Down on the Farm.

Much of my life has been spent ‘down on the farm’, so you’d think I’d have had enough of it by now, wouldn’t you?
There is a certain misconceived romantic view of working on farms. For me it could mean farm visiting in 'normal’ hours and shoving my arm up a hundred cows’ bums. It sometimes meant farm visiting at 3 o'clock in the morning and shoving my arm up other parts of their anatomy.

Either way, a lot of arm-shoving was involved.

Well, it’s been a long time since all that deeply engaging animal immersion took place. I think I must either be 'over it’ or possibly just slightly unbalanced, but I’m heading off to the farm again. This time, to live there.

This is a huge project. It may have charm and character, but this old farmhouse and outbuildings also has termites, rot, damp, and a certain 'sixties’ style imposed on it.

Our job is to delve deep into the heart of these buildings and find its soul. A bit like arm-shoving again.

Generally, things do not move fast in the South of France. 'La semaine prochaine’ (next week) is a phrase oft uttered. Our experience with builders here in laid-back land has been more than exasperating, it has cost us dearly. This slow learning experience has, at last, sunk in. We have finally found the exception. A team of builders that work so fast and intelligently that my eyes water at the thought.

Thus, what was to be a two year project, looks to be finished this year!

After two weeks, the demolition has been finished, a new drainage system in place,

the outer walls damp-proofed below ground with a meticulous eye to detail that I have never seen before, and the extension to the future snooker room already is up to ceiling hight.

Oh. Did I forget to mention that they are Portuguese? The normal French (or British) response to a requested change; “Oh, I don’t know about that” whilst scratching head. With these guys it’s “Anything is possible”.

Just watching them is exhausting. They work a twelve hour day, six days a week. So to recover, we wandered down to the village for a meal Al Fresco on the beach of the Aveyron.

So, a moment to relax before heading back to watch them work again, maybe with a little wallpaper-stripping thrown in. Hard work? Not, I think, like shoving arms up bums…