until it came into the ownership of a doctor.  What is classed as the winter garden and billiard room on the 1905 plans used to be used as a room where mothers were instructed in the ungentle arts of raising their youngsters, a tough job throughout the ages.  Her parents came to our town in the 1950's and her mother loved the house although, the lady said, her parents had to buy and live above their means in order to have it.  Her mother was now 94 and in a retirement home and her father was dead.  She is divorced (at the mention of her former husband, she shudders and says he was a nightmare), and the only other family member is a nephew.  

Back home and the owner of the first property rings me up.  I tell him that the ladies are no longer interested in buying and he is outraged and says he will speak to his lawyer.  I say there is no point in being upset, he had refused their offer and now they have moved on.  I say that I have some great clients on Sunday and can I bring them around and then he gets abusive and I hang up and don't answer when he rings back.  I then panic and email the head of the agency and beg assistance.  She rings back and says to send over all the emails I have had with him and she will get the legal expert to look at them.  Feel very stressed.  Why can nothing ever be simple.  The offer form says that if the offer is accepted by the seller then the people who make the offer have to proceed to reservation contract. They then have the right to withdraw for any reason (or indeed without having to give a reason) within seven days.  This is just a ludicrous situation and wont get him anywhere.  I dont know how he imagines he can force them to compromis in the first place and I am hoping he will speak to his lawyer who will tell him to get over it.   And then bill him and he won't be accepting 50% negotiation of his fees.

Dreams start to realise themselves...

Tuesday 14 April 2015

27 degrees - scorchio for this time of year

The day of the reservation contract on the big house sale!  Hit the road early and there is already a heat haze over the Pyrenees, although they are still carrying a crisp white snow cover.  Traffic is light and we stop for a coffee in a driving through type town, its shops set out regularly on either side of the narrow ribbon of asphalt.  At 12.15 we arrive and the Russians are there, looking pink and hot and waving their hands.  We go into the cool interior of the hotel and sit by the window and enjoy the air conditioning.  Again, they have driven.  'We are crazy people' smiles the man ''we have five children.  When we drive we find the time to talk'.  The journey is part of the experience.

They are vegetarian and, by some miracle, there is a wonderful buffet as first course.  They have never tasted mussels and are impressed.  They avoid eggy mayonnaise and have a lot of beetroot.  I ask what sort of food they eat at home - they say vegetables and beans. They are the slimmest vegetarians I have ever seen.  Perhaps because a lot of western vegetarians eat bread and pasta.  They don't eat that either.  They give thanks for their food and tell us that they are Lutheran, which is a very simple form of protestantism. They kiss and start to eat, slowly, and discovering the new types of foods.

Our second course is fish for myself and the clients and OH has pork which turns out to be a chop.  We all have ratatouille and the fish comes with saffron rice, which is absolutely delicious and delicately perfumed.  To finish, we have apple pie. OH and I have coffee and the Russians ask for hot chocolate, which request comes as quite a surprise to the server.  I don't think he has ever, in his life, been asked for hot chocolate at the end of a meal.

We emerge into the sunlight and head to pick up the owners of the house and go to the notary office.  The owner has recovered from her nerves and is looking very summery, in a long flowing flowery robe.  She smells of shampoo and citrus shower gel.  The animals, newly shorn, are hiding from the heat.  I didn't realise that newly shorn animals can burn in hot sun.  Not a problem in the north of England where all of our sheep live.  

The notaries office is unmarked, and looks like a bungalow, and is in the middle of a field of maize.  I elect to lurk in the car park and wait for our notary to arrive.  She arrives at some speed, spots me at the last minute, does a handbrake turn and skates into the car park with whizzing of wheels and spurting gravel.  She is persistently late.  A very slender lady, with blue eyes and blond hair, and today she is sporting some violently red ski pants and spotty blouse.  People just don't wear suits here.   A memory which makes me smile is that once, I was standing in a check out queue at a large French supermarket.  A man in the queue ahead of me was wearing a suit and a small girl was watching him closely.  He paid and left and the small girl turned to her mother and asked 'mamma - was that the President?'

The sellers notary, who resembles a snarky school teacher, shoes us into her office, which does not have air conditioning, and starts the read through.  She goes at some speed and only myself and the other notary understand the proceedings and I have to keep on interrupting to make sure everyone is up to speed with what is being said.  After an hour and a half, when we are all dripping, except for the other notary, we are finally released from the claustrophobic room.  Everyone has to receive a copy of the reservation contract so much photocopying is being done.   Many trees are sacrificed in France, says OH happily.  My notary makes a face - she doesn't think much of the other notary 'she's a bit dry' is her comment.  We all go out into the field and enjoy the breeze and my notary chats with the Russians.  She is surprised to learn that you can be married just by going to church and saying your vows.  In France, you are not married until you have been to the Mairie to have it registered.  We tell her we marry before God and not before the State.  'ah bon' she says

We then all go back to the house and the owner shows my notary around the house.  She is very impressed and says it is done with a lot of taste and is 'très class'.  She then leaves in a cloud of dust.  The Russians drift around in a daze and are thrilled.  The owner, from whom you normally don't get more than a cup of tea, produces champagne and we sit in the pergola where the scent of the wisteria mingles with that of the hot earth and we all talk and it is dream like.  The llamas peer out from the shelter and scent the air and buzzards circle on the high thermals.

Excellent news for eldest!

Monday 13 April 2015

Hottest day of the year 27 degrees!

Spend morning catching up with various emails and tasks so when RJ (eldest son) decides to ring on Skype at 11.30, we are still in our PJ's, back door open and delightful breeze blowing through the house.  He has the amazing good news that he has been offered Junior Sous Chef with free live in and quite a hike in salary.  This is so fantastic for him and really will reward the effort he has put in.  He also says that an agency wanted to send him for interview at the Manoir aux Quatre Saisons as a chef de partie but the salary is terrible and there is no live in and he really needs to get some cash behind him.  Still, the opportunity to work with Raymond Blanc and have the MQS on your CV is something to be aimed for in about a year.  He will now stay there for at least another six months, get some good experience at ordering and managing supplies and then have a good spring board to move on.  Discussed cars and coming over to see him in May.

