26 miles

Posted on September 7, 2014

I blame Tony, the conservatory man.

Since his Gallic tales, I’ve become fixated with the idea of living in France.

No one though seems to recommend it: apparently winters are too cold; the cost of living is the same and there’s a bureaucratic maze of regulations that prevent you working as anything.

I can’t let this one go though. I’m willing to plough savings and equity into a relocation to somewhere warm and pleasant. I don’t want rural, but a pretty market town with a new build to rent long term.

The wife would then resign and we’d move as a family to France for a few years or more. It’s not something we can do immediately – but in the medium term, we all agree it’s a definite plan.

I love France, its people, its towns, its scenery. The wine and cheese. The climate.

We missed our month there this summer and it was painful to not go. Yes we had a good summer in Norfolk, but it’s hardly like lazing on a campsite in the Loire Valley.

Would living there be as good though?

Personally I think so, the wife concurs as does daughter. The mrs is totally fluent in French too, which is a bonus.

Just the son to convince – my daughter pointed out to him that it’s just 26 miles away, but in cultural and linguistic terms it’s not that close. I can understand his worries – school in a different country. No uniform appeals, as does the Wednesdays off, but would he make friends across a language barrier?

The moving to France blogs I read all say that what brings them back is family – that wouldn’t pull us back, sadly perhaps.

You know what?

We’re going to cross those 26 miles and chance our arms.

When, though, is another matter.


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