Toujours le temps qui court..

So go the French lyrics to the music many english speakers will know as Could it be magic as variously interpreted by Barry Manilow, Donna Summer and Take That! It was in fact written by Manilow but based on Chopin's Prelude in C Minor, Opus 28, Number 20. Now, in the french version it tells of how time passes quickly and things change.

It could be the theme tune to my time thus far in France. In the course of almost 8 months I have lived in the countryside with one partner, 2 parents-in-law, 2 dogs, 4 hens and 2 canaries, found and bought a house in Lille, moved into it and am now living in the splendid isolation of being 20 minutes from the centre of a city of some 200000 people in a conurbation of some one million souls. I do not mean to be dramatic nor I intend to mean that I am lonely - far from it. It is early days and not having yet secured any clients for my coaching business means I spend at least half the day alone, though now I have both an internet connection and a phoneline and an office, things can only improve.

There was never any serious expectation in any case that everything would fall into our laps: the cost of alterations and improvements to the house would well exceed the budget we fancifully had, lack of amenities, motivation and communications have held me back from earning a crust, the grindingly slow way in which anything happens in France have given us some frustration, but all will be overcome. None is insurmountable. Some need to be rescheduled.

The possibility of planting lavender in the garden at 1630, looking forward to harvesting the cherries from our own tree, eating a crop of our own strawberries (make that the crop!) have added to the quality of our lives and helped reshape our approach and attitude to everyday living. I noticed on the plans we received yesterday in connection with recovering the kitchen roof, that we have perhaps the third largest garden in the area. Some responsibility!

We have welcomed guests to our humble abode such as it is set in a traditionally industrial quartier which has a good and honest feeling to it. There are troughs and hanging baskets of flowers in the centre of Hellemmes, unspoilt and unstolen. When I think back to the saplings snapped for the drunken fun of it along Wimbledon Broadway I know we have made an excellent choice.