Leaving England



 

M11 at 5.20am

We set out from Cambridge, at 5.00am, to the sound of Hot Chocolate singing I Believe in Miracles.  I realise that the song has nothing to do with selling a house in Cambridge but at this stage in the game I was willing to take any sign that offered itself—although when We’re on a Road to Nowhere played a few minutes late, I chose to ignore it.


If I was writing about the frustrations that can occur during the sale of a property in England, it would not be a brief blog, it would be an epic tome to rival  Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu.


It amazes me that people who say they are in a position to buy, keen to buy and ready to move can drag the process out for four months.


The good news is we have travelled to France.


Leaving Dover






Looking towards France






















.The ferry was almost empty, staff outnumbering passengers.  The sea was flat calm, although my semicircular canals and stomach wouldn't agree, (in spite of misgivings, I tucked into the delicious full Irish breakfast.  We had booked the journey booked when we thought we were meeting the notaire in Menton on the 29th June to complete on the apartment, When we were feeling positive and hopeful, an hour and a half rest on the ferry and a stopover in Dijon seemed enough on the journey between Cambridge and Menton. There is no rush now, the meeting had to be been cancelled when the house sale in Cambridge dragged on. 


We have no idea when we will be able to complete on the apartment. This journey should have been accompanied by excited anticipation but until the house in Cambridge is sold, nothing is certain.


Those sentences were written before we heard—half way through the six hour drive from Calais to Dijon— that finally our buyers buyer had paid their deposit and were ready to exchange and fifteen minutes later the deed was done.  Contracts were exchanged. A completion date was set. We were driving through the champagne district, we were tempted to stop to celebrate, but sensibly continued on our way. Now the appointment with the notaire has to be rebooked for sometime next week and hopefully everything can go ahead.


Exhausted we landed at the Kyriad just outside Dijon almost exactly 12 hours after we left Cambridge. The sun is shining, the hotel which appears to have been recently refurbished, boasts a very attractive restaurant and a pool (postage stamp sized admittedly but nevertheless a pool).  The sun is shining, the birds are singing and a new life is about to begin.



Whatever happens, I am looking forward to a new chapter in my life.  It may not be better. It may be 100 times worse, but it will definitely be different. In particular I am looking forward to having the time and headspace to write again. I have lots more ideas and the final part of the Barwell Trilogy, Journey’s End, will be available as a paperback in August, available to order through Waterstones and all good bookshops plus of course, Amazon. 






As I leave England I am reading a delightful book written by Clive Wilkinson — Charging Around—which describes a tour with his wife around the edge of England in in an electric car in 2019, when charging points were scarcer, less reliable and a journey meant multiple leads and apps for the chargers, having the heating and the radio off and lots of inconvenience.  His descriptions and historical detail bring the trip to life. According to the blurb, the author was approaching 80 when the trip started, just as well he had lots of patience and a sense of humour. 






Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hairdressers and Happy Christmas

Image
On Wednesday, I travelled to Nice by train.  No strikes this week. Ridiculously, the beginning of the journey made me think of the Dawlish sea wall. Different sea, different landscape, different colour scheme, but still a train travelling along the edge of the sea. With mountains bordering the water, there are tunnels pretty much all the way to Nice.  Monaco, as if embarrassed that it has to have a railway at all, has hidden its train station way down below the town.   Tunnels are tedious, but it's great to emerge from the mountain and glimpse terracotta tiles, purple bougainvillea and the sea, blue—even when the skies are grey with cloud …  I arrived in Nice and paused for a coffee, as the shops opened their doors.   It seems sad that, after all this time, police and army are very much in evidence, mingling with the shoppers, carrying their guns as casually as shopping bags. Opposite the café, a Salvation Army band played Christmas carols. I didn’t recognise ma...
Read more

My apologies.

Image
 My apologies for leaving it so long since the last post.  I have been working hard to complete the manuscript for my new novel and there didn't seem to be enough words left in my head for the blog. The garden had been busy while I've been neglecting it and at some point I'm going to have to work out when to harvest kumquats (and what to do with them). The lemon tree has a few fruits but not as many as the one next door. I'm hoping someone will give me some advice on its care. Have you ever seen a frog this green? I decided to walk from Menton to Monaco one day, to clear my head. I had woken to the sound of the sea which is unusual, I can see the sea from all the windows of the apartment but it is normally so calm, that you don't hear it. The waves were indeed big enough for surfing, as two brave souls were proving. As I walked along the front, workmen were busy moving the beach from where it had been abandoned, following a previous storm. A fairground had arrived t...
Read more

It's Raining Again

Image
  It’s raining again. That's a phrase I didn't expect to use, living here in the South of France. I returned to Menton last weekend, imagining constant sunshine. I had spent a brief but very pleasant sojourn in England—catching up with friends and family, getting the final things out of storage ready to be transported to France and of course checking out what's new in John Lewis.   At 4am last Saturday, I was woken by window-rattling thunder and simultaneously, spectacular lightning. It rained persistently until Monday morning, I didn’t step out of the door for the whole of Sunday. Fortunately the apartment stayed snug and dry but it rained so heavily that the library was flooded and water got into the church. In the library, no books were damaged but several of the photographs, put up ready for the forthcoming exhibition, fell from the sodden walls—it was as well  that they weren't irreplaceable watercolours .  Further afield there were mini mudslides and  swol...
Read more