I spent the weekend in France, mainly for one of the Puycelsi concerts, but also to keep tabs on what was my father’s house and to catch up with some friends. Work from home also followed me out there, meaning that gaps in rehearsal were filled either with more work, urgently carried out, or sleep.
I also had fun with my hire car, accidentally parking it under a tree keen to get rid of its burden of severely over-ripe figs, and then leaving its door open overnight during a storm. Although the storm necessitated a rather panicked half hour with kitchen roll and a subsequent drive to the airport with the heating on full whack, at least the deluge helped to remove the figgy material, so my deposit was safe.
I made several trips to get rid of junk from the house – old newspaper clippings, piles of paper, loose change in long-dead currencies – and also spent a little time moving bits of furniture around so that not only does the building give the impression that somebody could live there, but it also feels slightly more welcoming to come back to. It is work in progress, though, and I shall need to return there in the next month or so to finish what has been started, let the ghosts out a little more.
It still feels a long way from home in all respects, and I was very happy to be back behind the wheel of the Astra rather than something with far too many bells and whistles, happier still to get back to the house in Somerset. Nevertheless, this could become a rather lovely French hideaway, unless it sells before then, of course.
If money, time and distance were no object, then I would certainly consider doing some work on the place, and there would definitely be space for a rather fetching music room. It is just a shame that its location, location, location is just a little too far away, but who knows what the future will bring?