And What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up? JUST SAY NO!

So, living on top of the moutain, I get to be a shuttle service really. All sorts come and go and I never have a clue if I see the same person twice - must open my eyes more. During these trips my passenger door handle has been broken three times and I have given out more donations than I care to recall. Me and my friend Tim here are shortly going to enrol at the 'Learn to say no' school.

Anyway, yesterday I got flagged down at the bus stop which is rare as these folks usually are there for a reason. Anyway, this is how it went:-

Hi, how are you? (that's me)

Good Morning.

Going to the bottom?

Yes.

At this point I never know whether to continue conversations or not, generally it's not as thats when I get guided into donation mode. However, I was feeling chatty, no it doesn't come naturally.

So, what do you do for a living?

I'm a drugs dealer.

Oh, that's nice. I CAN'T BELIEVE I JUST SAID THAT. Now I feel so nervous, sweating or rather glowing as my high school teacher would say that's what girls do, almost as if I'm on a first date and I must say the right thing at all costs. Think think think. Be cool.

Oh, been doing that long?

Yes, I grow my own weed.

Oh right, does it grow high? DOES IT GROW HIGH - WHAT SORT OF STUPID COMMENT IS THAT AND NOW I SOUND LIKE I'M ENCOURAGING THIS COTTAGE INDUSTRY. RIGHT, I AM A LAW ABIDING CITIZEN SO I AM GOING TO SAY SOMETHING LAW ABIDING CITIZEN LIKE RIGHT NOW.

You don't sell to kids to you?

No.

Oh well, that's good but I still don't agree with it you know. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN - DON'T AGREE WITH IT. I SOUND LIKE I AM PROTESTING ABOUT THE PRICE OF LECCY. WHAT DOES HE CARE WHAT I THINK ANYWAY.

It's good business M'aam.

GOOD, AT LEAST HE CALLED ME THAT - HE KNOWS I AM OLD AND SENSIBLE. NOW I THINK SHOULD I TRY AND MEMORISE HIS FEATURES FOR DOMINICA CRIMEWATCH. TALL, DARK, SUNGLASSES AND STRANGE PUDDING HAT. THAT SHOULD DO THE TRICK, THEY WILL CATCH HIM IMMEDIATELY.

Right, I say, in my best bossy voice, I am stopping here, out you get. I have never said 'out you get' to anyone but it seemed appropriate here.

Thanks, see you around.

GOSH, NOT IF I SEE YOU FIRST I THOUGHT BUT NODDED ENCOURAGINGLY, SORT OF.



Never a dull moment hey.

24 Hour Pass

So, my Dad came over for 3 weeks to see us and stayed in the Shack. He had one major complaint in that the bed was tooooo big. How can a bed be too big? Answers on a postcard please. Apart from that he had a good time I think and the kids kept him busy. He actually managed to juggle playing 3 different games with 3 different kids simultaneously. Pretty impressive. Anyway, I thought I'd accompany him on his departure to Barbados. This is the longest I have every remained anywhere without leaving the country....what does that say?....that I haven't got island fever I guess....cool.

The new airport here is sort of finished and check in went well. However you then have to work out where departures is and eventually you have this Alice in Wonderland moment and find a little green door with no clue what's on the other side. Nervously opening it, I spot an x-ray machine and a uniformed lady with very bright red lipstick who beckons me through. A combination of travelling LIAT and the ultimate joy of not being accompanied by children meant I was travelling with no luggage only a rucksack. What could go wrong? So, the bag goes through and gets opened. You can't take water unless you put it in a clear plastic bag - no funnily enough I am not carrying one of those - can I carry it? - no - ok, fair enough. Can I buy it in the departure lounge? - no - so I have to sit here for 3 hours without a drink - yes, but you can go back outside again. Ok, we went back outside for an hour. Back again - same lady - same x-ray - no offending water. You can't take both face creams. What do you mean I can't take both? You can take one. (Absolutely no point arguing with this logic, I have been here long enough to know that). Now, is my big dilemma - do I drop my Clarins Beauty Flash Balm (which I have had for 11 years - gosh, that's a worry, it's probably gone toxic) or do I drop my No.7 Protect & Perfect BRAND NEW tube. As you can tell, Beauty Flash Balm comes out on special occasions and this was special, so No.7 can go. Customs lady could do with it anyway.

