Finally we did it. After years spent looking for the best place in Europe to live, and many months not quite believing how French estate agents work (or don't!), at last we'd signed on dotted lines and handed over a sum of money that seemed to grow by the hour as the exchange rate sunk ever deeper into the mire.Driving the car down seemed like a critical step in our migration from Sheffield, as it would now be much easier to get around the Ariège than it would be to get around the Peak District. We'd already hired a Sprinter van and brought it down full of stuff - and I mean FULL - packed to the rafters with tetris-like precision, but still we hadn't had room for everything.
The trusty Toyota estate usually feels quite big and is great for moving loads around, but this time we were really pushing it. I'd fashioned a sturdy roof-rack from plywood and even I was amazed at just how much we managed to load onto it, needing two old climbing ropes to keep it all securely (we hoped) in place. Every last inch of the interior was crammed and I dread to think how much the whole must have weighed. I was worried it may not even make it up the incline right at the start, but I needn't have been concerned. It was magnificent. Maybe not at its most fuel-efficient but made it through England and France without a murmer.
We arrived on Christmas Eve, excited to spend our first Christmas in our new home. And it was great right from the start, waking up on Christmas morning to magnificent sunshine. Although we did spend much of the festive day with our friends near Foix because the shops were already shut when we arrived and all we had to eat was the six cases of curry we'd brought in the van, knowing it would be the first thing we would start to miss!We've taken stock of how much there is to be done to rid the house of its brown-ness and hideous clash of wallpaper and tile patterns. A little daunted maybe, but keen to get started on making it look as good in reality as it already does in our mind's eye.
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