Do the VAT return and look at property online in Devon.  Devon could be the ideal situation for us - West Coast so OH can fish, on the coast for me and within train ride of boys and the house prices are not excessive.  Discover a town called Beer which I vaguely remember going to, looking at lovely art exhibitions and eating ice cream on a café overlooking the sandy cove.  Need to live where I can smell the sea and hear the gulls.  OH has same yearning.

By 1.30 the ladies from NZ still havent rung so I go down town and meet the happy people who will be buying in our town and tell them about the Friday rv and read through the diagnostic reports with them.  The man's head is peeling and the lady is still immaculately dressed.  I then drive at some speed to meet my partner agents and show them a chateau where the chatelaine is 80 years old and everytime I see her, is battling with the leaves. There are a lot of trees around the property and today, she was battling with dry leaves, piling them up into great heaps, where they were smoking and sparking.  The chateau is 15th century and a real rabbit warren.  We wandered around and my colleagues admired the huge stone arches, the original floor tiles and the extensive wainscotting and massive stone fireplaces.  I gave them an update on my various activities of the week and they said they had thought they were about to get an offer but then the clients had decided to 'pop' into the Dordogne on the way back to Germany.  The Dordogne is as cheap as chips and full of beautifully renovated properties.  They were looking depressed and very hot.  

I drove leisurely into our local big town, thinking of ice cream and getting the phone shop to swap over my SIM card.  I had decided to go with SFR and so took in my phone and the new SIM and apparently the phone was locked.  The lady fiddled with it for an hour and a half, trying via Itunes to reset it.  Finally, when they were about to close, she admitted defeat and I had to go home, find a special reference number, and unblock it myself.  For the intervening period, I wandered around town in an abortive hunt for ice cream and ended up having a snickers and a shandy.  I also tried to get another inhaler from the chemist.  Under my health insurance apparently, I am only allowed one inhaler a month.  I said I would buy one then - I cant do without it - and she said she would have to ring up the doctor and get permission.  42 euros!  But at least I wont expire.  Had shock news yesterday about a lady I met last year, who had an epileptic fit when on her own, and died aged just 52.

OH had spoken to NZ ladies who had given authorisation to negotiate up to a certain amount.  It is within spitting distance of what the owners said they would accept for the Villa but I have no time before Wednesday to open negotiations because tomorrow is the initial signing of the llama farm.  He makes delicious black cajun chicken with stir fry potatoes which I wolf down as I am so hungry on these steroids.

Good news about the Villa and we eat pancakes

Saturday 11 April 2015

Hot and sunny
24 degrees

Today was read through day of the contract with the Russian buyers and English sellers.  I usually do this on Skype as, having visual, I can better gauge their level of stress and comprehension.  The Russian guy had everything printed out and it took about 40 minutes.  He said they are setting off by car tomorrow to drive down.  They love the adventure.  He works for an air base - why doesnt he like flying?  In the part of the contract where the parties declare they are legally competent to contract, the Russian said he had regular psychological assessments so could prove he was sane.  Nice...  Some of my other clients could do with furnishing a certificate, in fact so could most of the residents of my local town.

The English sellers were far more stressed.  The lady is pale and drawn.  They have a large stock of animals to move, are going to another European country, and their notary has been asking for paperwork which they haven't got and possibly never had.  They had done extensive work on the barns, with full planning permission, but it may be that they never got the conformity of the works checked out by the relevant authorities, to see that they were in agreement with the planning consent.  Knowing local communes as I do, the main purpose of this assessment is to see if they are paying enough land tax, which is based on rooms and total habitable area.  Their land tax did rise substantially at the completion of the works, so it is likely to have been signed off.  They think that the notary has enquired in the wrong commune office but of course, it is the weekend, everything is closed and the notary is not answering her phone.  We get over this hill and read the rest and say see one another Tuesday next for the signing.

I then go down town and meet the owner of the Villa which interests the ladies from NZ. She  says she is in town for the duration as her 94 year mother is in her 'end of life' period.  We look through the house and I realise that it is not in such a bad state as OH had said - not having been in it for some months.  The boiler was replaced ten years ago, full diagnostics were done just a year ago and showed no termite activity, and another agent has requested a quote for the electricity.  We discuss price and I say the ladies are very interested and the owner says they would come down 8%.  That is not going to be enough. Get back home and have siesta.  Feel exhausted and the bronchitis medications have given me revolting salty and metallic taste in my mouth.

OH goes fishing for a couple of hours and I clean up and email ladies to say I have some good news about the Villa.  Walk dog.  Countryside smells sweet and growing.  There is absolutely nothing in the cupboard so have pancakes with sultanas.  Dog likes pancakes too so we sit on the doorstep and enjoy the sunshine and the food and then he snoozes and I listen to the birds in the tall trees.  The phone rings.  It is the owner of the house that the ladies from NZ offered on.  He says he is waiting for other offers to come in but admits that the 390k offer he told me about yesterday is subject to 100% financing.  i.e.  has 100% chance of being refused.  One of the reasons I left the French agency with which I worked is the fact that the French banks are extremely shy at parting with their funds.  He is still not ready to accept the offer I have and says I need to cut fees by 50% and get the ladies to up their offer by 50K.  Cheers mate.  I bet you love doing your work for half price.   The Villa is a much more interesting house which will, upon renovation, have a far greater capital value. Also, I get to keep my fee percentage.  All to play for in favour of the Villa.

Watch the Curse of the Were Rabbit.  Eeeey lad.   Cheeeese!

Smelling of roses, almost...

Friday 10 April 2015

Cloudy 19 degrees

Woke early and rang agency boss to ask her how to play it with the owner of the house where I had received the full price offer but who had transparently cocked up over the detail of what he wanted to be included in the sales contract.  She says to keep it light, not talk legal obligations, and see if we can emerge out of this with a deal and smelling of roses rather than crap.

