Chez Katherine

Thursday 23 December 2005

Quelle aventure! We arrived back here in Saint-Denis yesterday evening after three very interesting and eventful days. The journey to Evreux on Tuesday went well, in spite of freezing fog and very low temperatures. We arrived at about 10.20, parked at the station as planned and walked into the town centre, passing the outdoor restaurant where we'd had lunch in September, on our very first day house hunting.

At Mme V's notaire's office we met my notaire's representative – a nice young woman whom I had met only the day before when she'd telephoned me to finalise papers and apologise for the delay saying she had not been well. She had an unpronounceable Czech/Polish surname; her first name was Carine. Mme V then arrived and at 11.00 we were ushered into Maître B's office; M Urset arrived about 5 minutes late, full of apologies. Me B read through all the parts of the sale agreement, asking me and Mme V to confirm facts and answer questions. All went well until we reached the point where I was to hand over the cheque; I had gone through this with Carine the day before – apparently a banker's cheque was required; however I had said I had transferred sufficient funds and written my own cheque, and she had said that would be fine. Today however Me B said it would not be fine; a banker's cheque was needed, and that failing that, a cheque should have been sent on behalf of my notaire's office. N said that the funds were available, and suggested he contact my bank to check – we had brought details, just in case. Me B disappeared with the details to consult his finance department, then reappeared and asked me to go with him into another office; he was unable to get the details without my PIN number. My mind went blank – this was a number I had not had very long, and only used very few times at home. He dialled several numbers then asked me to enter the first and fifth digits of my PIN – I had jotted it down on the back of the bank letter - and did so, and then amazingly he was writing down my balance! Even though it more than covered the amount of the cheque he still didn’t seem too pleased, and told me again that he was taking a risk, and I told him again that the first I had hard of a bankers' cheque was the day before, when it would have been far too late to do anything about it. The lady in finance said she had sent the information to my notaire's office on 6 December, and I explained that I understood she had been ill. Me B and I went back to his office; I was trying hard not to think what would have happened if I'd got the number wrong. Both Carine and N looked very anxious as I came in, asking by their expressions if everything was all right.

We got to the end of the contract, and I was handed all the keys – several bunches of large silver-coloured ones - no small tinny Yale ones - which made me feel that I was a real chatelaine. We all said goodbye to each other informally; M Urset said he would call in to see us, and N said he must come to dinner. Carine was interested to know what the house was like, and I said that I would bring along photos to her office. We took Mme V's mobile number, and finalised a few more things; I asked after her cats and she said they were waiting in her car! as this was her final journey from La Neuve-Lyre.

As we walked back to the station I was feeling quite exhausted by the concentration and the extra stress of it all, not to mention having got up at six and the freezing cold. N had been surprised when I had said that the first thing I wanted to do afterwards was to have lunch at the lovely Hôtel de l'Ouest where we had lunched last time we were there; now I was even more ready to do so, and over sole normande and a glass of rosé I began to thaw out and feel more human and to get really excited by the prospect of being the owner of such a fine large house.

La Neuve-Lyre looked very different from how it had been in September; there were Christmas decorations and lights in the village and the red virginia creeper all along the front of the garden was thin and untidy. We had with us in the car the two flat-packed pieces of furniture from IKEA, a large fire grate and accessories brought from the house in Italy, an old phone, cutlery, crockery etc, new kettle, plus our overnight bags and changes of old clothing, so drove slowly into the garage at the back and then walked up to the house and unloaded. Fortunately it was nice and warm indoors, as it was still barely above freezing outside. As N said, it was good to be able to take all our time to look round, without feeling we were in anyone's way. I think the first impression we had was that it was far dirtier and less well decorated than we had thought, remembering the sunlight, flowers and furniture from our last visit, but I kept thinking that this is often the case with houses, and that Ainsworth Street had looked less appealing once it was empty.

For the 48 hours or so we were there this continued to be the case; we both achieved or at least started various improvement tasks, but felt that we weren't making much progress. That first afternoon we looked again at the heating apparatus – a huge orange tank in its own little boiler room at the side of the veranda, and tried once more to get acquainted with it and its ways; Mme V had given us various bits of information, and we hoped the fuel delivery man would help. The first appointment was with the firewood man at 6 that evening though, and the logs had already been delivered outside the garage, so the first priority was to get a wheelbarrow in which to shift them.

