|We spent an idyllic few |
weeks one summer at this
home in Provence.
After a few circuits of the course your emotions are stretched to the point that just you want to stop the ride, but of course you can't until the whole unpleasant journey ends….. in its own time. The more exciting sections of the voyage are eclipsed by its treacherous twists and turns. Your stomach becomes knotted. Berating yourself for electing to take and pay for this unpleasant experience, silent words are said in hope that the journey instantly halts and you survive it with your dignity intact.
After seemingly forever, the ride is over. You walk away grateful for being “in one piece” ………. then a little voice in your head declares.......... "that wasn't so terrible after all, I think I’ll do it again next year"!
|The view from the pool house across to Bonnieux.|
When it comes to renovating My French Folly, I'm at the stage of rebuking my myself, with knots in my stomach, wishing for the journey to finish tout de suite ……… with ma maison française et moi, intact and functional. I can confidently say that I won't be taking this ride again.
My vision has morphed into a French farce in the hands of the U.K. company which is supposedly managing the project.
Reports from France last week spoke of action and promise. This week - nothing.
|Breakfasts were eaten on the terrace.......... very slowly.|
Today is the first of March and I depart for France in June. My man on the ground in Burgundy has had the house keys for 14 months, and the house still resembles those of its birth date – 1750. Living like an 18th century woman is just not me.
It's at times like this that I seek solace perusing my photos of France ..........dreaming of places at which I have stayed .......... imagining the scents of summer filling my nostrils and the fruits of le terroir satiating my appetite. Thank goodness for dreams…..