The owner is sitting at his dining table when I arrive and the new girlfriend serves coffee in translucent china cups.  I take a lump of brown sugar and stir it slowly and put the offer on the table.  We look at one another warily.  It does not feel like the OK Corrall but even so, the owner has got out all of the other sales contracts signed with other agencies and none of them have the flats included in the price.  He says he did not read the document properly when I sent it to him and he also says he has a written offer dated Wednesday (ie preceding mine) which is 60000 euros higher and he cannot afford to lose that much money.  He is also having further revisits later on in the day.  He has not signed the Wednesday offer document, but neither does he have any intention of signing mine.  He says if my ladies match the Wednesday offer, bearing in mind that the amount they would have to loan is significantly less, he would accept.  I get back out to the car and discover someone has smashed the wing mirror to bits by driving too closely and then driving off.  Go home slowly, hanging onto the wildly waving mirror part which is now only attached by a thread.  OH tapes it back together.  I drop a line to the potential buyers and they are, understandably, really hacked off.  Feel depressed.  Eat pizza.

OH has been busy during my time out and it transpires that he has organised a visit on our house for Sunday.  The clients are known to me and have been running around with another agency all week, now are feeling desperate because they have found nothing, and if I had accepted the visit from the agency (refused because house is a hovel), it would have been them who would have come!  OH has talked them through various properties and when the lady rings back, I organise to see one other and ours on Sunday.  Feel rather horrified.  Ms Noddi says to shove things in cupboards.  I cant put dust and dog smells in cupboards.  OH goes into town to have front tyres changed on car and book car in for new wing mirror. Insurance says there is no excess so that is good news.

Spend afternoon completing and loading up various documents for the offer which was accepted, organise the diagnostic reports and set a date with the notary for next Friday. Ideally, we will get the buyers signed up before they head back to the UK and speed things up by at least a month. 

Speak to youngest, WF, and he is going for an interview with a call centre car company. We tend to be of the opinion that if you can do a hard crappy job at the start, it is good experience for the future.  He has driving test at the end of the month.  Speak to eldest, RJ, who is fed up and looking for another job.  OH offers to come over at the end of May and drive him around to interviews.  He is very isolated where he works and, at 25, is not having an exciting life.  Restauration is so poorly paid too.  I think WF is earning more and working significantly fewer hours.  RJ needs a woman with a good financial head and a thick skin and they could open up a little resto together.

Catch up with the ladies who made the full price offer.  They are in Paris and lounging on a bed under a picture of the phases of construction of the Eiffel Tower.  They are significantly less hacked off and philosophical.  They love our town and are happy to have found it.  They may offer on the other property that we showed them providing I can get an idea of how much the renovation would cost.  Otherwise, I am mandated to go out and find them something lovely.  They want a Belle Epoque house at a reasonable price.  Somewhat of a challenge.  The excellent thing is that our relationship is still good and we still have their trust.  The best outcome in the situation.

Phone rings towards 9.30 and I dont get to it in time.  It is client for Sundays visit and she says that she is going to see all the houses OH suggested with the other agent but would still really LOVE to come and see our house.  OH gets extremely wound up at this point and essentially tells her to fuck off.  Oh well, at least I dont have all that cleaning to do.

Poodles on parade

Wednesday 8 April 2015

Sunny 22 degrees

10 am finds me lurking in a car park and waiting for a client from the coast.  He arrives on time and backs his virulently yellow soft top car into the parking space.  A small apricot poodle peers out of the sun roof.  I am very surprised because the house the client has asked to see does not fit at all with his appearance.  The client and the dog appear from the car and I suggest we all go in together and the man says he will drive.  The dog is put out because I have her seat so she sits on the man's knees and we head for the first property. It is a large farmhouse with extensive lands and is fully modernised.  The owners and their massive black hunting dogs are enjoying the sun, some cigarettes and in the case of the dogs, chasing some large pieces of shredded cardboard around the terrace.  It is interesting how people, dogs and houses go together.  In my experience, people with flashy handbags, small dogs or sparkly shoes would never do renovations, people with large dogs are up for a challenge and people with young kids just want to be found a quick solution.

The client sucks his teeth and the dog pants and he tells me that this is not at all the house he had chosen.  We have to go and see it in any event because the owners are there and waiting but the visit is over in a very short period of time.  It transpires that he had wanted to see a small manor house with pool and virtually no garden and had mixed up the reference numbers.   I am now, stuck in his car, so he says he will drive on and he drives very, very slowly and I am running out of conversation when we arrive at the second house.  The owners are away and there is just a workman, sanding down the gates.  Because it is mid morning, the passage of lorries is fairly heavy but this doesn't seem to put him off at all.  He says he will get Madame to come and look at it and we wend our way back, slowly except in the case of the road bumps, which he takes at some speed and the dog shoots into the air and goes to sulk on the back bucket seat.

He leaves me back at my car and I feel the need for coffee.  OH is out doing shopping. Workmen are starting to file in for lunch and the sun is cracking the flags.  Ah, bliss....

Back home and then out to do an estimation of value at a nearby farm.  The owner looks confused when I get there and says he thought it was tomorrow.  Go back home.  I am not having a good day here.   Internet is back on when I get home so I ring people up, including the notary to ask her about my would be buyers for the house in town.  One advocate has said the damages may be 4k and another said they might be 20k.  The notary says only the judge can establish the amount of the prejudice and she has no idea where the advocates are pulling these figures from.  She also says that my would be buyers cant have a condition put into the contract, limiting their exposure to damages payable to a third party, outside of the parties mentioned in the contract.

The combination of cortisone and anti biotics is making the inside of my mouth flake and puff and I have the most revolting taste in my mouth.  Somewhat alleviated by wine and chocolate.

Azure butterflies and bluebell woodwork

Tuesday 7 April 2015

Sunny, warm and very warm later

22 degrees

Paint my nails with Chanel Azure, an iridescent bright butterfly blue/green mix and put on some leopard print.  I am a great believer in dressing for the client as it helps to bond with them and enables them to feel confident in working with me.  OH puts on something oatmeal coloured and subsequently far too thick for the wonderful hot Spring day which is to follow.  We are as odd looking a couple as you could hope to see on a Spring morning in a small town in the Pyrenees.

We meet the clients at their flat and have a brief run through of their thoughts about yesterday’s properties.  After a very low start, things developed beautifully and they are very interested in the property on the hill top they saw yesterday.  They are still concerned, however, that it is isolated.  During the day, they did pop up the hill and go and look at it.  Fortunately the owners were out.  Keen owners have put paid to more sales than you would ever have imagined possible.  They feel constrained to point out every last detail.  They become either transparently over-honest and reveal things which only serve to worry but are actually unimportant, or they wildly over-elaborate and the buyers, like scared virgins, run a mile.  There is an art to showing property.

