We moved in at Easter, early April, still frosty in the mornings. The house had been empty for several weeks and was cold. We turned on the water to get the heating going and sprung a leak, the first of many.
Caroline found us a plumber, who fixed the leak and was persuaded to start up the antique oil fired boiler. A roar of flame, a puff of black smoke, it died. The plumber struggled on. Further oil supplies were procured (happily Good Friday is not a holiday in France), but the boiler remained uncooperative. Whether a leak in the oil pipe running underground from garage to house, or a blockage, we shall never know. The plumber rigged up a Heath-Robinson solution with a large plastic jerry can of oil and some tubing. It was somewhat alarming to have a can of oil sitting alongside the now roaring boiler, but as the oil went down at an alarming rate, and now had to last until Tuesday (Easter Monday is a holiday), we didn’t have it on much.
After that baptism of fire (or rather lack of fire) things quietened down a bit. We acquired some furniture. Had a lucky break with the white goods. Having at first been told that if we anted delivery in less than a week, and despite the cold we did want a fridge, we would have to borrow a van from the store and drive them home ourselves, a round trip of 40 km and a steep turn up our new driveway. We agreed reluctantly, but when we returned to collect as agreed, a previous customer had failed to negotiate the van back intact and it was off the road, the week’s wait became a day.
We met some of our tennants, they are a pleasure to watch and I’d be sad if they left, I just wish they’d stop eating the flowers.
By the time we left late in the month the weather had begun to warm up, and I had made my first efforts at weeding, but there was still a lot to do.