We went along to the Quincaillerie in the market square; a large high rambling hardware shop which reminded me then and every time since of the Two Ronnies' "Four Candles" sketch (we aren’t always 100% sure of the words we need for what we want, and they stand looking anxious the other side of the counter until they realise what we need.) N asked for thick gardening gloves and oil to treat the many rusty locks, but we had to be accompanied to another shop over the road to view the wheelbarrows, learning en route that this firm also sold fridges, cookers and televisions, and could provide maintenance and after sales service. N wheeled the barrow home and I was left to pay; a handwritten invoice to be presented to a woman behind a glass screen in a sort of makeshift office. I then made my first visit to the little supermarket – called Coccinelle – and bought tea, coffee, milk and excellent biscuits (unfortunately for N I forgot the sugar.) We sat in the dining room in two ancient garden chairs left by Mme V and had what N described as "our first meal".

M Legrand (although he said we could call him Michel) arrived loudly and promptly at 6 pm, coming through the open garage and knocking at the veranda door. He said we were the sixth owners of the house for whom he had provided firewood; that it was best to order in the spring so that the wood could dry out, and to make sure to re-order before we ran out. I paid 95 euros for two and a half stères of logs (a large skip full) He also kindly took away the wheelbarrow briefly somewhere and pumped up the tyre, which was flat.

By that time we felt we ought to be investigating our accommodation for the night, and hoping we would be able to eat there. As I said, I had no idea what it was, just a local phone number for "chambres"; the patronne to whom I had spoken on the phone said it would be "deux petits lits" as opposed to a big one, and that it was on the right on the way to l'Aigle. We found it easily after a few minutes drive; although it was dark it stood at the corner of an exposed road, with two flashing Christmas trees on the front; a Relais Routiers bar with rooms above.

A whole novel could be written about this establishment alone. Our room – up some rickety wooden stairs – didn't seem to be ready, so we hung about waiting on the landing; N said he saw someone's jacket being removed. The beds – with differing designs of flowery sheets - were pushed together and there was very little space around; a wash basin but no soap, glass, wardrobe or coat hangers; though a packet of Gauloises had been thoughtfully left in the drawer of the only bedside table. The patronne said she would fetch a chair for my coat. (In the event we piled all our clothes onto this one chair) We asked if we could eat there and she said yes, although I think we were a little early, and were ushered not into the little restaurant we had seen but into the living room, and told that we would eat when "les gars" arrived. These we could only assume were a couple of other out-of-season boarders.

The living room was small with flowery wallpaper of the kind N supposed favoured by characters in Balzac or Flaubert novels. Much space was taken up by a large wood-burning stove and a huge flat screen television; at least we were able to see the main evening news as we do at home. The walls were filled by the mounted heads of deer and wild boar of varying sizes; N had to duck under the antlers to get in and out of his place at table. Our host was a keen hunter; on the small sofa there was a large hunting dog with a black and white body and brown head, as though it had been transplanted from another dog. "Les gars" eventually arrived, and after much wishing of bonsoir and bon appétit, we began to eat, our hosts serving us as if we were in the restaurant. Again, I thought of Balzac and the boarding house in Le Père Goriot. We both had a very good salade piedmontaise to start; it seemed to be taken for granted that we would want meat and red wine, but they seemed surprised when we declined cheese, dessert and coffee. I had a turkey escalope with cream sauce and N at least half a roast chicken, both with copious chips.

Very tired, we retired to our room and got ready for bed in turns; no-one had told us where the loo was but we found it along the landing for ourselves, and N wished he had brought a dressing gown. I had brought pyjamas, and once I was home and putting them in the washing machine noticed they smelt distinctly of cigarette smoke. I did not sleep well; although it was quite warm I had caught a cold, sore throat and cough from somewhere; (probably the woman at the insurance office) my turkey and chips were not digesting well, N was snoring and there was no possibility of a glass of water, not to mention the day's numerous new experiences.

We had to be up early as the fuel delivery was scheduled for any time from 9 am onwards, and made our way to breakfast through the bar crowded with customers having a drink on their way to work; N assured me this was the case from the numerous Maigret novels he has read. "Les gars" had already had breakfast - we could tell from the remains of the butter and coffee on the tablecloth – when I asked for tea, this perplexed our hosts a little but they found some, and we had bread and jam to eat (no choice) N very distressed by the lack of plates. Outside although about 8.30 it was dark – the shortest day! and the Christmas trees were still flashing and the car was thick with ice; it took a long time to de-ice it despite the patronne helpfully bringing a jug of hot water from the bar.

Once back at La Neuve-Lyre we forgot all about this though, and were happy to see the house again, and feel that each time we went back to it it seemed a little more familiar. We started on shifting the logs, N loaded up the barrow and dumped each load into the middle of the floor of the second garage, henceforth known as the woodshed, and I laid stacked them up against the wall, the final layer taller than me which made it difficult raising up the heavier logs; I was glad I'd got two pairs of thick gloves the day before. It was hard work bending and stretching, and I thought perhaps I didn't need to worry so much about no longer doing any aerobics.

