Cette opération demande une élévation....

Sunday 18 February 2018

Sunny periods with rain 11 degrees

Yesterday started at 3 am when I woke up and thought it was morning, but of a later variety. An hour later, I finally nodded off again and then woke at eight and photographed my new haul of buttons. Some real beauties, from Japanese style flat daisy flowers to dark blue wedges to paler blue baskets filled with bobbled flowers. I would show you pictures if my computer allowed but it is sulking and I have just had to read a chapter of my book while it deigned to open up a page. As I am in bed, it is refusing to access the internet. At least the company tech guy has managed to get my Word Processing programme to work. When I try to open a document, it has taken to telling me that 'cette opération demande une élévation'. I have no idea what this means, but if there are any elevations upcoming, I am in the line ahead of this dratted machine. The printer is also refusing to connect to the network and I have left the cable in the UK so we are waiting for another one to turn up. How frustrating is technology.

Yesterday, still in the pursuit of new property, I started ringing up the houses which I had found for sale online. The first one belonged to a name I recognised as a lady I had worked with in the past. This was encouraging as it is far harder to say no to someone you know. I got a man on the line and he was extremely hard of hearing. I did get an appointment for Monday. I will have to take Strepsils in advance. The next three people weren't in and two people told me to sod off. Ah, the joys of immobilier.

OH decided we needed to whack some suspects ie take off the hot and warm list the people who had contacted the agency for property but were not replying to emails or phone calls. I get an email from a client who has been toying with the idea of making an offer since last year. 'Let's whack him !' said OH who is convinced this guy is far more of a suspect than a prospect. No, we were not whacking him. I wrote back and told him I have someone else who is coming next week and will definitely offer. He got back and said to let him know what happened. Why can't I ever get people desperate to buy. I then get a call from the French man (very tall) of a week ago. The one who had spent 40 minutes telling me why he didnt like the first house I showed him. He started telling me about why he was not, definitely not, in no circumstances about to offer on the second house. The one his wife really liked. He ended up by saying the price was far too high. 'So, what if it was lower ? Make an offer and we will see what the owner says'. An offer is a starting point ; we have something to talk about and if someone is in negotiation on a house, they usually stop thinking about other houses. 'I'm not making an offer !' bellowed Mr C over the roar of the trafic where he was parked 'it is up to him to say what is his lowest price !!'. He then disappeared. OH was of the opinion that if I rang the owner and asked for his lowest price, the owner would say it was my job to negotiate and not his. I rang back and gave him a suggested offer. The owner is very, very keen to sell but is a bit prickly. Any offer needs to be written and I need to find out what part of the purchase funds comes from a loan. Mr C had said it was a little loan. How little is little ? Mr C didnt ring me back and I suddenly realised it was nearly 1 pm and I needed to don the motley and head out into the gloom.

I had found the mill property on a site which carries private ads and it looked promising, with a separate house and a river which was strong enough to make electricity. The owner had told me to go from LC down the A10 for 1,5 kms and then turn right on a bend by a pavillion with white gates. I had the address and thought OK I dont need her to come out to the Mairie. Unfortunately I went one stop too far on the autoroute – in that French way, my GPS refused to acknowledge the existence of the town and the name of the town only appears on the overhead panels when you are heading east. I was heading west. It took 40 minutes and I got to LC and stopped in front of the Mairie and examined the instructions. Head for HV on the A10. I headed for HV, which turned out to be where I had just come from. The road was the A23. I fiddled with the GPS and it took me over some roads which were like tiny bands of sheet metal, sheen-bright and snaking. Eight kms later, I emerged onto the A10 and I was nearly back in HV. I rang the lady. She gave me more directions and I eventually found her, standing on the side of the road, 5 kms from HV with not a pavillion in sight. 'I knew you werent paying attention when I gave you instructions' she said ' you made a gros erreur'. 'I have been following your instructions for the last 40 minutes since I left the autoroute !!' I exclaimed. She got in and we went down a narrow road to the mill. The location was idyllic.

The house, built in 1760 was typical of this area with whitewashed walls, crisply painted dark red shutters and a pleasing regular distribution of windows around the centrally placed front door. Inside was another matter. Where the ceilings and beams had been painted white, the rooms were welcoming 'Le bonheur est dans le pré !' claimed the mantlepiece. Le bonheur was not in the duster or hoover. It was extremely dirty throughout. The son and his girlfriend were living free there and the mother had decamped. Upstairs, the wood had not been painted. It was very gloomy. Then onto the outbuildings – two vast barns one of which contained the turbine which would make electricity. The owner assured me that it functioned but the machinery looked very rusty and the bands were limp. Into another room and there was a serious amount of machinery. It was being taken away by a couple who had decided to become choclatiers and were thrilled to have found such authentic early 20^th century chocolate working machines. These, also, were seriously dirty and rusty. There would be shed loads of work to do to render them fit to render any item comestible. I took lots of photos and the sun came out. This is the sort of property which people really like the sound of and want to visit, but are then discouraged by the enormity of the barns. The second house 'to renovate' was full of rubble. A bright new roof perched like a toupée on top of the ancient stones.

We did the contract and I went for a hot chocolate in HV. Last weekend's American had written and said would the mill owners accept an offer of …. It was under 20% of the asking price. The real answer was 'what the xxxx are you playing at ?'. I said he needed to make sure his brother wanted to come in on the sale and any offer would need to be written. He said he would think about it some more.

Back home and another 140 kms of fuel burned. OH made hake with stir fry potatoes accompanied by a crisp white. Early to bed as I couldnt stay awake.