Next - my handbag. My handbag was full of complete rubbish - half-eaten sweets semi wrapped in sticky tissue. 101 broken tipped pencils. Loads of Brizees gift vouchers which I never understand what to do with. And, the offending item - a pair of scissors. Customs lady logic kicks back in - this is the deal - you can keep these but don't use them on the aircraft. Err, okeydokey. See, absolutely no point retaliating with logic.

Flight is delayed of course but all credit to LIAT as they do a super quick turnaround and we leave in darkness (eek no lights at this airport) at 6pm. Knock on effect was a very late arrival at the hotel in Barbados. The promise of a night propping up the bar and having a long leisurely dinner soon evaporates when entering the hotel it became apparent that it is overrun by a half-term school group from the UK and their teachers. Both seemed to be propping up each other by this stage. It was at this point, we should have gone to a restaurant but Dad had been raving about the great fish dinner he had had at the same place and it shouldn't be missed. Also mash potato. Ours is a mash free house because my husband has brainwashed everyone into hating it. So this would be my mash moment. In the end, we went via Reception (she felt sorry for us) to order our drinks and food. One and a half hours later it arrived and I must say our fish & mash dream meal was fab. We ate it in 4 minutes. Clearly, there had been no time for lunch.

Then it was time for bed and the dream of a Full English Breakfast the next morning. Alas, no time for dreaming, the disco was beside our room. It started at 10pm and finished at 4.30am - I had one of those classy bedside clock/radio things next to my bed which flashed in red the time at me all night. There were moments when I lulled myself into heavy closed eyes and then Dad would stage whisper over - turn the a/c up. Then he gave me a long explanation of what 'up' meant. I know what 'up' means - you want it cooler. Did that, and rolled over. By 5am I was finally asleep. 5.05am - stage whisper - turn it down now will you? - what, down as in hotter or down as in cooler? - no, turn it off - err, ok.

Revived by my Full English at 10am we went for a quick walk and after walking past shoe shops, surf shops, clothes shops etc I stumbled upon a chemist - yipee. I can't explain this but there are no real chemists here and no rows of potions and lotions and pills and just in case remedies.....I spent 45 mins in there looking, touching, occasionally picking up (being followed by security) and left with a huge bag of just in case stuff including Christmas card tags and mascara, alas not vibrating.

Back to the airport and surprise surprise everything got through the x-ray this time including new potions and lotions and a large bottle of water. And then, oh joy of joys, Barbados Duty Free is fairly dedicated to chocolate in super size me sizes. A box of never ending Maltesers came first followed by not much else actually because they were huge. But half the joy is in the window shopping for me. The icing on the cake was a gigantic display of magazines including OK & Hello.

Back on LIAT, back home, very happy. Thanks Dad for coming and allowing me to have my 24 hour pass. We had a ball hey.

Busy doing nothing

Ok, I thought I would be a lady of leisure with plenty of time to blog, write my book, swim and sunbathe but alas I still haven't learnt the art of saying 'no' - thank you but no thank you. For me this is as difficult as getting to the front of the queue. So what have I been doing......well finally the University are offering an Early Years Education course so I have been helping with that as I only managed a half no. Several overseas people have asked me to find houses for them - this has been super cool as their budgets are super high so I have been seeing super nice houses. A lot of supers hey. Last but not least working part-time with special needs children and private tutoring too...Talking of school.....

The kids have settled so well into their new school, and their Principal is so super cool she has just won two awards - one Caribbean and one local for being the best of the best. Guess she is just 'Super Nun' - there's a movie in there somewhere. Very large boxes of Roses chocolates will be winging their way there for Teacher's Day tomorrow anyway. Didn't even know they sold Roses here - hope someone buys me a box.

