2007
2007:
As soon as the weather was suitable, we resumed work on the “Hanging Gardens of Bitterne”. (Work in progress may be seen here.)
I can’t remember when I started on the deck but Karen had thought that the house would be more saleable if the land were more usable, so in addition to having created steps and paths and cut or raised beds for planting, the provision of a decked area at the top of the hill was conceived. When complete, the deck will provide a level area 26 feet long across half of the hillside by 16 feet width cut into the hill up to 4 feet below the higher level at the back and projecting up to 6 feet above the lower hillside slope to the front from where fantastic views of the river estuary will be seen. The original timetable would have seen this project completed by mid July. However, the schedule was initially compromised by the weeks of rain that made work on the hill impossible.
We had been considering a number of options as to what to do with the remaining equity from the sale of my house. Its real value is deteriorating rapidly since the interest it accrues cannot match the rise in house prices – and it is taxed! The bungalow is a bit small for us both. We both need room to work. Karen needs a study to write in and I need a studio to be creative in. (I’m afraid my “artwork” has been put on hold: I have two major 3D constructions in mind building on inspiration from my “Fragments” theme - which may be found here.)
We have considered putting together the money from the sale of both properties or purchasing a second. We are not tied to geographical location so it would make sense to consider places where we can get more for our money. We had planned two camping / reconnaissance trips. The first was to Scotland and the second to Europe.
The weather made us abandon the former. However, we set off to France at the end of July.
Karen had arranged a number of viewings and we had details of properties in various parts of France, Spain and Portugal that we might consider. Our first viewing, however, was to be “LaBoriette”. This was a house that sounded ideal for us. Although neither of us believes in astrology, Karen studied it when she was doing her philosophy degree and we have been struck by how many coincidences there are between major life events and planetary configurations. We had found the property on the net on 30th June. We had both said “Wow” when we saw it. Karen had then asked if it was a full moon. It was. Then, with some more delving on serious astrological sites, it said it was auspicious for Capricorns – particularly those born at the end of December (my birthday is 30th). Karen had exchanged quite lengthy emails with the English vendor, John. It was at Requista in Aveyron. I had been to the Ardeche and the Auvergne before but this was my first introduction to Aveyron. We took a couple of days to drive down through France and found a campsite at Millau (where the world’s highest viaduct, designed by Sir Norman Foster, was opened a few years ago). This was about an hour’s drive from Requista.
We immediately fell in love with the area. The geography is stunning and unique with high limestone causses abutting sheer-sided ravines a couple of thousand feet deep to tributaries of the Tarn. As we drove to our rendezvous the next day (the date of the next full moon), we both felt the rocks calling to us and it felt like “coming home”.
The house was even better than imagined.
It sits on a promontory above the confluence of two streams that have cut deep gorges as they join and cut westwards to meet the Tarn. At 1500 ft, the house has unequalled westerly views (and, indeed to the South as well.) It is peaceful and tranquil being a kilometre from the nearest settlement down a track maintained by the friendly farmer neighbour, yet only a few kilometres into town for everyday shopping.
Structurally it is sound with roofing and walls (where necessary) having been replaced. Comprising an original house and two additional adjacent barns all in original stone, the interior was a virtual blank canvass that we would have developed into 11 rooms including a large hall on two levels opening onto a balcony at the west end of the property. (John had planned to make 15 rooms – but that’s just being greedy.) All the materials required to finish the build were in place. I felt happy about being able to do most of the work myself (having had the training doing up the Southampton bungalow and grounds). We spent hours there, John and his wife, Kate, returning to the small house in the town where they were staying and telling us we were free to go back as often as we wished (having shown us where the key was hidden). The price was right, too. Including estimates for completing the work, it came in exactly on budget. Not that we’d have had to complete everything at once; it would have been straightforward (and a couple of months of hard graft) to get the original house part habitable first and the rest could have kept us busy for a couple of years. We would probably have made it our principal residence, selling the bungalow and buying a different (more suitable) property to let in England to provide an income and to enable Karen’s money still to be left to her sons rather than becoming entangled in the French inheritance system.