We kick off at just the outskirts of town, in the mix of rural/urban which, it is becoming apparent, is their thing.  The house we see is a tall early 20^th century stone built town house, imposing with its stone framed windows painted a soft dove grey, fine mesh Juliette balconies and steep pitched slate roof.  The interior is modern and stylish with pebble floored shower rooms and huge bathtub.  Ikea paper lampshades explode from the ceilings like great dandelions.  The kitchen is sleek and shining with soft close cupboards and long work surfaces, ideal for preparing and delivering large and delicious dinners, dog legging down into the dining area with its Philip Starck effect ghost chairs.  The large terrace and lower garden are very well received.  OH breathes down my neck, cuts across me and keeps getting in the way, so I leave him to do the visit and hack and splutter behind them all.

We then go and see a renovation project and seem to be there a very long time, after which we are all very thirsty and go and sit in the shade outside of a bar and have coffee.  I talk through the buying process and they go back to their flat and we go for lunch.

OH stays at home to wait for the SFR repair man to come and reconnect us and I go back down town, meet the clients again and take them to a house in a nearby town, last visited when I was feeling ghastly just a couple of days ago.  They love this house even more.  I arrange to meet them again on Thursday and go back into town and see a house with a partner agent.  The house is not up to the specifications these clients are looking for but it is very interesting.  Belonging to Finnish and a holiday home, there is a large sunny sauna and shower room which takes up most of the lower ground floor, and leads onto two bedrooms.  The tall wood lined living room with its wrap around balcony is on the first floor.  Light floods in through the tall French windows.  The kitchen has white wooden units beautifully painted with bluebells and ivy and the wallpaper is a fine pink and white pinstripe design.  Two more bedrooms on the first floor.  Garden disappointingly small otherwise it is an absolutely lovely house and one I could see myself living in.

Back home and oh joy, we are reconnected so I catch up on all the updating of the emails and ring back the eleven people who have left messages on my landline.  I also catch up with the would be buyers of the house in town.  Over Easter, they had come to an agreement to pay a certain amount of damages which may be awarded to the other side if the sellers agree to sell to them.  The sellers advocate had then come back and said they would need to increase their exposure by at least three times so now they are very unhappy and much stressed.  We have supper and by the time we have finished eating, the internet and the phone have disappeared again.  Oh bugger, bugger.

Improving gradually...

Friday 3 April 2015

Warm and sunny 18 degrees

Awoke 8 am with vicious headache and queasy stomach.  I was not however wheezing as badly as yesterday.  OH got up early, excited about fishing, and banged about downstairs before bringing me a cup of tea and then banging about some more.  Curses and breakages ensued.  I staggered downstairs, holding my head with one hand and my stomach with another.  OH in state of wild agitation, fortunately leaving soon after, bristling with gear and leaving a confetti of mud all over the kitchen floor.

 

Threw up the contents of the cup of tea, ate some muesli and took the antibiotics and steroids and told rebellious stomach that these contents would have to stay down.  The sun was shining and the internet was still off so drove unsteadily to the top of the hill and walked the dog.  Because I had the big walking stick, he was very well behaved.

Surprised to see that the town house, subject of much wrangling, has still not been signed due to the fact that the sellers’ advocate is now in touch with my buyers’ advocate and they are trying to find a way of getting the sellers out of the agreement with the other agency, in a way that the other buyers don’t ask for an assignation and the whole thing gets blocked for months in the queue for the Tribunal.  Texted everyone and told them of my internet and phone problems and said I could only get mobile reception by going out and up to the top of the hill.  The joys of living in rurality…

Back home, feeling slightly better and the queasiness had gone and the headache was starting to lift.  Dropped off the dog and drove to my appointment.  The people were on time and were waiting in a massive SUV with Swiss number plates.  We waved at one another and then went straight to the house.  The owner’s cat was lolling on the terrace and my clients cooed and the owner came out and the cat went into attack mode and ran straight up the man’s leg, which he found very amusing.  I detached the cat and we started inside.

The house is 18^th century and constructed of stones from the river, pounded and rounded out of all their sharp edges into large egg shapes and then pressed into cement.  The inside is cool and modern, with large kitchen and stomach height wood burning fire.  On the whole, it went rather well.  We got outside and had a chat and they said, actually, they had 100 grand more to spend and had I got anything else.  I promised to send over some details and we parted and I quickly found a nearby bar and some refreshing coffee and tried to look at houses on the web and my stupid forfait is all used up.

Back home and OH is still out fishing so I eat some bananas and then go down town to meet a partner agent and see a little house for the client on Monday.  It is a peach.  I then go into our nearest large town and hang around in SFR for what seems an age before I am finally seen and lent a 3g key to use whilst they get around to coming and fixing my internet, which will now be Tuesday (if I am lucky).  I take the opportunity to say how very unhappy I am with their internet and phone services and the woman takes the opportunity to ask me how much am I paying for my mobile over with Orange.  I am currently paying 25 euros for two hours calls and 500Mo internet, both of which are insufficient.  She offers me a cheaper price for unlimited calls and ten times more internet, because I am such a loyal client.  I am not loyal, there are only two main phone suppliers out here who are prepared to try and supply me with broadband at home and one of them (Orange) denied that they were actually doing so, when I went in to ask if they could improve the service.  I swapped to SFR a while ago for landline and internet, mainly because they could offer an all-in deal for landlines in most countries plus French mobiles, but didn’t realise at the time that when the internet would go off, so would the telephone.  As I am currently saving in excess of 100 euros a month, I am putting up with the inconvenience of being periodically incommunicado, which can be pleasant and does mean I get around to doing other stuff.  It is frustrating however, when I have the newsletter to get out to all the people who have signed up, and I am awake at 6 am and can’t do any work on it because there is no pestilent internet.

Something happened in Casualty

2 April 2015

Sun!  20 degrees

I started sneezing at midday yesterday and by the time I went to bed, was wheezing and nose was pouring.  I must have woken on the hour every hour, first thirsty,then unable to breathe, then needing the toilet.  Dawn broke and I felt 100 years old so I spent virtually the whole day in bed, until 6 came around and I went to the doctors to pick up some new germs.

