A visit to the Notairs, signed off all the money issues, price, agents commission, Notairs fees, and tax to our adopted country.
We did however get one little surprise, that at the time we didn’t believe to be important; our buyer was going to have a mortgage. This bit of information was slipped very quickly into the discussion by the Dutch delegate in between our lead inspection and termite report: No the woodworm didn’t start pontificating about the dangers of lead in paint and other bits of the house, but boy the Notaire did!
I said to Elaine afterwards, that I was sure, during my De Gaulle period of “nons” to the Flying Dutchman (remember those funny smoking materials), that he had specifically stated that our buyers wouldn’t need a mortgage.
We had six weeks to get our house in order, in other words emptied!
In France it is normal to sign the final documents for both sale and purchase with an empty house. Quite how this is supposed to work in practice is beyond me, where do you put the cat, dog, tortoise or pet crocodile whilst you are sitting signing the equivalent of the Magna Carta at the Notairs? Probably more relevant and practicable, where do you put all the furniture, especially if it is an early appointment? Stripping the bed means pulling the thing apart not just taking off a few sheets, taking a shower means literally that, and grabbing a coffee includes the cups, and peculator.
So there we were; about to move two kilometres down the road with all our goods, chattels dogs and kids, although the two girls didn’t fancy moving. “Dad, if we move we won’t be able to just walk into town to meet our friends, or go to school, or pop to the shops for mum.”
“ We will need a scooter….each!! Then we will keep our freedom and be able to help mum with the shopping”
We were both a bit shocked because we had always said no to motorbikes. “But, this is France” chorused Libby and Ali. “Everyone has a scooter” or “moto” as they called it. “We will take a course and a test”…..please, please, please etc. etc.
Add two scooters to the sit on lawn mower and this move was starting to get expensive, especially when the quotes arrived from the local removal companies, you would have thought we were moving back to the Isle of Flight, infinity and beyond.
Over lunch one day sitting with half a dozen of Sebastian’s rugby team over a beer or ten, we discussed how it all worked. No one seemed to know, but they all agreed the removal companies were a rip off, especially as they had seen the boss of one company arrive in a fully specked, full leather interior, brand new Range Rover, to hand over the estimate.
“Why don’t we help you move”, suggested the scrum captain. “Pay us what you think we are worth and hire a van.” Now this seemed a good idea to me, but it was something to take to the boss for approval. My view was that a rugby team moved us to France, why couldn’t we do it again. Elaine pointed out that Saint Antonin Noble Val rugby team were not exactly Heineken Cup players, nor trained in removals, nor sober.
The deal was done, a van was hired for two days prior to the signing and a garage was borrowed to store the family heirlooms and everything else, bar the kids and dogs for a couple of nights.
According to our Notaire the signing was to be a Friday at the crack of dawn, (10am to you or me) and Wednesday was chosen to commence the evacuation, think Dunkirk and a fast turnover in a scrum.
Everything went incredibly well. The children kept back all their school stuff as they were starting the new term at schools and college on the following Monday, but everything else was wrapped packed and delivered to our borrowed garage.
They all worked like Trojans on a very hot September day. I called a halt for lunch and took everyone for a very boisterous lunch at the local brasserie, so boisterous that Elaine began to worry about the coffee mugs in the kitchen and terrified for her cut glass crystal in the dining room. Well it was in the dining room the last time she saw it!
She need not have worried; everything went swimmingly, yes we did cool down a couple of times in the pool, until the last two boxes were being brought down the stairs to the van. Our estate agent turned up and asked if he could have a quiet word with me.
“We have a little problem,” he said in double Dutch, “your buyer has a small problem with his mortgage so you will not be able to sign and move house on Friday.”
I didn’t say “oh dear”, I didn’t say “damn”, I didn’t say “hell”, what I did say dear reader, is unprintable on these pages. As you can imagine, I was a little perturbed, nay cross, nay bloody xxxxxxx furious.
Elaine went white when I told her, then promptly burst into tears.
I have never felt so powerless in my entire life. Our entire house was in a borrowed garage at the bottom of the town, Elaine was heartbroken, the kids didn’t know what to do or say and the rugby team had settled down on the floor with a few beers and a pack of cigarettes, staring daggers at our agent of misfortune. If looks could kill that guy would not have been long for this world.
We all tried to sleep on the floor that night and the next day the rugby team (“a remarkable group of young strong fit men”, as Colette, our middle aged divorced neighbour, called them) returned and brought everything back from our borrowed garage and put it in our cellar.
For the next eight weeks the seven of us (you forgot the dogs again) lived out of, and in cardboard boxes and odd bits and pieces we brought up from the cellar, beds chairs, kettle, and for me a healthy supply of cognac.
You know when you lose something around the house it drives you mad, especially when you saw it yesterday; well living like that is indescribable. The kids had their schoolbooks and we had clothes for a few days, but that was it.
Anybody seen the tin opener?
the_real_linda
you a fan of weeds by any chance?