I realise I am not going to get a lot of sympathy, but owning a second home brings a second set of problems.

On our visit last month I was relieved to see that the builder had finally repaired the leaking roof of the lean-to, which back in November was causing rainwater to find its way into the kitchen. I have learned to spend the first half hour of every visit scrutinising the ceilings and walls for signs of leaks. I duly went upstairs to find a suspicious stain on the ceiling… another call to the builder.

There is always something that needs sorting out

With a gap of four months between visits, that is hardly surprising. And there’s more. The toilet flushes, but water continues to flow from the cistern, i.e. the ballcock is stuck (yet again) due to a build-up of limescale. I turn off the tap on the WC in the hope that it will eventually sort itself out. Anne plugs in an electric radiator, as it is freezing cold upstairs, but after a few minutes it cuts out. Two sockets no longer work… I call a friend who knows about such things. She will have a look in a day or two. We can manage until then.

That’s enough excitement for day one. At least the TV works and there are no burst pipes. But is that gas I smell in the kitchen?

The following day it’s still warmer outside than in, so we enjoy a beer on the terrace. The plum trees are in blossom, the sun is making sporadic appearances, and the bees are taking advantage; things are looking up. But after a winter of cold, damp weather the garden is so soggy that I daren’t leave the car there for fear of getting stuck in the mud. I manage to extract the Golf and park it in the lane beyond the gates before the rain starts again.

Two days later it is still cold and we are getting low on firewood… we call on a neighbour and beg for more.

***

The rain continues to fall, night and day. Apparently it has rained almost every day since we were last there in November. A friend who lives across the road is in despair. His worry, which is everybody’s worry, is that this might be the new normal: too hot in summer and too wet in winter. The region is almost totally dependent on agriculture.

After a few days the builder rocks up (having being warned to park in the lane) and spots a few slipped and cracked tiles, which he fixes there and then. Next, the bog begins to flush normally. I find that turning off the electricity at the supply (and turning it on again) magically repairs the power sockets, even though this makes so sense at all. Our neighbour kindly arrives in a Peugeot 205 loaded with firewood, then returns with another load.

Things are looking up

A visit from the septic tank police shows that it’s working properly, despite being badly installed 22 years ago. Another win! We invite a neighbour round and celebrate with poule au pot simmered on the wood stove.

That evening, settling back with a cognac and a book, I shove in a couple more logs and close the stove door a little too enthusiastically. The glass in the left-hand door, already cracked, falls out and breaks on the floor.

Amazingly, I have a spare pane of door glass… but it won’t locate without a metal clip – which for some reason is missing. I can order them from Amazon but they are not available for despatch to France. A job for our next visit. Fortunately the stove works, for now.

***

I awake a couple of days later to see some dust on the newel post. It takes me a while to work out what has happened. Some unidentified insect must be drilling out or chewing the woodfiller, leaving it in a little pile. During the day there is no obvious activity but when I get up at 4am it’s there again. Have we got woodworm? Or even woodfillerworm? I go back to bed but can’t sleep.

I drive to the DIV store first thing and obtain a tin of something seriously poisonous which I spray into the gaps in the wood. The next morning there is nothing to see. I have done all I can for now.

Is all this hassle worth it?

My to-do list is getting longer by the day: I ought to sand and repaint the front door, varnish the shed, clean the veluxes, power-wash the back terrace, clean the oven (well, maybe not me), and so on. No big deal, but I will be 70 next birthday, god bless me.

***

We have had this place, almost a ruin when we first saw it, for more than two decades. It has been an engrossing project and the focus of a lot of pleasure. I am glad we did not wait until we were retired before we took it on.

But is it time to cash in our chips?

Although it is not a great burden financially, there will come a time when it stops being fun: the driving there and back, the continual problem-solving, the fact that we are miles from anywhere, the apparent effects of climate change. But being part of a foreign, rural community, even part-time, is something you can only achieve over a number of years. It is one of the best things about having a place abroad and I don’t feel ready to give it up. And it really helps when the sun shines.

***

Postscript

Of course the “one thing after another” feeling doesn’t just apply to holiday homes, or inanimate objects in general. As physio Les Parry said about John Aldridge when he was with Tranmere in his mid 30s, keeping him fit enough to play was like trying to keep a Vauxhall Viva on the road. I know the feeling because I have had another week of unfortunate occurrences.

Last week I went to the GP about a swelling on my index finger but I couldn’t get an appointment until… the day after I am due to leave the country. So I will have to live with the discomfort and add it to my ever-increasing litany of ailments (you are bored already so I will spare you).

On the following day I trip over my own laptop cable at a public event and land on my hand (rather dramatic and embarrassing). It hurts a lot but there is no serious damage, so I go home to a late dinner. In the morning I have terrible constipation for the first time in my life. It is so painful I cannot comfortably walk, lie down or sit anywhere but on the toilet. Anne goes to the chemist’s for senna tablets, but they will not kick in for at least six hours. I try to do some reading standing up but realise a lens has somehow dropped out of my specs so I have to ask Anne to go to the opticians to get it put back. After hours of agony I finally “go”. 

The next morning the tablets begin to do their work and I now have diarrhoea. I feel better in the afternoon and go for a walk in the park with Anne. On the way home we stop for a pint and I put my sunglasses down on the table. A couple of minutes later a gust of wind blows them off and, wouldn’t you know it, a lens falls out.

It is hard not to take it personally. Is this what happens when you get old and kack-handed? I imagine most people, especially those of us over 60, have had a week like this: not exactly tragic but bloody annoying. Can you laugh about it, or is it only funny when it happens to others?

If life is starting to resemble a series of problem-solving exercises, one obvious defence is to avoid putting yourself in the path of danger. But soon that will lead to staying at home and doing as little as possible (I saw it happen to my parents). Yes, things do get harder as you get older but there’s only one alternative to getting older. I don’t feel ready for that either.