Bronchitis, was the doctors diagnosis, so I am antibiotics and the magical Prednisolone, a strong cortisone which kicks germs into touch in no uncertain manner and is much preferable to the intravenous injections of Ventolin which I used to be given in the UK and which made me shake like someone with  delirium tremens.  I normally take an inhaler of low dose cortisone which controls my asthma very well, but because my pulmonary airways are inflamed, I cant inhale it properly.  

A full blown asthma attack is terrifying and can be accurately described as drowning out of water.  I had a particularly bad attack back when I was a student, and staying in someone's dusty flat.  In the morning, I was about to pass out and went with my friend to Leeds Infirmary, where they put me on inhaled Ventolin and I sat and steamed and shook and felt life return to my lungs.  There was a little old lady sitting in Casualty (there is nothing like asthma for jumping the queue) and she was covered in bandages and sticking plaster and had some very nasty bruising.  A nurse came over to her and said, in piercing tones, 'the man who ran you over, wants to take you home'.  'oh thankyou' said the lady, and went out, hanging onto the man's arm.  Apparently she had stepped out in front of his car.

Attempted to watch the leader's debate, with seven party leaders, including the Greens, the Plaid Cymru (Welsh), the Scottish Nationals and the other usual suspects.  Alas, the effort was too much for me and I slept fitfully.  The only person who seemed plausible was the Scottish leader and the whole thing was rather disappointing.

Infamy, infamy! And we are running out of wood.

31 March 2015

Periods of heavy drizzle
13 degrees

We are nearly out of wood and the holidays are two weeks away.  The idea was that we would get back from holiday and not need any more wood because it will be May, and in the way of May, would be lovely and warm.  OH has taken to looking at the old beams in the barn and we may have a reprise of Angela's Ashes over the next few days.  Wet weather continues.  Last May was cold and wet.  The weather has definitely gone downhill over the 11 years we have been out in Europe but has still a way to go to be as bad as it was where we lived in the UK.

I go and see the doctor and show him my itchy elbow and neck and alas, he says it is psoriasis and is often caused by stress.  I have been stressed by sitting in his waiting room for over an hour whilst the previous patient waffled on about nothing in particular and left, looking in the best of health.  He suggests I take up a calming activity such as yoga or meditation.  I say I don't feel that stressed and he says my body is feeling it and showing it. I also show him the strange mole type thing on my chest and he says I will have to go and see a dermatologist and, no, he doesn't think it is a skin cancer.  My mammogram form arrives in the post.  Infamy, infamy; they've all got it in for me....  I google psoriasis and there are some truly revolting pictures.

On the work front, I go back and take on market the beautiful domaine and holiday home property south towards the mountains.  A return of investment of 10% is possible but the buyer will need to have deep pockets to purchase it.  I take the dog with me and we have a stagger around a muddy field.  The options for running off are limited because there is a whopping, pounding river at the end of the field, and barbed wire all around.  Alas, the coffee shop in the next village is closed so I go back home, have quick lunch and then down to the rental units with OH.

OH has been working in the rental unit now since the beginning of the year and it is still a long way from being finished.  I arrive and do some cleaning and then look at what is meant to be going where in the kitchen area.  Basically, there is not enough room to fit in a washing machine and it is going to have to go in the newly created cupboard (now complete with new, narrow door).  We do some measuring and the only other alternative is to move the sink, which is currently fixed to the wall, and with huge holes in the back where OH has made access to the pipes for the washing machine.  I ask why the washing machine pipes are behind the sink and am told I know nothing, and I have never plumbed in a washing machine.  I should have kept a closer eye on this project.  It will never be finished before we go away.  I wanted to put it on market for Easter.  When, and if, we go back to the UK, I am paying registered artisans to do the work in the house, even if I have to work full time to fund it.

The seller of the town house which is the subject of much wrangling by the two buyers rings me with some news.   Her advocate says she must sign with the other agency or she will be in trouble.  My would be buyers send me a letter they have received from their advocate, saying because my buyers are cash and the other ones aren't, then the sellers have a legitimate reason to withdraw from their engagement with the other buyers. Her advocate has asked to see the copy of the reservation contract signed by the other buyers, with the other agency.

A sale that is still lingering from last year has suddenly acquired some life.  The new owner has applied for change of use and the notice has to be posted in the window of the house for 2 months, during which time the Mayor or a bailiff must pass and see that it is correctly posted and then locals have the right to object.  A problem is that the owner's father, who is an alcoholic and either in the bars or asleep, is alone at the house and I cannot rely on him to put up the notice.  The owner's mother is with her adult children in Oz and the owner lives in China.  Great.  I will have to enlist the aide of a local lady who is friends with the family.

Why my dog and husband have a lot in common...

Friday 27 March 2015

Cool and showery with sun later
14 degrees

I wake at 6.15 thinking of everything I have to do and am down in the kitchen, printing off mandate forms when OH appears.  I don't think I have seen him at this time in the morning for at least a year.  He wanders around, getting in the way and tripping over the ironing board. The dog has his paw over his eyes and is trying to pretend this just isn't happening so early in the morning.

By 8.05 we are out of the house and at the top of the road where mobile signal kicks in.  My 9.00 appointment in the far away mountains has cancelled.  Why do people always cancel by text.  Why the hell can't they email or, even better, ring up?  I say to OH we need to go in any event to see the property we intended taking on in a mountain village.  Manage to close my eyes and ignore the swerving motions.  OH needs the loo so we look for a bar and can't find one until we get to the town which has a fiendish one-way system and it is market day so extra impossible to find a parking spot.

We squeeze in next to a mini chateau and go to the bar opposite.  OH goes into the loos and I order coffee.  Ten seconds later, OH bursts out of the loos, declaring they are all point and shoot, and charges out of the door.  The bar owner is making coffee.  I run out after him and he is already 50 metres up the road.  It is like being out with the dog.  I shout and he ignores me.  Finally catch him up and do a lot of shouting.  He goes and gets the car and I find a parking space outside a bar and guard it against would be parkers for what seems like a very long time before OH finally turns up.  

We have what turns out to be an exceptionally good cup of coffee and a framboise tarte and admire the art deco writing on the post office building.  A mentally retarded girl hassles us for our mobile phone to make a call and the bar owner comes out and takes her inside.

