French plumbing

We visited the oil suppliers and requested a delivery of oil - it was unpleasant trying to clean the house with icy cold water - it just didn't work the same as hot water. And what was worse, when you wanted to soak off the grime at the end of the day sitting in the bath with only a hand shower delivering freezing water (whilst refreshing) wasn't exactly relaxing. The following day the delivery truck from the oil suppliers arrived. After a bit of furtive hunting in the bushes we located the lid to the storage tank and the oil started to pump into the tank. We had had a bit of a dilemma the previous day when asked how much oil we wanted - we hadn't a clue! Having never filled the tank before we had no idea what the capacity was. We explained to the proprietor that this was our 'premier fois' and guessed at 400 litres. We have no idea how long this will last us.

After a very short time the tank was full and the nozzle removed and reinstalled on the truck. We asked the driver if he would show us how to work the boiler and he very obligingly gave us a quick run through - finishing by saying that we would have to keep pressing the start button. As there had been no oil in the tank for a while it would take a while for the pump to pull it through to the boiler. Excited at the prospect of having a hot bath, Richard started enthusiastically pressing the start button. Nothing. After five minutes - nothing. Ten minutes - nothing. The language was getting a little colourful now - especially as he tried disconnecting the feed tubes and putting them in the jerry can of oil (something the vendors said they had been doing - and it worked) - but not with fuel from the main tank. We began to smell a problem.

Richard announced that I would have to ring Monsieur Baliol, the plumber whose name we had been given by the vendor. Not sure why I had been asked - my french being no better than Richard's and my knowledge of plumbing a lot worse - I sensed now was not a good time to argue the point. Armed with my French dictionary of builder's terms and Monsieur Baliol's number I disappaered to find a signal on my mobile phone. Monsieur Baliol was at home. I tried, in my best French, to explain the problem and who and where we were. The only bit of his reply I understood was that it was 'le même problème' which didn't sound promising - and certainly nothing likely the 'fully functioning central heating system' we had been sold. Then there was another jumble of French which I couldn't make head nor tail of - even after asking him to repeat it. Having one of those hot embarrassed 'what do I do now moments' I apologised profusely, told him it didn't matter - I would call someone else and hung up.

I went back to Richard and explained that I had tried - but that the language barrier had beaten me. The grunted response (interspersed with more expletives) was a suggestion that I ring Charles (our English builder). I duly obliged and Charles promised he would call by later with his plumber. With nothing else for it but to wait I returned to my slow scrubbing of the living room floor with linseed oil / white spirit mix. Half an hour later I hear a cheerful 'Bonjour Madame' at the door and there with a beaming smile and his box of tools is...Monsieur Baliol! My French had been understood!!! I invited him through to the kitchen (where the boiler is located) and without any further ado he set to dismantling the pipe and tracking down the blockage. Five minutes later and there is another knock at the door - Charles and plumber number two had arrived early - before I had had chance to call and explain the arrival of Monsieur Baliol. I now had two plumbers!! Acutely embarrassed I explained, apologised profusely and Charles and his plumber left.

Monsieur Baliol worked for five hours and eventually traced the blockage to a twisted connector which he replaced. He charged us the grand sum of 30 euros (I had to check the amount twice to make sure!) . Presenting him with a cheque and a jar of the infamous marmalade (well earned imho!) he disappeared into the afternoon - leaving us with......wonderful, delightful, delicious....hot water!! We raced each other to the bathrooom!

Cleaning.... and bonfires

The first few days were cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning (for me) and grass cutting, pruning and weeding for Richard. The weather was hot - blisteringly hot - hitting nearly 40 degrees so we were getting up at 6.30am to try to get work done outside before it became just too haot to stand. By 11.00am to 11.30am we ahd retreated inside.

Everytime we visited Carrefour we seemed to be spending a fortune - and all on silly things...cleaning stuff, bins, mops, brushes. The sort of things you have at home and don't think about but which mount up when you have to buy them in one go.