We went to tell John and Kate we were interested but needed to see some other properties first. They treated us to a sumptuous dinner but we declined their invitation to stay the night; it was the early hours of the morning by the time we eventually found the campsite again.
We did see a couple of other houses which, ordinarily, we would have found quite fantastic but they were nothing compared to LaBoriette.
So a couple of days later, we returned and picnicked at LaBoriette, spent a few hours discussing how we would do the work and set off to John’s again. We arrived just as John and Kate were popping the cork of the champagne to celebrate with a couple that had just agreed to buy! As Karen puts it, it was like walking in to find your partner in bed with a lover. We drank their health and left. Karen was sure the house was meant to be ours and they would pull out within a couple of weeks. So we stayed in Millau (and saw other properties -not as good) until the new moon had come (the best time for us to have made a commitment apparently) but, hearing nothing, moved on.
We travelled to other parts of France and saw some great properties. One we both liked had a large swimming pool and a large pond and was beside a river with its own bridge out to a rock in midstream suitable for fishing or swimming in. And all water (apart from drinking) could be safely pumped from the river free of charge. But it wasn’t a stone built property with outbuildings and a view – and it wasn’t La Boriette.
I was getting quite pleased with my progress in speaking French. I had even conducted conversations on the phone with Notaires who didn’t speak any English. Karen, too, who had previously had very little French, teaching herself from a book, was better at understanding what was said than I was. (My hearing is not nearly as acute as hers.) She even bought a French paperback of short stories and read a few.
We eventually moved up to Brittany. One property we’d had details of was a B&B business in Brittany. Karen had never been there before and she soon realised why I hadn’t been too enthusiastic: there were too many Brits and it wasn’t French enough.
By now we were getting tired of travelling, camping and house hunting – besides being a little dispirited at the loss of LaBoriette - so we decided, after 8 weeks, to come back early on the overnight crossing from Cherbourg.
Back in Southampton we couldn’t get motivated to do anything for a long time. Karen had sworn she wasn’t going to be coming back until we’d bought something. But eventually we did start getting back to previous tasks.
I started work again on the decking. I keep saying a couple of good weeks should see it fully finished. It has become a slightly bigger task; Karen thought it would be nicer if the wall of stone blocks etc holding the bank above it could be removed and re-laid. I have removed all the large slabs of stone but am not sure what sort of a job I’ll make of replacing them. I know it’ll be the start of working on the topmost level above the decking – where I have foolishly suggested I might be able to construct a summerhouse! (Though why I suggest these things when we know we cannot stay living here, I don’t know.)
Then I fell off my bike. Fortunately it was just at the end of our cul-de-sac. I like to get a bit of speed up as I swing into the short steep slope up to the house. But the bike was having non of it; it did a perfect somersault, coming to rest balanced upside down on its handlebars and saddle whilst I was deposited in the road with a massive bruise to one thigh, a deep cut across the other knee and a cracked rib which prevented me from doing any more physical work for a number of weeks.
Then we had an email from John to see how we were. From it we discovered the purchasers of LaBoriette had pulled out after two weeks but he hadn’t phoned us as he’d thought we weren’t really interested. By now, we’d gone through all the trauma of telling ourselves it hadn’t been for us. Back now in England and with the nights drawing in, it seemed a world away. It wasn’t the right time to consider buying a house that would need a lot of work to make it habitable. (It would have been OK spending a couple of months in the summer doing that, but not with winter approaching.) We decided we had to say good-bye permanently to the idea. If John had phoned us when they’d pulled out, we would by now be the owners of a house in France (and, but for other events, may have celebrated Christmas out there).
However, it may have been for the best considering the bad news we then received.
We had a message from Karen’s sister that their mother, Arlene, was in hospital. We rushed up to Chelmsford. She was very badly jaundiced (with a billirubin level of nearly 600 when anything over 30 is noticeable and over 50 is dangerous). Sometimes it helps that Karen’s son, Ian, is an oncologist. He phoned and spoke to the medical team and let us know she had pancreatic cancer.