Refreshed and calmed down, we go to the meeting place and the owner comes to meet us. He had said that his house was just five minutes from town and is was because he drove like a maniac.  OH was happy to take up the challenge.  The coffee and cake started churning in me and I felt like throwing up by the time we got there.

The house and gite and apartment are absolutely lovely.  The living room has exposed stone walls with a huge log fire and is wonderfully warm and welcoming and the double glazed windows almost block out the noise of the passing traffic.  Almost but not quite.  For a country road, it carries a surprising amount of traffic.  The land contains a lot of chickens and they have taken off the grass and made a lot of mud.  It is on a bend in the road.  Still, the price is good and so is the coffee and we leave with a mandate so the morning has not been wasted.

Drive off west and find another town with a stunning river pounding through the centre. There is only one bar/restaurant open and we have the menu.  Tuna tarte with salad and good dressing followed by hake in tomato sauce with pasta and finishing up with chocolate mousse.  The restaurant was full of workmen, eating the menu and drinking wine or beer.  It is absolutely beyond me how people consume this much food, wash it down with alcohol, and then go back out and do another five hours work.  We got home and had to have a sleep.

All too soon, 2.45 came around and it was back to the dentist to find out why a bit had dropped off my new tooth.  It transpired that the morsel of hard stuff was just glue and that the hole was a slight imperfection in the ceramic crown.  He took the opportunity to take out the stitches.  

It was then back to the car park in my town to meet yesterday's clients.  They had been to see a house in the back of beyond, no relation to what they had said they were looking for, and only 150k.  They showed it to me on the Internet and it was fabulous.  I did some very quick thinking, remembered a house I had seen on a private ad yesterday, and took them to see the outside.  A very confused Swedish man opened the door and he was a renter who was leaving tomorrow.  I made an appointment with the owner for 4 pm tomorrow and then left them to wander around in the fine rain.

Back home and caught up with emails and updated the software.

Spoke to the seller of the town house where there are two buyers and it transpires that there may be a legal loophole because the offer document used by the other agent doesn't have a date beyond which the offer is no longer valid.  She will know next week.

Had toast for tea.  Still raining.

Things are hotting up!

Wednesday 25 March 2015

Cold and showery 8 degrees

Had some trouble getting started today.  Looked through very long list of things to do and did not feel motivated at all.  Rain.  Looked through the window and told the weather to buck up or no one was going to buy holiday homes.  Put the calor gas fire on and the dog promptly came and blocked the heat.  Moved the dog.  Drank tea.  OH went down to the rental unit.  

The phone rang three times.  People were responding to the advert I had put out last night, asking for beautiful homes with gites and lots of land.  The budget was the honey.  The first respondent lived down in the mountains but it sounded promising, large land, lovely house (he sent pictures) and outbuildings and not too expensive.  He told me the name of the agency he was with and it turned out that they don't actually have any ads on their site. They must pass them on the various property portals.  I couldn't find his house on there either. Not much competition for me then!  Arranged to see him Friday.

The second caller had what he described as a remarkable house in a remarkable position. The price he wanted was also remarkable and his house would have to have its feet in the ocean to realise such a sum.  I said I would keep it on file.  May pass it onto my colleague and see if she can beat a more reasonable price out of him.

The third caller lived in a place so remote that his phone signal kept on cutting out and when I finally did manage to find the ad he had put out, it transpired that it was at least an hour from the nearest shops and my client's llamas would feel they were back in Peru, the mountains were so huge.  My clients live in the South East of the UK.  There is changing landscape and there is changing landscape, but this place would have been a change too far.

I ring some places we found on the Internet yesterday and book in a fabulous one for Sunday.  I am under the cosh to find something as the client arrives on Wednesday and the house he was going to buy is the one taken by my lovely Russian clients.

Towards midday I head down town and meet up with a colleague who shows me a house in centre of town.  It is very ugly from the outside but a complete delight once you are over the front door, with clean modern interior, double garage and enclosed garden.  I recognise the owner as she works on the tills in a local supermarket.  Her husband comes in during the visit and he is extraordinarily beautiful in a Michelangelo way.  He is followed by his two little angels.  They smile shyly and twirl their hair.  I say I will be back tomorrow. Unfortunately I may have OH in tow (;)  

I then take my colleague to a house which is up there with the most visited on my list. Constructed in the 1950's, it is of unlovely appearance and is over 250m2.  It is also divided into two separate apartments and has the most villainous wallpaper I have ever seen.  Dark in colour and wildly beflowered.  Heavy, head cracking, wooden light fittings complete the look.   We go around and my colleague is very enthusiastic and much better at re-imagining the interior than either myself or my many clients.  Make mental notes.

Back home and take the dog for a walk.  The rain has eased up and we are at the head of a very muddy lane, when the dog shoots off down it.  I tear after him and he completely ignores me for at least half a kilometre.  I am too breathless to shout at him and wave my brolly within an inch of his head in such a way that he realises that he has been very bad. He does it again within 15 minutes.   Get back home in very bad mood and tell OH I am not walking that stupid dog any more.

The owner of the house which my Russians are buying rings and says that there is only one house that is suitable for them and if they can't move quickly, they will lose it and then they may have to think twice about selling.  Following the on going nightmare that is the would be buyers and the house down town, I now know that she can't change her mind but I say nothing.  Promise to kick the notaries into shape with great rapidity.  Ring notary who says it is the other notary who is preparing the initial reservation contract.  Ask her to kick the other notaries butt.  The diagnostics guy rings and says the house may be in a flood zone. (it wasn't) and the owner prepares a long list of things to include in sale.  Either the Russians need to come back next week to sign, or they need to sign remotely.  The heat is on.  My neck starts to itch and I realise the eczema is back.  Oh the joys of estate agency.

I have another message on the phone relating to a house but the caller hasn't left their number so I have to ring through all the incoming numbers on the phone before I finally get to him.  It takes some time as some of them are pleased to hear from me and some have an axe to grind.  It turns out to be happenstance.  Yesterday, when I went to see the vast property with all the rooms, the owner had said that his neighbour was also selling, and had given me the name and the town.  I had then rang all four people of this name and found the seller who said she had it on exclusive contract with a friend and wasn't interested in selling with me.  The person who rang me today is an uncle and he is also thinking of selling his house in my nearby town.  Booked him in for Monday.  Must change answerphone message to insist people leave their telephone numbers.  I am not psychic.

