“Sometimes Life is like a parachute jump. You just have to open the door and make the leap. And hope that the Big Guy in the Sky has packed your parachute properly.” (Message Received, 20 November)
Well, here we are, six weeks after deciding to sell this house, and we are in free-fall. We have well and truly jumped, and as yet we have only the dream of a parachute to cushion our landing.
On Monday, Frank and Phil arrived in a wet and thoroughly miserable Roquetaillade to visit us, the llamas, and the house-that-will-soon-be-theirs. And on Tuesday, following a splendid lunch at le Grand Cafe in Limoux (Thanks again Frank & Phil) , and a further brief sojourn chez nous to complete a few llama-and-chicken related chores, and hastily quaff a celebratory bottle of Blanquette, we rolled up en masse at Maître Isard’s salubrious quarters, at the appointed hour of 5.00pm, to sign the Compromis de Vente.
Monsieur Isard is an interesting fellow. He is slow and studied in his responses. He speaks a brand of English that consists largely of inappropriate phrases he recalls from ancient Monty Python sketches. He employs an enchanting range of gallic expressions which he tosses at you over the rim of his wizard-like glasses, whilst packing, respecting, carefully lighting and singularly failing to smoke his Non-PC pipe. And he really, really wants to be sure that you know what it is that you are signing, on every page of every copy of every document.
Consequently it took us two and a half hours, a lot of ink, and quite a lot of emotional pain, to complete the process whereby we agreed to sell, and Frank and Phil agreed to buy our house. We were horrified to discover how much Capital Gains Tax we would have to pay. Frank and Phil were horrified to discover the extortionate cost of the Notaire’s fees and taxes that they would have to pay.
At the conclusion of the brain-and-pocket-punishing experience, we all retired to a nearby cafe for a strong drink (of coffee!) and a moment’s reflection on What We Had Just Done.
There is no doubt about it. Buying a house can be a very daunting experience. And buying one in a Foreign Land can be even more so. But six years ago, we took that plunge and are thoroughly convinced that it was one of the Best Things We Ever Did. We have loved spending holidays in this house in this village, and we have loved living here as full-time residents.
But our dreams have evolved, our needs have changed, and now it is time for us to Move On. Like a father giving away his daughter at the altar of marriage, we are passing a much-loved and precious thing into the hands of another, whom we trust will love and cherish it as much as we have.
And we are free-falling into the Big Unknown. Once again, we find ourselves sitting on the Cliff of Uncertainty, pondering the Horizon of Possibility, and Waiting.
You might think, given all the practice we had at it earlier in the year, that we would now be highly skilled in the Art of Waiting. As with so many of these sorts of things, Simon is much better at it than me. He sets the thing in motion, busies himself with the here and now, and lets things be. I, however, continue to find myself hopelessly in thrall to the Demon of Future Happiness, and to be suffering a seriously debilitating bout of Impatience. I want to know where we will be living in three months time, and I want to know NOW!!
But Life will insist on proceeding at its own measured rate, and despite all my mental foot-stamping and metaphorical tantrum-throwing, it simply refuses to be hurried. Clearly this Patience thing is a lesson that I still need to learn. I can almost see the Head Teacher in the Sky sitting round his office table with my Life Mentor and my Life Teaching Assistants, reviewing my Individual Education Plan. ” And how about the target behaviour of ‘living patiently with Uncertainty’? Any progress on that front?” “Well, not as much as we would have hoped. It’s an emerging skill, but we’re still working on it. She needs more practice before we can really tick that off as achieved.”
So, even though Simon and I managed fairly quickly to reach a decision about which house to go for, (to be honest, I’d pretty much decided the moment I saw it – but I had to wait for Simon to catch up, and convince himself that sometimes the heart knows better than the head), and even though Simon contacted the agent more than a week ago with our offer, Life decided to send the Vendor of the House-of-Our-Dreams away on some sort of musical tour for a few days, so that he has been uncontactable by anyone.
Of course, things with us can never be straightforward, and our offer on the house is also related to the question of whether we might also be able to buy additional land from a neighbouring farmer, who is apparently wanting to retire, and might therefore be happy to offload some of his territorial responsibilities. So we are waiting for the errant musician to return from his travels, to speak with the estate agent, to speak with his neighbouring farmer, to tell the agent what the farmer says, and to decide whether he would be willing to accept our offer anyway. Ah…so many stages! So many opportunities for a slip twixt cup and lip.
Of course, the Other House (the sensible one) is still there in the back of our minds as a fall-back position. But, try as I might, I struggle to imagine us actually living in that one. On the other hand, I cannot contemplate the possibility that we will not end up living in the house we have chosen to pursue.
In my imagination, I have already stretched out on the clover-rich grass, squinting up at the brightest sunshine dappling through the rich green leaves of the big oak in the little valley in our garden. I have watched through the velvet-curtained study window, for the arrival of the postman down the unruly track to our house, sitting half way up the stairs of the beautiful-but-simple double-winder oak staircase that we have installed to gain access to our converted loft. I have curled into the end of our old settee with a mug of fresh coffee, listening to the tick of logs flickering softly in the wood-burner in the main room, and watching soft petals of snow lining the corners of the small panes of glass, partially obscured by the Peace Lily flourishing on the deep window-ledge. I have looked out of the small, but perfectly placed velux window in the newly created upstairs bedroom, to see the llamas grazing contentedly on lush greenness, only yards from the newly created back door nestling snugly beneath the lean-to porch we have built to house our wellingtons, our log pile and the swallows’ nest.
So it really is only a matter of time (of which we will have plenty), and patience (which I will learn to exercise) and money (of which we will hopefully have sufficient), and lots and lots of hard work (the easiest bit of all) and short-to-medium term discomfort (hmmm..), before this Dream becomes Reality.
And when enough of it is real for us to be able to comfortably accommodate visitors, you will all be welcome to come and stay in our beautiful Mongolian Yurt in the garden, to watch the star-bright night sky through the domed roof, and to listen to the llamas morning daisy-grazing all around you. And to share with us Our Dream.
