Although Roy and I had discussed it at length, our imaginary country house had no style, no dimensions, or even a location. However, bleak winter days in London do wonders to focus the mind and it turns out that the annual French Property Exhibit in London in January is no coincidence. We enter a warm, bustling exhibition hall and are quickly buried in a sea of property estate agents eager to chat. There were questions to be answered that had never crossed our minds. Roy and I concoct our story on the fly, making up priorities and requirements as we go along, occasionally looking at each other in amazement. Clipboards and questionnaires can entertain for just so long, and delightedly, we spot a wine distributor booth. We take a seat, sip some wine, and wave our hands describing each varietal with all the usual adjectives as if we’d just made them up.
Happily into the grape and feeling empowered, we carry on through the stalls and stumble upon an understated little booth, empty but for some eye-catching photos of an area in Southwest France, located not too far from other places in France that we’d actually heard of. We are invited down — just for a visit — and owing to the fact that the wine had not yet left our bloodstream, we tell them we shall see them in May.
Over breakfast on our first morning in the B&B we meet a couple from Belgium who had been spending the past few years engaged in the same type of exploration on which we were just embarking. They’d been to a dozen different places over several years. They were learning French. They tell us to take our time. Do not rush. Don’t get swept up in the moment and make a mistake. We nod our heads in hearty agreement. Yes, that’s wise. We’ll take it slow, survey the landscape, consider everywhere. Won’t this be a fun few years?
By the time we see them again that evening, they must have thought us mad. Because that morning, after setting foot on the second property we visited, before the clock struck noon — we had made an offer.