The shack rentals are going super well. Just had the Russkies (great guests and great fun) in for a week. They bought us Tanqueray 10 and insisted on a long night of whiskey cocktails. Never again but when you're the host you're the host aren't you.....

Finally my shipment of goodies from Target arrived with miniscule duty on - hurrah. Within this were super cool remote controlled, wax but battery operated candles. I shared with Ceels. I know we'll be the envy of the cocktails and candles set for sure....

Tout Sweet

So, I got an email from a real live author - how super cool is that? Ok, I wrote first but hey she still replied. Anyway, thank you to Chris for spotting her book online and knowing I would like it and thank you to Amazon for sending it to me - well hopefully it will arrive. Here's the story of someone else's adventure - enjoy enjoy enjoy!

Six years ago, I went to France for the weekend to visit a friend — and bought a house. I hadn’t been planning to, but the opportunity practically dropped into my lap, after a chance meeting with the local estate agent. Over a petite noisette (espresso with a dash of milk) in the local cafe, he mentioned a place that had just come up for sale in the centre of a village 15 miles south of Poitiers. Half an hour later, I was standing in front of a shuttered house with a worn-looking exterior.

Inside, the plaster was flaking like a freshly baked croissant and the brown flowery wallpaper that blighted every wall — brown wallpaper being curiously prevalent in the French countryside — was peeling off in strips. The kitchen floor was about to collapse and there was no indoor loo, heating or hot water. But it was love at first sight. I was taken with the narrow wooden floorboards, the original fireplace and casement windows. Above all, I fell in love with the price. “It’s how much?” I asked the estate agent, thinking I’d misheard.

“€49,000,” [(about £35,000, at the time]) he repeated, misinterpreting the look of amazement on my face. “But don’t worry. I am sure I can get you a reduction.”

Poitou-Charentes, in central western France, is one of the country’s most affordable regions for property. For less than the price of a midlife-crisis car, I would have a holiday home with my own front door and a private courtyard, a big deal for somebody who had spent most of her adult life in London with no outside space. The house would be my hobby and a bolt hole whenever I needed a break from city life.
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I returned after lunch to sign the papers committing to purchase, not even sure if my bank would lend me the money. Fortunately, it did. There was one small problem: as a fashion and beauty writer, I knew nothing about property renovation (the only thing I had ever painted was my nails) and, having recently split up with my long-term boyfriend, I would have to rely on French artisans to do the work.

But I figured the house would also be a distraction from my failed love life. Aged 35, I had closets full of designer labels, a beautiful flat in west London and a successful career, but my closest relationship was with my iMac. And so, after a year of attempting (unsuccessfully) to organise the renovations from my London desk, I decided to move to France — initially, I told myself, for a year, to get the house finished. In reality, I wanted a break from London and time to reassess the materialistic city life that was no longer making me happy.

Although I had no savings — I spent most of my disposable income on shoes — I was lucky in that I would be able to make a living as a freelance journalist, working for British newspapers. And at the back of my mind was the thought that I might find a French husband (of my own, not somebody else’s, I hasten to add, although there is a lot of that sort of thing in rural France).

Surely it should be easier to meet somebody in a small village than a big city, I reckoned, since there would be less competition. Indeed, as a single anglaise in rural France, I told myself I would have novelty value, not least because most Britons who decamp to the land of the long lunch do so as part of a couple or a family and, more often than not, are drawing their pension. Friends have described me as the Bridget Jones or Carrie Bradshaw of the French countryside, but neither Bridget nor Carrie was foolish enough to renovate a house in France while looking for Mr Right.

I can’t claim that what followed was plain sailing. On one memorable occasion, I asked the decorator to give the slatted wooden ceiling of le petit salon a coat of white gloss. I returned from a work trip to London to find he had painted everything — walls, skirting boards and even the fire surround. Something, it seemed, had been lost in translation.

