Our House is Not in Paris (16 page)

Back to the pool, and I then spoke to Yannick on Jean-Luc's
portable
. He told me it would take a whole day to fill the pool and that I was to be sure to turn off the water and the pump when it got to the orange tape placed at the top of the liner. He informed me that the president of Piscince Ambiance would arrive on Monday morning for the final stage, which was to place the single row of tiling around the pool. I wasn't sure I understood properly, for it seemed a bit extreme that the president would present himself for this task. Later, when Stuart and I inspected our new
piscine
, we made a list of all that was still needed for the pool to be finished properly. Yes, another list. Luckily, Stuart remembered the details, such as that there was supposed to be both a summer and winter cover. Who ever knew that?

Every single day was a blur. There was simply no other way to put it. Trying to recall what we did and who we saw on a particular day was virtually impossible. The days consisted of layers and layers of discussions and decisions. What would have usually taken a very long time at home to reflect and decide on often had to be almost instantaneous. The roofers engaged us in a six-way discussion about the placement of the gutters and the direction of the overflow on the barn roof. It was late afternoon, it was forty degrees, but they wanted to know straight away, as it was the first job in the morning. Once again, with the limitations of our French, we could only hope that we managed to convey exactly what it was we wanted. The outcome was critical and yet the decision seemed very rushed, to say the least.

Later, over our evening
apéritif
, we started talking about how we would tackle painting the sitting room. The massive fire-blackened beams were especially challenging. We remembered our colour wash experiment last year when we thought we had discovered the perfect high-gloss finish we were aiming for on the skirting boards, only to discover it dried to a dull, flat finish. Ironically it then looked exactly like the original — the perils of trying to read paint can labels in French. The weathered whitewash on the barn doors was exactly what we were striving to achieve, but we were not really sure how to do so. We had seen beams in houses that have missed the mark in the whitewash department and they looked very unattractive. Then there was the crazy-paving-like effect around the fireplace. We had no idea how to clean it or how to go about restoring it. The thought of chipping away at a hundred years of cooking grease didn't exactly appeal to me either.

Meanwhile, the walls would be an easier prospect; it wouldn't be too hard to improve on the original, no matter what we did. At the moment there was layer upon layer of wallpaper as well as two paint colours. The room was a testimony to someone's labour of love in another decade. It was all so immaculate that it was a shame it had to all be covered up in a way — but it simply didn't work at all. In fact, it was highly unattractive, to say the least.

This time, as the paint had been so thickly applied, we decided to undercoat all the walls. Once again, we were perturbed by the nature of French paint compared to what we were used to at home. The undercoat was all streaky and chalky; the vivid orange and green were still shining through. As for undercoating our bright green bedroom door, I'd scarcely seen such a diabolical disaster. It was apparent straight away that even if it were painted white it would look ghastly; that short cut of simply painting the door wouldn't work. Now it would have to be taken down and sanded. Another job for another day.

The next day, the temperature dropped by half. We woke to a cool damp day of perpetual drizzle. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed at the start of each day, knowing that it would once again involve fine-tuning our time and sprinting from one commitment to the next, one decision to the next. It was a conundrum in a way. Part of us loved being busy and loved all the challenges. Part of us acknowledged that it was all too much to attempt in a mere matter of weeks. Yet it was also balanced by the huge sense of achievement and pride in all that we seemed to be able to pull off in such a short time. The other irony was that, while we knew we should slow down and wanted to relax more, once we did return home and life settled into a normal routine we perversely missed the frenetic activity and our social life in France that was so very different to our other life.

Today's plan was to take care of business matters. However, before we set off to Martel and Brive, despite the incessant drizzle, four roofers were back on the job. There was a van, two trucks, and then a huge truck arrived with hydraulic equipment to remove the slate tiles from the back of the barn roof. The truck couldn't quite get the angle to turn in between the two narrow stone pillars at our entrance, so there was a lot of rapid manoeuvring of our car and all the other vehicles filling the front garden. With a lot of reversing and approaching at a precise angle, the truck squeezed in by a mere margin, all the time cheered on by the barking border collie on one of his many visits of the day.