We bought some white spirit and linseed oil to treat the floor tiles which proved a hot and sticky job in the soaring temperatures. Richard produced ever mounting piles of garden waste which we weren't sure what to do with so piled at the bottom of the garden. It was so hot and dry, a bonfire would have set the village alight. In the end I came into the living room to see he had started to burn them in the grate - 38 deg outside and we had a fire in the lounge!! (the only cool place in the house!). 'Ces fous anglais' the neighbours will say.

Arrival at the house

We had a very long but not particularly eventful trip down to the house (unlike our holiday in France last year when younger son and heir left one of the suitcases at the hotel in Chartres!!). We stopped off at Neufchatel-en-Bray on the way down at a B&B in a converted stables. It took a little bit of finding and we eventually resorted to a parking up to telephone the proprietors - only to find no one was answering the phone. Just as we were wondering what to do we noticed what looked like a sign for B&B and hey presto!!

After much arguing over who would have the single bed in the alcove and who would have the double futon we headed off into town to find a creperie and then back for an early night - we had along drive the following day.

After a reasonably early start and a long drive we eventually arrived at St Pardoux d'Ans from the direction of Limoges. Richard had planned to aproach from Perigueux as there is a lovely (if fleeting) view of the house just before you round the bend into the hamlet - but we took the wrong road by mistake out of Limoges. With bated breath we climbed up through the hamlet wondering what the reaction of the boys would be. They had been excitedly asking how far, how far for the last 50 miles. Although we had seen the house many times now this would be the first time the boys had seen it and we were nervous - and hoped they liked it as much as we did.

As we pulled up and said - this is it, we're here, we waited. Nothing - well just an 'Oh'. Swallowing our disappointment we got out of the car and walked up to the house to open the front door. The boys stepped inside - at that point we got a sort of a 'wow' - but not quite the reaction we had hoped for. We took them around the house then around the garden - still no exuberant shouts. Putting it down to the long journey and the fading daylight we unloaded the car. Richard extracted his instructions for switching on the water and the electricity. Within a few minutes we had light.

This is when we realised the scale of the clean up operation required - and had a little sympathy with the boys. The place was filthy, grime everywhere and the biggest cobwebs you had ever seen - thick, filmy nets of them draped over everything. We had called at the supermarket on the way down but when I went into the kitchen it was obvious that the old fridge was filthy - as were the cupboards and cookers. With a resigned sigh I started to work. There was no way we could eat in here without a major clean up. First I cleaned the fridge - with cream cleaner and disinfectant bought from home and (very) cold water (we couldn't get the central heating to work as the vendors had let the tank run dry). Then the work surfaces, hob and the cooker and finally the cupboards for the dry / tinned food.

Once we were happy that the kitchen was at least clean enough to a) put food away and b) cook in, we had a simple meal of pasta in tomato sauce with french bread at the dining table. You will prabably appreciate from the photographs that the house has a bit of a gothic feel to it - but late at night, in the middle of a thunder storm, with many of the bulbs missing (the vendors had removed some light fittings with secateurs!!) and the lights in the tower flickering on and off, it had a very eerie feel. Half way through the meal, after the lights had gone off by themselves for the third time, the boys announced that the place was haunted and they were sleeping with us!

So we all went to sleep in the smallest bedroom in the house (which happened to be the only one with a bed!) with the two boys crammed in either side of us on camp beds!! So much for their demands that they wanted their own rooms!! The following day we discovered that the lights in the tower had gone off because of an economy timer switch!!

Catching up...

I haven't written in here for such an inordinate length of time - I think because we had no computer access for the three weeks we were in France and then when we returned we had so much to write about we didn't know where to start.

I have been trying to work out if I can change the dates on the entries so we can at least have some chronology to my reminiscences of the last few months.

Update: Well seems I can change the dates so, whilst they may not be accurate to the day, they will be close!