Make chili and sort out the running order for tomorrow's visits.  Talk to two people who want to rent our little rental unit over the summer and get them booked in.  Feel very tired and hit the hay early.

You show me yours and I will show you mine....

Tuesday 24 March 2015

Cold and raining 8 degrees

I work in 'partenariat' with another local agent so this morning I showed her one of mine and she showed me one of hers.  This involved an early start as she is juggling the demands of a very young child and an artisan husband who expects two cooked meals on the table every day.  Apparently the 21st century hasn't quite arrived in this part of the world.  

I get there at 9 am and she is just upstairs, cleaning her teeth and 'putting on her face'.  I sit myself down in the kitchen and listen to the heavy chunking click of the wall clock and the periodic drip of the tap in the sink.  There are some fabulous oil paintings of cockerels on the back wall and underneath, a large country style dresser piled up with paraphernalia of daily life; books, bills, wax crayon drawings, greetings cards, keys.  P arrives in a rush and we climb into my car and head out into the morning drizzle.

The first house is just 20 minutes away and the owner lets us in.  He is wearing a waist belt and had a trapped nerve in his back.  His face is pale and he has lost a lot of his habitual bonhomie.  The house is 18th century with interior exposed stone walls and high ceilings with beams blackened by age and many fires.  The kitchen is bright and has lovely railway white oblong tiles running over the thick wooden slab worktops.  A fire burns in the hearth and the immense TV is showing news of the Airbus crash over the French Alps.  Everyone lost.  We finish the visit in a mood of shock.

The next house is 44 kms away and we talk about statutes.  This is how the work regime is described over here.  P says that she managed to go onto auto entrepreneur status but it was very complex.  Her accountant ('a real cowboy - I met him in a bar') advised her that she needed to cancel her status as an independent commercial agent, which attracts massive social charges (see yesterday's post) and then she would be able to re register as AE (auto entrepreneur).  This she did but when she went to see the relevant government dept, she was told she couldn't re register for a whole year.  As she was still working for her former agency at the time, she was aghast.  The fonctionnaire (white collar worker) pulled out a piece of paper saying that there were exceptions to the rules and one of these was registering as a 'presenter of services', so that is what she became until setting up her own agency and becoming a limited company.

She also told me about a 'friend' who is a banker and with whom she opened her new business account.  Her website provider is in the UK and has to be paid in pounds sterling. Her banker friend was charging her 54 euros for each monthly transfer from euros into sterling in order to pay these fees.  Her calls and emailed were ignored.  She is still with him.  I would have fired him off in no uncertain terms.

My phone keeps ringing with the would be buyers of the house in my town.  I have stopped answering their calls.  Ask P for her opinion as to their case and she says they are in a very poor position and the other agent is sitting pretty.  Oh dear, that is what the notary also said.

We arrive at the second house and it is a wonderful farmhouse so far from the road that I may never find it, and ideal for my road averse clients.  The owner arrives with her son, who is autistic, and highly up on all the facts, figures and dates relating to the property.  The poor lady has had a life filled with tragedy, her husband being killed in a road accident and her eldest son nearly being killed in the same spot a year later, and still having problems with infections and relapses.  S is petite and immaculately turned out, her pale chestnut hair swept into a smooth chignon and pale skin stretched over a fine bone structure.  We trot around the house and I really need to pee.  I ask permission, test that the water is on, and bliss, am left to relieve myself.  Alas, discover that the flush doesn't work.  Come back downstairs and the autistic son says, very loudly, did I notice that the flush was broken. Feel embarrassed.

Stop off for coffee on way back.  P asks if I miss my children, far away in the UK.  Feel suddenly tearful.  Yes, is the answer, always and forever no matter how old they will be.

Back home for very quick lunch and then south to a walled bastide town hanging onto a hill above a torrential and pounding river.  The GPS takes me around many roads, none of which are right so the owner has to come and find me.  His property is surprisingly large, with room after room after room and I suddenly feel very tired.  We go into an overheated salon and he serves me luke-warm coffee and tells me that he has no life, the business is exhausting and he wants to sell and have children with his wife.  I tell him that children are also very tiring and they are impossible to sell on....  For the price he wants, his property is also impossible to sell on.

Drive to local town in search of cake and obtain a very large pain aux raisins stuffed with massive fruits and pearls of sugar for myself and a lemon tart for OH.  Back home in heavy rain and have to do lots of emails.

Spend evening with OH watching YouTube videos of men with very strange West Country accents, fishing off the rocks of the Bristol Channel and I start loading details of craft group ladies into the Mail Chimp software.   Easter is coming up fast on the rails and I have promised them a newsletter.  Three ladies have come forward with articles, fortunately, so I don't have to write the whole sodding thing myself.

Dog is looking very tired after spending last night in the outhouse.  He can smell a lady dog in the vicinity and spent the whole night barking.  At his age, he really should know better.

Rooms with a view

Saturday 21 March 2015

Little bit rainy except for when I walk dog, when big bit rainy

10 degrees

First day of Spring.  Ha, followed by lots more haaaaas.  Gone cold again.  Birds have started looking for nesting sites and all of the cranes seemed to have passed overhead.

OH wakes up early, excited about fishing.  When he sees that it is raining, he climbs back into bed and hassles me so I can't concentrate on writing.  He can be very annoying but is a regular supplier of tea at all hours of day and night.

I had put a number of containers into the back of the car and had completely forgotten about them and driven around with them for days whilst wondering why the car smelled funny. We decided to go out for the day and so OH threw them out of the car boot and into the courtyard.  I know from experience that once he throws something outside, it stays there until I move it.  We had words.  Then we had more words.  Then we went to the dump.  An hour later, and partially covered in specks of paint and oil, we finally set off for our day out. Fortunately it wasn't raining too hard so no aquaplaning was involved, as on the last two occasions.

Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have the idea of going into town too so there was no parking anywhere.  We circled and circled and eventually squeezed into a minuscule space with a 15 minute slot.  Enough time to dive out and get a coffee and have a loo break. I then discover a Chinese Bazaar.  I love a bazaar; they are just stuffed full of stuff you never realised you needed.  OH extracts me after far too short a time, but not before I have bought more hairpins and stretchy hairbands than a cheerleader in a season.  Everything was a euro.  