This would be enough to sort out for any day, but this was just the prelude. We set off to the bank and yet another visit to our charming bank manager, Anne-Marie. She was always swift and the service was always impeccable. Today we needed a rather large sum of cash as we were off to Brive to hopefully buy a sofa for our sitting room. We also got a statement and saw how rapidly our balance was plummeting. Anne-Marie again explained that the balance changes every day, but I still couldn't quite grasp exactly how it all worked. In fact, I know I never will. However, another instance of her extraordinary professionalism was that she had another meeting with the insurance manager and had now managed to save us the equivalent of two months in the overall cost of our annual car insurance. We had assumed, after our previous discussion with her and all her attempts to calculate a deduction, that it was the end of the matter. We were astonished — and grateful — that, unknown to us, she had decided to pursue it further and see if she could get us an even better deal. In our experiences at home, no bank manager or insurance company has ever actively tried to get us a better deal. It seemed to be another instance of something we thought would be extremely hard and complicated, but turned out to be absolutely fine and, indeed, far better than anticipated.

Next, it was off the markets to buy fresh fruit and vegetables. However, rather than a relaxed outing and leisurely selection of produce, it was rush, rush, rush, as we had to get to Brive before midday and the two-hour break. We had two tasks to accomplish, and time was once again slipping away before we could do all that we had set out to achieve.

Most importantly, we had to go and get our new car number plates. Fortunately, Jean-Claude had provided us with clear directions and the company was actually located next to a huge shopping centre that we know in Brive. We had the chance to choose from a variety of different number plates, ranging in price, then the car was whisked way and all was smoothly completed in just thirty minutes. This gave us just enough time to go to the café in the shopping centre, have an
espresso
and share a slice of
gâteau au chocolat
. Fortified, we collected the car and now we had a mere twenty-five minutes to speed off to the
Troc
where we had seen a perfect old Chesterfield and two matching armchairs the previous week. Instead of rushing into the decision, as we often had to due to the constant pressure of time, we had for a change decided to reflect on it, especially as it was quite a big investment. Before leaving, in the midst of the early morning chaos with the roofers and array of trucks, we had hastily measured the space in the sitting room to see if the three pieces would fit. They were capacious and cracked with age. I could not begin to imagine who owned them before and what their life story was. However, like so many pieces of furniture we'd bought for our
petite maison
, they seemed destined for
La Forge
one day. Everything we seemed to buy was very big for such a little house. We kept saying, in fact, ‘That will look great in the barn one day.' While that day was far, far away, we would then have to start all over again, furnishing Pied de la Croix! Perhaps subconsciously it meant that, by buying oversized furniture, we were committed to renovating the barn one day. Perhaps, too, it was just another excuse to indulge our passion for unearthing treasure and furnishing and decorating.

Meanwhile, as we were trying to fly out to start our jam-packed schedule, Jean-Claude appeared with his weekly
bricolage
junk mail to pass on to Stuart. They both shared a passion for these hardware catalogues; it must have been universal. I for one did not understand their appeal, although I did know some women who share their love of hardwares. It is not many, however. Even though we now had a letterbox, Jean-Claude didn't think we'd get such catalogues delivered, as we were non-residents. So it was just as well that he dropped them in every week as Stuart spent ages poring over what we needed and what was on special, such as paving. Even in France he still had the admirable ability to compare prices and find bargains.

We raced into the
Troc
with just ten minutes to go before it closed. At first I thought the Chesterfield had been sold, as I couldn't see it, and I felt bitterly disappointed — a definite sign that I truly did want it. Then Stuart spotted that it had been moved and raised up high off the floor. Of course it didn't occur to us that we were not able to look at it closely and it wasn't until the next week when it was delivered that we discovered quite how cracked the leather was. Oh well, it all added to the character. We quickly inspected the two armchairs and declared, ‘Yes, we'll buy them too.' We couldn't believe that the previous week we had briefly considered buying a new red leather sofa. We didn't know what we were thinking. While we liked blending old and new and thought it could be effective and striking — like our beautiful new IKEA kitchen — a new sofa wouldn't have worked at all in the old farmhouse.

