Losing the Plot - part one

The next morning we woke in our red tomb and wondered where on earth we were. I don’t think Derek and I have ever got ready as quickly. We were far too early for our first appointment, but the alternative was spending more time in the red flock nightmare.

We decided to do as the locals do and find a bar for coffee and croissants to while away an hour. Armed with information gleaned from the Internet, we covered the table with computer printouts and couldn’t wait to start viewing the palatial homes that had been advertised. Derek, having once been a Boy Scout, still adhered to the motto ‘be prepared’ which meant that we had appointments with three French agents. We’d phoned them before leaving the UK and they’d all assured us that the dream properties advertised were still available.

We entered the first agency full of enthusiasm, but our reception was a little disappointing. Proffering our computer generated details, the agent flicked through them.

“Sold yesterday, sold last week, sold yesterday.” He looked up and smiled. “The market, it moves quickly. No?”

Offering reassurance and consolation, he promised to show us a variety of properties that would melt our hearts.

Our hearts didn’t melt, but they came very near to breaking. We trudged across muddy tracks, peered into derelict barns, gazed up at the sky through missing roof tiles, and made friends with some chickens that had taken up residence in the kitchen of a farmhouse. Clever chickens; it was the only habitable room.

At the end of a wasted day we were tired and dispirited. Murmuring our thanks, and expressing a desire to meet with him again (at some unspecified date in the far and distant future) we fled to the hotel. Even the red flock was an improvement on the interiors of some of the places we’d been shown.

We soothed our troubled souls in the courtyard by drinking some more local wine. By the time we’d eaten, life felt so much better. We even faced our bedroom with equanimity and settled down to sleep, convinced that the next day’s viewing could only bring an improvement.

How naive we were. The second agent also tossed aside our sheets of property details (sold, sold, and sold, the market is very good) and led us on our second expedition. These properties were much better; some of them were even habitable, but they bore no more resemblance to the properties we had so carefully chosen, than a mongrel with fleas and mange does to the winner of Crufts.

Moving abroad? You need The Greatest Moving Abroad Tips in the World - you do, honestly! Would I lie to you?