HOUSE OF THE GODS

House hunting. For some it',s an adrenalin rush. For others it's hell on earth.

For me, it was a lesson in patience, managing expectations and realising that the majority of people are tasteless and untidy.

Unfortunately, I was not a good pupil. I had to learn the hard way.

Having a wish list is a great way to start your hunt online. However, I soon realised that if I thought I was going to find a house that ticked all the boxes in my price range, then I was delusional. I started making sub-lists of must haves, nice to haves and I could fix it myself haves.

Estate agents in France are called Immobilieres and most of them are devious. Their subterfuge starts with the photographs. Using professional photographers is shunned. Instead, a middle aged housewife, earning money on the side by selling houses, uses her re-conditioned iPhone 6. Armed with a flash and wide angled lens function, a dark hobbit house can be transformed into a sunlit, cavernous palace. However, without the expertise of staging an interior, most of the photographs are a cross between a crime scene and an evacuation. How much effort does it take to put the loo seat down, pick up the towels and underwear and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher?

Then there are the written descriptions. Characterful (dilapidated), conveniently located for transport links (on a busy major road) and in need of updating (hasn't been touched since the old lady moved in 50 years ago). Translating from the original French into English can also add further challenges. I've read that I will die in this bedroom.

My partner and I identified the Languedoc in the Occitaine-Roussilon region as the area where we wanted to live. It is the sunniest place in France, has mild winters, loads of vineyards, close to sandy beaches and a decent rugby club. Cape Town, basically. For two months we traversed this area, half the size of England, getting to know all the little villages. At each viewing, I valiantly tried to keep an open mind, look past the colours and decor and wrestle with compromises. Can I live without a garage or a second bathroom? How important is a guest loo and who needs built in bedroom cupboards anyway? After 20 viewings, desperation set in and I was ready to take the next place that didn't need the lights on all day. After 30 viewings, I wanted to go home.

There was a house, way out of my price range, that had been on the market for some time and that I often looked at wistfully. It was advertised as an ex-Padre's house and I was fascinated by the wrought iron, curly initials above the front door. FB. Father Brown? Faithful Brethren? Or could it be Fucking Brilliant? It didn't have a garage, was the shabby chic side of old and not a storage cupboard in sight. However, it was right on the Canal du Midi and had marvellous views of the vineyards. Despondent, depressed and on a whim, we went to see it.

By the time we got to the first floor, my partner and I were looking at each other with great big cheshire cat grins. On the second floor I asked the immobiliere if we could have coffee and discuss an offer.

Against all odds and to great surprise, our cheeky, way below asking price offer was accepted. Now, using my newly obtained patience, I have to wait for all the paperwork to go through but hopefully we will be in our new home by early May.

I can't tell you why this house is the one. It looks nothing like the vision I had in my mind for my forever French home. All I know is that I have been on a journey of self-discovery. The high standards and expectations that I set for my self have taken a huge battering. I've had to shelve almost every pre-conceived idea of what is important. This house is not perfect and never will be. However, it's generous, with its high ceilings and double doors to every room, that open like welcoming arms. Many of the original clay tiles are cracked and the floor slopes in several directions, but that's ok. I suspect that, come spring, the eves of the roof terrace will be full of nesting swallows and judging by the droppings in the hearth, there's something living in the chimney. Nevertheless, I'll learn to co-habit because this is a house for sharing. Languid summer braais with family and friends on the patio, warm evening sunsets with wine on the terrace.

Not even the newly learnt fact that there are traces of asbestos in the cellar and lead painted window frames can dampen my desire. I love this house and I'm prepared to die in my bed to prove it.

Fun Fact about France - At this time of year there is something called a Treve Hivernale (Winter Truce). A landlord cannot evict tenants for non-payment between 1 November and 31 March. Nor, can they cut off their energy supplies in retaliation. However, come 1 April, it's gloves off!