We then decide to go out of town a way and look what is on the top of the promenade. There we find a building called the Palais Miramar (sea view) which is now a school of music but was the summer home of the Spanish royal family, Marie Christine and Alphonso in the late 19th century

Palais Miramar

Queen Marie Christine

 Local information says it is built in the English Queen Anne cottage style.  There seems to be more of this style abroad than in England.  Here is an example of a US Queen Anne cottage

Los Angeles Lucky Baldwin's Queen Anne cottage

Elias Jackson (“Lucky”) Baldwin’s Queen Anne Cottage was constructed in 1885-86, probably as a honeymoon gift for his fourth wife, sixteen- year-old Lillie Bennett. “For a year after she married Baldwin (May, 1884), this little girl was queen of the ranch,” wrote the Los Angeles Times. Lillie’s father, architect Albert A. Bennett, designed the cottage, but the honeymooners apparently never enjoyed its beauty. Lillie and E.J. separated in 1885, and the fanciful house was converted by its owner into a memorial to the third Mrs. Baldwin, Jennie Dexter, who had died in 1881. A stained glass portrait of Jennie stood welcome in the front door and an almost life-size oil painting of her was hung in the Cottage parlor. Both items remain today.   

Curious about the epithet 'Lucky', I look him up on Wikipedia

Baldwin was financially tightfisted in his business dealings, but led a flamboyant lifestyle. He was especially free-spending when it came to women. One contemporary commented, "Baldwin didn't run after women; they ran after him."

Baldwin's matrimonial ventures periodically created sensations. He was married four times, the first three marriages ending in divorce. He was sued by four women for breach of promise of marriage. His stature as a celebrity was such that at age 56, when he married 20-year-old Lilly Bennett in San Francisco, the wedding drew coast-to-coast press coverage.  In the same year, he was sued by a jilted 16-year-old girl who was awarded $75,000 in damages.

Baldwin, aged 80

Lillian Ashley (later Turnbull) signed a 'wedding contract' with Lucky Baldwin.Los Angeles Herald^[10]

One of the women accusing him of breach of promise shot and wounded him in 1883 with a pistol inside his luxury Baldwin Hotel, built in 1876 on the northeast corner of Powell and Market St. He also narrowly escaped death in a San Francisco courtroom on July 2, 1896. He was sued by Lillian Ashley for seduction. While she was on the witness stand, her sister Emma Ashley,  walked up behind Baldwin and fired a pistol at him, grazing his skull.

Back home and I spend the evening looking at gorgeous resin jewellery on Pinterest.  I can feel a new obsession coming on.   Yesterday I collected some wild flowers and, not having any silica to hand, have submerged them in a sea of rice.  Hope they are not squished to bits.

Goodbye Mr Spock...

Friday 27 February 2015

OMG sun at last 12 degrees

Up and attem with some enthusiasm ahead of the impending visit.  Clean the hall stairs and landings and mop all of the floors.  Open the windows to let in some fresh air.  Why are the bastards sticking?  Oil them with a little WD40.  One has warped.  They are nearly new!!!  Big breaths, I will be zen, I will be zen.  Fortunately none of the month’s torrential rain has seeped through the new paint.  We had the roof replaced three years ago but still, mysterious yellow patches appear in different parts of the ceilings from time to time.  Like a big dog peeing at will on our handiwork.  The worst part is the under roof plaster on the balcony.  A few months ago, I hauled back the roofer to show him the stains and he said he had put in a waterproof material under the new roof – he even got me out on the roof via the kitchen window to look at it – had a Bill Sykes moment and my head swam – and he had to put me back in through the window.  He said it was a mystery.  He didn’t say he was going to fix it and he left.

OH stuck back on the popped off skirting boards and fixed them with some dowel and rather a lot of glue.  He then asked me what I thought of the villainous but reasonably priced sage green gloss which he had brought back from B n Q on his last trip to the UK.  I suggested he mixed it with some white gloss to try and make it look like Irish Spring rather than Miss Haversham's bathroom.  He was all for painting it on every door but I suggested he tried it on the inside of the bedroom door so we could assess it for effect.  I went back to mopping and came back to find he had put it on the door and the window sill.  It wasn't exactly Irish Spring but looked like Miss Haversham had made a bit of an effort.

Back home for poached eggs on 5 cereal toast.  I do love a poached egg, its wobbling yellow dome and just set white surround, like a little space ship just waiting to be pierced by my soldier, dripping with ....  stop it, I am going all Nigella.  Many apologies, dear reader.

At 3 pm I was posted at the front door, waiting for the lady and she was on time.  In her late 30's, at least she could get up the stairs.  I showed her around and she took pictures and said that she was buying as an investment and would put her mother to live in the property. She was concerned about the heating costs due to the high ceilings but said she really liked the unit and it was so light and airy.  I showed her the little unit too, in case she felt the urge to buy a little investment.  She was there 20 minutes and said she would show the photos to her mother and potentially be back on Monday.  I asked if her mother could manage the stairs and she replied that she was just 60 this year so she was still OK to climb them. Realise that I think that 60 is old.  Realise that it is only three years away.  How the f did that happen?

I spent an hour cleaning floors in the new unit and then went for a swim.  You take pot luck at the weekend - sometimes there are so many people that the pool looks like it is full of frogspawn.  Fortunately, a massive amount of wet people were crowding the changing room so I squeezed into a corner to change and found only about 20 people in the pool.  The locals do not swim.  The main things that they exercise, whilst standing around and usually in the middle of the pool, are their jaws.  After I have swum around them a number of times, they move to the sides and watch me, in a Wimbledon type way, going up and down.  No one else does lengths.  There are some funny shaped mature ladies and some very white and wobbly girls in their 20's.  The jacuzzi area is being monopolised by the canoodling couples - the water seems to make them especially passionate and they ignore the matrons who try to get on the bubbling benches.  There are the macho guys, full of tattoos, who position themselves under the swans neck water jets so that the water bounces off their heads with some force, and stabs nearby swimmers.

Leonard Nimoy, alias Mr Spock, died aged 83.  He lived long and prospered.  His last tweet

A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP

8:36 AM - 23 Feb 2015

IMAGE: JORDAN STRAUSS/ASSOCIATED PRESS