Living in France

I can't believe how fortunate I am! I open the shutters of the apartment and am treated to blue sky and a view of the old port. 

Last Wednesday, the meeting with the notaire was held in an office in Monaco that had more artwork than Tate Modern and furniture and fittings that showed where all the fees went. When the forms had been signed and the apartment formally purchased, a tatty, slightly grubby plastic bag of keys was passed across the desk. The lovely lady selling the apartment, told me, in Italian, what all the different keys were for, until she came across two about which she had no idea. 

Back in Menton, Nicolas, our estate agent, helped us to set up electricity and gas contracts. The bank couldnt offer an appointment, to open an account, until the following week, so instead, we went to the Orange shop to set up an Internet contract. 

All I needed was proof of a utility bill and my passport. The electricity account that I had logged into ten minutes before refused to let me access it—it kept sending me to the EDF account that I have in England. Stymied, we made an appointment for the following day. 

We reached the apartment by late afternoon, unlocked it with a huge key that looks like something from a joke shop. The apartment is lovely but it would have been lovelier if most of the light fittings hadn’t been removed, leaving bare wires. After a quick trip to the hypermarché, bare wires were replaced by bare bulbs. A hunt around, following pipes in the garden, revealed the stop cock and a shower became possible

Although it was a relief to be out of hotels, we spent a slightly uncomfortable night sleeping on the floor. The expectation of the delivery of a bed the following day, eased the discomfort. 

By late morning we were informed that there would be no delivery.  Grumpiness induced by the prospect of another night on the floor added to our powers of  persuasion and it was agreed that the bed would be delivered the following day, in spite of it being Bastille Day (a national holiday). 

 The removal men—who had known about the bridge and awkward bend at the bottom of our road since we booked them in May—suddenly decided, halfway down France, that they wouldn’t be able to get the removal lorry through. They needed to rent a van and texted to find out if we knew of any van rental companies.  We didn't but fortunately contacts in Menton did. 

That afternoon Stuart drove out to near the A8 where the lorry was parked, picked up the driver and deposited him at the van rental. Meanwhile I sorted out the Internet on a repeat visit to the Orange shop, 

 By the time we got to a friend's house for a dinner party to welcome us to Menton, we were a little frazzled.  But good food, wine and wonderful company offered us a lovely relaxing evening.

After another night of sleeping on the floor, the removal men arrived (a day earlier than expected) at 7am  to try avoid the sweltering heat—they didn't. In the midst of this, the bed that should have arrived the day before was delivered, meaning that everything arrived at the same time. 

 The removal men left after the third van load was delivered and we made inroads into the unpacking. It left us exhausted but Bastille day fireworks provided an additional welcome to the town. 

The second day, by 5o'clock we'd had enough of unpacking and shopping so we took the five minute walk down to the beach. It was packed with noisy Italians but the sea was a balmy 24°. Perfect. 

 Just when it seemed that things were going to plan, the lock on the front door stopped working and wouldn't lock and our first cooked meal in the apartment failed to materialise when there was no gas.

The gas problem was solved by a neighbour and hopefully a locksmith can be found next week.

Our belongings had been transferred from truck to storage to lorry to van (and who knows where else).  A few minor breakages were revealed during unpacking—nothing more than I could achieve when washing up—but some of the boxes looked as though they had been thrown around, so it was with trepidation that we unscrewwed the crate surrounding the overmantel mirror.  Thankfully it is intact - just have to carry it up to the flat now!

Thérèse the chatelaine of the apartments has invited us for drinks this evening.  Her name suggests that she is the one to ask about the lock!

This the next book I'm going to read (with a French dictionary handy...)