At just before 10 the fuel delivery arrived, in a large lorry decorated with flags and pictures of Johnny Hallyday on the windscreen. The driver filled up the double tank in the first garage with a large noisy hose; it was high and he could only see what he was doing by balancing on the back of an old chair, while N and I held the chair to the ground, and I wondered if my newly acquired insurance would cover me if he fell. N told him that next time there would be a step ladder as we were due to buy that in the afternoon. He suggested we get a couple of indicators to let us know how much fuel was left; and like the log man said that we should re-order before we ran out, when the indicator was at 50. He also showed us how to turn off the heating in the boiler room, and with this and the discovery of several manuals, we thought we were beginning to understand it all. I wrote a large cheque to pay for the fuel, but with any luck it should last beyond this winter and hopefully into next, like the logs.

We finished stacking the logs and went out, me to buy lunch: bread from a very busy boulangerie, and a few delicacies from the traiteur, and N to get cash from the bank and to meet up again at the Quincaillerie. Outside there I met our neighbour from opposite, whom we had first seen on our visit in September, she had just met N, and was very friendly and keen to know just how dirty the house was. Very, I said.

N had to go to the other shop to get the step ladder, while I looked round, and then we also bought a new fluorescent tube for the bathroom light and some key tags. We ate lunch as a sort of buffet balanced on the kitchen work surface, and afterwards I thought it would be easier if I assembled the IKEA kitchen table, and was very annoyed to find that the box contained only 3 table legs instead of 4. (Slightly less annoyed when I got home and discovered I still had the receipt, and very much need to go back and get other things there.)

Over the three days N scraped a lot of flaking paint off ceilings (once he had the ladder) and walls, oiled all the locks and replaced a suspect one on the veranda door, tidied the virginia creeper over the front gate, pruned roses and re-plastered some white panelling in the salon. While at the gate he met another neighbour from over the road, who said she used to come and do the cleaning when the house was inhabited by dentists. (The log man had also mentioned them) N also began to scrape the old torn lino off the back hall floor, to reveal the same small tiles as in the kitchen and coat cupboard, but this is proving a mammoth task. We asked advice at the quincaillerie when we went to get a spade and the new lock, and they sold us some acetone to dissolve the glue, and a scraper, which wasn't very effective. Apart from this and the kitchen table the other thing that completely foxed us was how to get the new fluorescent tube in the bathroom light; it was by definition difficult to see in the dark, and also high up; we both had several tries but have not succeeded yet. Fortunately there is another light in the bathroom. I swept up all the flaking plaster, measured all the windows for curtains (there again, once I had the ladder) and tried to brush down all the cobwebs I could see, and there were so many! some higher than I could reach. I also made a start on cleaning some of the windows; external ones and their shutters, which didn't seem to have been cleaned for years, and internal doors, mostly white with little glass panes, beautiful once they were clean. I also took measurements in the ground floor bathroom, ready to ask Lapeyre for an estimate, and cleaned the sink, hob and kitchen work surfaces. While going round I looked at walls and carpets and made some more decisions on places for furniture and pictures.

Many of the lights were just bulbs hanging out of the wall on flexes, and a lot of bulbs seem just not to have been replaced. We bought what we could at the local shop, and then at the larger Intermarché supermarket when we went out on Wednesday afternoon, but some have had to wait until we got back to Saint-Denis. There must be another way round this! The other thing that confused us was keys; there are four external doors, not including the French windows; there is one common key but others too, plus the garages, garden gate and post box at the front. We then found a large box full of other unidentified keys (hence the need for key tags!) and N spent a lot of time walking round trying to fit them in locks and identify them. We drove as far as Verneuil sur Avre and ordered a phone, or rather a phone number. N bought a newspaper to brighten up the evening at the Relais des Amis, and I got a magazine called Maisons Normandes, which I decided I was now eligible for. It has some beautiful pictures, and we have both spent a lot of time perusing it.

Our second night at the Relais was much like the first; we had asparagus to start dinner and then were given some unidentified meat - there was no choice – with spaghetti. N decided as we were in Normandy we should have some cider; it was very good and we quickly polished off the whole bottle, and slept better for it! (and possibly the log stacking). I had remembered to take the bottle of water, so at least we could have a drink in the night. We paid and left on Thursday morning, with all our luggage this time, and continued doing all we could at the house with another picnic lunch, working up to leaving for Paris at about 5.15, mindful of the fact that we would be arriving back next time just before the furniture, so tried to leave all as ready and tidy as we could. The journey home was good; although dark it was clear and dry and there was not much traffic, and we were back in Saint-Denis within two and a half hours.