We journeyed back and forth to Chelmsford a few times and stayed up there for a while as Arline was in and out of hospital. Karen’s other sister, Wendy, came over from Canada and stayed at Arline’s and we came home. Karen developed a very bad cold / flu and, on Ian’s advice, decided not to rush straight back the next time Arline was admitted as the last thing she needed was to catch Karen’s germs. However, it was a few days later when we received the phone message from the hospital early one morning that the family should gather. The drive up was a nightmare taking twice as long as usual because of a couple of bad accidents on the M25. When we arrived, Arline was in a morphine induced state of semi consciousness. We stayed with her till 9:00pm when, on Ian’s telephoned advice, we considered we were not helping her or the hospital staff by staying. However, she died peacefully in the early hours of the next day, just over a week before Christmas.
We travelled up on Christmas Day to “celebrate” with Moira and her family. The next time we were back was for the funeral on 2nd January. We have been back once more since to help sort out paperwork. She didn’t own her house (and had few belongings and no savings). One of her granddaughters has moved into the house. The next time we travel up will probably be to bury the ashes in the roots of a fruit tree planted in her memory as was her wish, in the back garden. I know Karen had originally been considering a number of ideas for Christmas (and my 60th birthday) but, of course, everything had to be put on hold. She had been looking at us travelling in Asia again. We had said we’d go to India sometime. Karen’s friend’s daughter runs a hotel near Lucknow, at the foothills of the Himalayas, very close to where Karen’s mum lived when she was a girl (at the end of the Raj). Although it would be too cold there this time of year, it is possible we’ll now consider making those plans for summer. Who knows?
On the health front, I went to the doctor about my reflux problem. I was diagnosed with hiatus hernia + oesophagitis + Gastro Oesophageal Reflux Disorder in 1994 and have been on medication since, having been too much of a coward to accept the drastic major “open Nissen fundoplication” operation I was offered in 1999. My cough (from associated Laryngo-Pharyngeal Reflux (the upper oesophageal sphincter having been damaged by refluxed acid) and oesophageal mucus) had been getting worse. I have now been told I have a condition known as Barrett’s oesophagus – where the lining of the lower oesophagus mutates to become like that of the stomach to resist acid attack. There is also a slight chance of developing to oesophageal cancer – though changes (dysplasia) would be seen first by endoscopic screening. I also had to suffer the indignity of a tube running out of my nose for 24 hours when my stomach and oesophageal pH levels were measured. Normally pH should be about 4. Mine was about 1 most of the 24 hours. On the "DeMeester" scale depicting the amount of acid production where 17.4 is normal, mine was about 194.7! The excellent GI specialist nurse asked if I’d like to discuss surgical treatment to which I said yes. He thought I should see a surgeon in about 2 months but was overruled by the consultant who said I must wait 6 months (until April). My GP reckons it’s probably to do with funding. The operation is a lot less daunting now, done laproscopically and leaving just 5 small incision marks I could live with.
However, in mid January, my cough was really bad. About once a week, I have had to get up in the night, either because of acid reflux or the cough, and sit upright for a couple of hours before I can lie down again. However, on one night I started coughing and didn’t stop for three hours. When I have a coughing attack, I nearly black out. It is quite scary as I gradually regain full consciousness. That night I thought I was going to die. The cough wasn’t quelled until I’d had half a bottle of Pholcodine Linctus cough suppressant – way too much! When I saw my GP a couple of days later, she diagnosed I had developed late-onset asthma as a result of aspirated acid. I now have a preventer spray added to my increasing list of medication to help me cope with the reflux, its associated conditions and side effects of the other drugs. If I had been able to have had the surgery by now, I would be asthma free and not dependent on a range of pills – fortunately I don’t have to pay for them now. I have to wait until April 22nd before I see my GI specialist and, hopefully, a surgeon, but how long will I then have to wait? Meanwhile, the asthma is taking its toll and I find I get out of breath very quickly (eg, after walking for 10 minutes and I haven’t tried cycling for weeks!)