After the last six months, which has included the loss of my last remaining grandparent
(after a hard battle with cancer), a radical job change, and then finally the break-up of my relationship with
The Girl, my thoughts turned to a chance to escape and make a break with the UK.
My sisters and I were hugely fortunate as children and we were taken on holiday to the continent. This culminated
(purely by chance I think) in my parents finding a British couple who owned property about 50 kilometres from Bordeaux, in the deepest, most rural France. They had three properties to rent on the site,
(and daughters a similar age to my sisters) and we ended up returning year after year. The belief that every French village had a bakers and patisserie obviously hadn't reached Barie. Other than a church and a communal basketball court the only other signs of life was the post office that would be open every other Thursday for half a day. Into this tranquillity were introduced three
Eeenglish children up to the age of 16.
Days were spent "bombing" in the pool, or chasing each other on bikes through what felt like undiscovered country, and evenings sat beside the barbeque or sitting round the patio table enjoying the fantastic fresh produce
(although at that age the greatest pleasure was the discovery of the somewhat lax health and safety regulations that the French have when it came to the sale of quite lethal fireworks – which I put to great use in shattering the peace and quite of this little hamlet)
As we grew up, flew the nest, and did our own things for holidays there was always a bit of a soft spot for the place in Barie. When my niece arrived four years ago
(a real shock which I will tell you about sometime) my parents obviously also thought of the Barie again, and suggested a family trip out to see the old place. We booked one of the houses, and our flights, and arrived in glorious high summer in the south of France. Whilst my parents and my youngest sister, with her new daughter and husband
(to be) spend two weeks out, my other sister and I alternated a week each
(couldn't take too much time off from the office and was in fact my first holiday for more than 2 days for about three years). It was fantastic, and again days were spent sitting around the pool, surrounded by miles and miles of maize fields, and rustic French buildings
(and more fireworks)
Whilst we were talking one evening my Father mentioned that he was planning to retire, or at least slow down and work part time. They loved France, and he was toying with the idea of using some of his pension to buy a place in France. We all agreed that this would be a really nice idea. My parents had worked so hard that a place that they could get away to that was there own would be ideal for them. They both spoke enough French to be understood, and loved the area
(my own French was enough to survive on from GCSEs – namely to order a beer and some sausage [what more could you need?]). This was a long term plan and like some of my parent's plans I somewhat expected them to change their mind and it to never happen, so I was somewhat shocked when they returned to say that they had found a place, and met with solicitors, and it was right next door to where we had been staying.
Last summer saw the first mass visit to the house, with my parents, both sisters and partners (and niece), my half-sister (and son), my half-brother, my grandmother and friend
(something that we were so pleased that she had made it to see the house and enjoyed herself before her condition became known) and
The Girl and I. The house was packed to the roof beams, and it seemed that every night was another party. You could do as much or as little as you wanted, and when I have some more time I will regale you with some of the more interesting stories
(well I think they are interesting) but we came back from the holiday extremely brown, very tired, but thoroughly relaxed
(as usual this lasted until approximately half an hour into the first day back at work [but that's what work is for])
This year the circumstances are somewhat different, and somewhat sadder, and some of those who were with us last year are no longer around, for whatever reasons. I am hoping though that the result will be the same and now with only 12 days to go, I am physically ticking the days off the calendar.
