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Living in Brittany
How it all started
Back in October of 1995, despite the fact that we had just booked our annual holiday to take place between Christmas and New Year, he hisself and yours truly felt the need for a break and opted for a ‘dirty weekend’ across the channel. Our nearest ferry port being Plymouth, Brittany was the obvious choice.
After our arrival in Roscoff the next morning, we took a stroll through this little town and quite frankly, did not like the place very much. The sky being overcast and rain in the offing, everything looked drab and very down in the mouth, as did most of the people on this day. Having discovered the train station, we ventured forth to Morlaix – what a difference! This looked (and still does) exactly as we had imagined Brittany to be – tall, narrow, mediaeval town houses leaning towards each other, small shops seemingly remnants of an earlier age, cobbled lanes and streets, an impressive viaduct and the old-time favourite – an open-air street market in full swing! Fruits and vegetables looking healthy and as intended by nature, warts and all; ungraded fresh eggs straight from the chicken’s bum (sorry!); home and farm made cheeses in endless variety; locally produced bread specialities, honey, cider and also sweets; fresh fish; oysters in all sizes and NOT for a king’s ransom; herbs and spices never heard of before; all cuts of raw meat and poultry, cooked and grilled as well, freshly made couscous and paella – not very French perhaps but delectable nonetheless; plaited ropes of garlic and onions etc, etc, etc.
For years we had talked of moving to France one day and had even contacted some British estate agents dabbling in French property, without any fixed idea of when, what, how and where (not necessarily in that order, ye ken). Now, here in France, almost everything closes between noon and 2pm; having seen a few estate agents along the high street, we went to have a look at the houses on offer and were surprised at the lack of information. One very reasonably priced property was listed as having 1 room at ground floor level, 1 room on the first floor, and 2 rooms on the top floor – apparently neither kitchen, bathroom or WC, no room sizes given either. My couriosity being tickled, I persuaded hisself to go back later and view the property, just to see what we would get for the price mentioned. Before continuing this tale, I must point out that we had absolutely no intention at this moment in time, to buy any property anywhere!!!
The boss man who spoke excellent English, took us there the next morning. After having been up and down twice he busied himself in the kitchen, and left us to get on with it. We went up once more, and down again. On the last but one step we looked at each other, nodded and yes, you’ve guessed it, bought the pile there and then.
This must be the ‘dirtiest weekend’ in history, certainly one of the most expensive.
To be continued……………………………………..
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