Gradually, I ticked all the big, boring (and costly) jobs such as plumbing and rewiring off my ‘To Do’ list. Then came the fun part: I had read every book I could find on French country interiors and pored over paint charts searching for that elusive shade of blue-grey typical of shutters. (The nearest I’ve found is Farrow & Ball’s Lamp Room Grey.) In contrast to my former flat in London, I decided to forgo tasteful minimalism and fill my French house with a riot of pattern and colour. Inspired by the brightly tiled bathrooms of the celebrated Hôtel La Mirande in Avignon, for example, I made a trip to Aix-en-Provence to buy hand-painted tiles from Carocim, which I used in a clashing patchwork above the kitchen sink.

I also became addicted to Laura Ashley, where I bought two cream iron beds, a distressed leather sofa, a mirrored chest of drawers and a large oak refectory table and benches, all of its shipped over at vast expense. Other pieces, including the vintage lampshades in my kitchen, I picked up at local dépôts-ventes or second-hand shops.

Not everything about the French countryside is perfect: it drove me mad that shops, even supermarkets, close between midday and 2pm every day, and on Mondays most do not open at all. I missed the M&S food hall and cappuccinos made with fresh milk rather than the revolting long-life stuff. The winter months, when rural villages, and life in general, close down by 7pm, can be long and cold. If you don’t make the effort to socialise, it is easy to feel isolated behind tightly closed shutters.

I was initially worried that, arriving in France on my own, I would be lonely, but it proved surprisingly easy to make friends. Living in a village rather than a remote hamlet, I soon realised, was a huge advantage. In the cafe on the square I was astonished at how many people, both French and English, would strike up a conversation. This is how I met one of my best friends, Martine, the glamorous lady mayor of a nearby village.

The first months were the most difficult. Often I woke up pining for my power shower, broadband connection and built-in closets. And yes, there were tears, mostly of frustration, as a result of dealings with France Telecom. It didn’t take long, however, to realise I didn’t want to return to my former life. Along with the other 12,000 Britons who live full-time in the Poitou-Charentes, I love the vast expanse of countryside on my doorstep, the fields of sunflowers (for which the region is famous) and the feeling of belonging to a small community.

“This is a very underrated part of France,” says Nicki Wade, the editor of Living Poitou-Charentes magazine (yes, the region even has its own English-language glossy). “Unlike the Dordogne, it is uncommercialised and unspoilt. It’s the authentic French experience.” It is also just four to five hours’ drive from the ferry ports of Caen and Le Havre and has more hours of sunshine than anywhere else in France, other than the Côte d’Azur.

Kim Cowles, of the French estate agency Agenssimmo (agenssimmo.fr), says price is another key factor. “You can pick up a small village house in need of renovation for as little as £39,000 — £74,000, if renovated — while fully restored farmhouses with a hectare of land can be had for about £87,000,” she says.

As for my house, it was recently valued at £74,000. Since I’ve spent £39,000 on renovating it, I wouldn’t make any profit if I sold. That was never the point. My French house has brought me a lifestyle and experiences that would not have been possible in Britain.

The good news is that I did eventually find my equivalent of Carrie’s “Mr Big”, in the form of Luis, the Portuguese builder living in the house next door. Last summer, my dog, Biff, escaped and jumped out of the window. The next thing I knew, there was a knock at the door and there he was with my dog in his arms.

But some city habits die hard. Every 10 weeks or so, I travel back to England to get my highlights redone in London. You can take the girl out of the city, it seems, but some aspects of city life are impossible to give up.

Tout Sweet: Hanging up my High Heels for a New Life in Rural France, by Karen Wheeler, is published by Summersdale, £7.99. Or read Karen’s blog at toutsweet.net

Sensational Sunset - Here's Winking At You Baby!

Green, well pink polished fingers

Gardening sort of creeps ('scuse the pun) up on you and grabs you and you can't shake it off, here in particular because it is particularly easy for pretty much everything to grow.

