Work, Life and My French Folly....update

Courtsey of Warrenski, flikr

I've started the day by eating a box of Lindt linor chocolate truffles - not an auspicious pastime. My visions of regaining my svelte figure are rapidly fading as the pressures of work increase and my work-life balance starts to resemble the letter "L". All work (professional and domestic), no life - the lot of a working mother and wife. I am trying to redress this imbalance, but with little success.
My professional commitments demand that I complete of work during the weekend and on weeknights. And dealing with the public always has unexpected hazards.

I go through phases of employing cleaners who initially manage to impress, but invariably start to take short cuts after gaining my confidence.

The local ironing lady - who will probably be sainted by the ladies of Brighton - insists on using spray starch, which causes members of my family to develop rashes - quite antisocial en masse.

My Scottish heritage prevents me from paying $40 plus per hour for a gardener. Besides, I love getting my hands in the dirt and psychologically don't want to relinquish this task - my green meditation. But it does add to my "to do" list.

A ceiling in My French Folly.

Then there're the renovations of My French Folly to attend to - a self-imposed pressure that has been amplified beyond my expectations by employing (and paying) a project manager who confuses fiction with fact and has a propensity to "go to ground" for months on end. I am constantly amazed by his creative excuses and absolute gall. However, for the first time since purchasing the house in France there is a glimmer of hope that we may be able to be in residence this June, albeit with the work unfinished. I am no longer dealing with the project manager but his newly appointed offsider - a man of action! Within 2 weeks an army of artisans has produced quotes for the renovation work. When they can actually start to put their skills into action has yet to be determined, but at least something is happening at our much neglected maison française.

This unexpected, but long awaited activity has me dreaming of France - with eyes closed and open - decorating rooms that I have yet to see, with copper pots, exquisite pieces of furniture and other authentic French items that I've picked up - for pittance - from brocantes in quaint villages and antique shops that I happen to chance upon while roaming the French countryside. If only dreams (shamefully, quite  selfish) came true............