I really, really want the Lovely House

Day 5
Wake to slashing rain at 6. I’m desperate to get out but can’t work out how to open the car park gates so am imprisoned until ‘rescued’ by the breakfast man. The City rush hour traffic has now clogged the roads.

Stop off in a café in a small town and am immediately hit on by men with lorry full of wood. The older more macho one insists that he’ll find me a house and, despite my reservations, I give him my phone number. I spend my day visiting estate agents and making appointments. I stop in a sleepy town and find a wonderful hotel. The plump man that I have decided to name Monsieur Splendido has a thick magician’s moustache. Madame is stiffly coiffed and wears vivid makeup. The décor is essence of sixties; loads of black quilted vinyl on the bar and the banquettes. A large fuzzy-screened telly is switched on. The Splendidos are warm and welcoming, I fall into their outstretched arms.

I have a room at the top of this tall building with views on the surrounding hills. There are fresh flowers on the escritoire which fill the room with their fragrance. My en suite bathroom is black and turquoise. There is a bath – hallelujah!

Tonight the restaurant is closed so I eat en famille with The Splendidos. We sit on the veranda bathed in the evening sun, supper is divine; warm goat's cheese salad with honey dressing, seared duck breasts with pommes dauphinoise, a bottle of Minervois and cheese.

Day6
An estate agent takes me to a sterile barn conversion tacked onto the end of the owner's property. It stands in a scraggy bit of garden, there are no shrubs or trees. It has large blank windows which show the large blank kitchen/diner/living room in it's entirety - no hiding places here. Placed as it is on a road on a hill, it could not be more exposed. The owner's attempts to make it homey amount to  ragrolling the interior walls in apple green. Out of politeness I go in, do a minimal walk around and head out as quickly as possible. Returning to her car the agent says,
Isn't it lovely?

Wood lorry man calls, If I’m prepared to do a bit of bricolage on a property he’s arranged some for me to look at. I must meet him at 7pm. Madame Splendido has become my mother so I tell her where I’m going. At the meeting place, which is a café, I wait. There is a lonely man there who immediately asks me if I’m célibataire. As usual I say not and show him my wedding ring. Undaunted he brings me a drink over and tells me all about his divorce, the wife who won’t let him see the children and the battles over money. Wood lorry man is very late but I am thankful leave with him. He drives me around the area, past abandoned places, tells me he knows how to get hold of the owners. They are all beyond a bit of brico, and he's clearly mistaken me for a qualified roofer. We are out for 2 hours, during which time I discover that he’s angry about quite a lot of things, the main themes being; youth/the French tax system/foreigners and how he's made sure that his wife wouldn't be able to put her hands on his business should she decide to leave him.

I have aged several years when we get back to the hotel but feel I should suggest a quick beer, which he accepts. He turns off the engine and asks me how old I think he is. I take a few years off what I think and say ‘60?’ he’s a bit quiet, then he says ‘I’m 43’.

I call the owner of the Lovely House, haggle over the price of his property and arrange a meeting to sign papers.

The Beginning - In Search of The Lovely House

May 06
Arrived in SW France to look for shooting locations for series of natural history programmes about insects – need rural property with land, near forest, water, coast…


First night
Middling-sized town, classic old-style hotel. I arrive at 7pm after a long drive and would like to take a short walk before supper. Madame on the desk insists I eat immediately or forfeit supper opportunity.

Supper is a sad procession of soggy food, I have ordered some decent wine and wish to salvage the evening by finishing with cheese, Madame is shocked and says that I can't have cheese because I have had dessert, I come over all foriegn and tell her that we do it the other way round where I come from and she stomps off returning with an excellent selection of cheese,nicely arranged on a tray.

Room recently been occupied by a smoker. Bed with lumpy wool mattress, kidney-shaped dressing table, mauve plastic chrysanthemums, sink and a bidet. Loo down the hall

Second Day
Bleak rainy morning. Find café, in local paper see box ad;

Maison de Maitre, 2 lacs, 3 hectares...

price considerably more than my budget - shame.

Tour estate agents, one possiblity - grim-looking unfurnished farmhouse with no private land.

Stop for night at small hotel in large village run by sleepy British woman in dirty sweats. Supper is English version of cassoulet - canned baked beans and frankfurters

Third Day
Use bathroom after breakfast, flush lavatory then watch contents of the flush appear in the hand basin.

Visit more unsuitable properties, phone to make appointment to view the Maison de Maitre from the small ad:

The Maison is in a village that doesn’t seem like a village. I drive through twice without noticing it, the houses are strung out unevenly along the road for about two kilometres, I am looking for a central knot of Mairie, church and bakers, that is my idea of a village. When I find the Maison I nearly faint - I made a sketch of the ideal property before setting out - and this is it. Nestled slightly low and protected behind some impressive gates it is large and crumbling, my dictionary translation of Maison de Maitre reads 'manor', this is not a manor but it is a Lovely House. An elderly neighbour, with dark leathery skin and gimlet eyes opens the large iron gates to let me drive in then he disappears, after several minutes the front door scrapes open and he is inside the house. He shows me through large, cold, dark, cobwebby rooms, opening squeaky shutters to reveal mosaic floors and painted ceilings. The light fittings are from the thirties and wonderfully eccentric, one is made up of three swirly marbled glass snails and hangs from the bedroom ceiling. All the furniture is outlined with orange woodworm dust, beds are propped up on books. The grounds are fantastically neglected with rampant brambles, thistles, nettles, spiders and - a preying mantis creeps on to my leg. The 'lakes' are large muddy ponds. It’s all perfect for our production – but way above my budget.

I calm my beating heart, tell the leathery man that this house is too expensive and too damp and set off to find something more suitable.

I drive south stopping in grey sort of town, book into a sad hotel run by a greasy-haired, overweight woman. I go out for air, a funfair packing up adds to the sense of dereliction in this place, a forlorn-looking man appears and trails behind me until I return to the hotel.

Day 4
Spend fruitless day driving around the lower slopes of the Eastern Pyrenees. Stop at one of the cheap motels proliferating on the outskirts of town, cigarette smell so strong imagine smoker must still be somewhere in room. Supper is in the vending machine.