We had decided what we were prepared to pay for delivery, so it rested on finding out the cost of that. Luckily it was within ten euros of what we were willing to pay. Otherwise, we would have had to hire a van and collect it ourselves — all extra time and extra money, plus no-one to help unload it, as the pieces all weighed a ton. There was no negotiating on the price as the pieces had only been in the
Troc
a few weeks. It was either pay the price or wait a few weeks and see if they would come down. Of course that meant running the risk of it being sold. With a minute until the lunch break, I also chose a set of lovely dark brown, classic
espresso
cups and saucers that would look perfect on the dark brown wood of the mantelpiece above the fire in the kitchen.

Delivery time fitted in perfectly to get the sitting room painted within the next week, so after handing over a huge amount of money we raced off to an enormous hardware for the almost daily
bricolage
purchases. It was virtually the only shop open during the two-hour lunch break, so it was a very quiet time to pick up everything that we needed. After our huge morning, it was critical that we ate again. So we headed back to the Carrefour Shopping Centre — not our usual choice, as it's next to a busy road and service station, but it's close and we needed to eat, now! It's cheap and convenient, and the steak and
frites
turned out to be surprisingly tasty. We were actually amazed by the quality, service and array of food in what was the equivalent of a fast-food place. It had been quite a few hours since we'd had our
café
but now every single table was full. No wonder as the value was impressive! You could get a bread roll and cheese for one euro or a glass of wine for the same price. There was a display of fresh salads and the steak was cooked in front of us after we ordered. While the location wasn't great, the steak was, and we felt fortified to soon go home and renovate — yes, again. I could fully see how it made sense to have a proper meal in the middle of the day, both to relax for a while and regain our energy, as well as to build ourselves up for the rest of the day, which, in our case, was always huge.

However, before we were able to do that, it was back to the busy schedule for the day. Stuart had to return yet again to the hardware, and to maximise the use of our time he dropped me at Piscine Ambiance. ‘We are very busy at this time of the year,' was the polite explanation I was given for the fact that our many calls had not been returned. I made an appointment for them to come the following Monday at 9.30am, never quite sure if the appointment would actually eventuate. To make the most of my time while I waited for Stuart to come back and get me, I relaxed in one of their
chaises longues
next to a display pool and caught up in my notebook. So much happened all the time that I could simply spend all day recording the constantly unfolding events.

While we were accomplishing an enormous amount in a very short time, it was not quite the holiday that everyone at home imagined we were having. Even Christian the gardener quipped that it was, ‘A
non vacances
.' I think he summed it up pretty well. Stuart kept urging me not to do so much, but I was very driven. While I was exhausted, I was also conscious of how much there was to do. I was constantly both awed and astonished by how much he calmly accomplished as well as by his ability to communicate about such intricate matters as the roof and all that entailed.

Finally, we arrived home late in the afternoon to find six roofers working away — the most there had ever been at one time. Six roofers now working was starting to sound to me like the ‘Twelve Days of Christmas'. There were two vans in the front garden and two trucks at the back of the barn. One was laden with the old rafters and the ten best ones had been put aside as we'd asked for, which we would later make shelves with. Their attention to detail and commitment to their craft meant that they had pointed out that there was a loose slate on the
petite maison
and they would replace it later for us. I carried a new spade from the car and they were happy at the sight, as they'd seen the rather feeble
jardin
implements I'd been using up until now. They also knew that we would be delighted with their progress throughout the day while we'd been out. Half of the front of the barn roof was now covered in magnificent new grey slate, and all the old beams were off the back of the barn. New beams were being battened into place, and they took great pleasure in showing off their considerable skills as they adroitly tossed the chainsaw. Not only did their skills impress us, but we were also constantly astonished that we were actually in the — for us — very strange position of employing artisans when we were so used to doing all our renovating virtually single-handed.