I was Villa hunting yesterday for my husband's colleague and was lucky enough to be shown around the most fantastic garden, all of which had been planted within the last 5 years. Some things the owner pointed out I knew but others I just nodded at enthusiastically, particularly at some ying yang bush and another two bushes which had the most amazing smelling leaves - one smokey and one minty - maybe the second one is to get rid of the smell of the first one. Another 2 trees produced red and white flowers at Christmas time so very apt. However, her most impressive success, to me, was a date palm, planted literally from a date seed and now 20 feet tall. I even stroked it. Ok ok at least I didn't talk to it. Anyway, I came home all full of inspiration and still not a clue but there again isn't gardening 99% enthusiasm and 1% at least knowing the names of what you want to buy at the nursery.

Pay Now, RIP later

So Friday I find myself outside the funeral home and no it wasn't planned but there I was in the carpark waiting patiently for my new Housekeeper to emerge. The kids have by this time spent around 4 hours in the car having visited 2 places 4 times to get a Death Certificate. I wasn't surprised - nothing to do with form filling is straightforward here so why should death be any different. Anyway, I'm hanging around, avoiding all questions from the kids as to where we are and nodding when Chloe said she spotted a nice wedding car around the back....Then someone appeared from nowhere and makes me jump (place is probably full of wandering souls) with a 'Good day, prices are very reasonable you know....'

Did he think I was waiting outside plucking up the courage to enter? Too late, I hesitated too long and the full pitch began. 'You know we are not like Dead Loss (not their name but I really can't remember) up in Portsmouth, if you pay weekly now, when you reach your desired figure (lots of hands to heaven motions) you don't have to pay us a penny more. Whereas at Dead Loss in Portsmouth, they make you pay for years, yes years, so you might have paid in $20,000 whereas the (lots of hand gestures but no mention of the f word) you wanted only cost, say $2,000, ridiculous isn't it?'

By now I just want to get out of here. No, no such luck. I'm stuck, the sales pitch goes on and I am praying for the doors to open and the HK to emerge. At this stage the kids have climbed half-way up the tree. Deadtime Salesman (or whatever they are called) then does what all Dominicans do and tells the children they are in imminent danger, they must retreat and there's 2 very large snakes living at the top of the tree. Child 1 & 2 look horrified and descend quickly, Child 2 too quickly and falls. Dead Salesman then interjects 'At least you're in the right place'..... I know where the writers of 'Six Feet Under' get inspiration from now. Child 3 ignores all instructions and continues up the tree. So I ignore her. Still no sign of HK.

Phew, finally she emerges waving a piece of paper which she tries to show me with a lot of columns and figures on it. I don't want to be rude but I really don't want to know the difference between the plywood and the cherry oak version. Big mistake - should have found out and encouraged the plywood route early on.

Finally got home at 5pm, relieved and looking forward to Happy Hour at FYH starting at 6. HK says can she have a quick word. No problem I say, don't worry, I enjoyed driving you around all day, anytime, glad to help in times of crisis blah blah blah. HK - Thank you so much Fiona I knew you'd understand and I would be very grateful if I could borrow the $3,000 then before next Friday otherwise they won't bury Granny and now we (not me actually, I sat in the car along every step of the way) have made all the arrangements, so I need it before then......

Finally, after a whole year, Andy had agreed to a dishwasher at $3K, yipee yipee yipee - not sure why he thought that moving countries would actually negate the need for one in the first place but still. (Maybe he thought we'd be eating off disposable palm tree leaves). Anyway, I had picked out the model (ok there is only one shop that sells them and only one model), talked to the plumber, rearranged my cupboards, thrown away my Marigolds, you name it. BUT, how could I let Granny live in limbo in the funeral parlour indefinitely all for the sake of a 'glistening crystal clean glass moment?'

Well, you can't take it with you can you, mind you if you start now you'll be sure to reach the deluxe option in no time at all...........