I would imagine that all of us have been asked, at one time or another about our reasons for moving to France.
The question is generally fired in our direction by French neighbours and friends who perhaps regard us with a bit of cautious curiosity.
However, can anyone remember WHEN you decided to move and WHERE you were at the time?

I distinctly remember where I was and the occasion.

I was on my honeymoon in April 1990 with my husband Nick. (obviously!)
We were staying over in Le Mans en route to Barcelona.
We had just been to one of our favourite restaurants there called Le Grenier A Sel, and were taking a stroll along the banks of the river Sarthe.

We found a cosy bench, and sat down overlooking the river and let the water and time pass slowly.
As ever, we talked about our love of France, and how happy we were to be back there.
Suddenly, out of the blue, my husband said to me:

“Promise me that we will move here one day”

Twenty one years on, it’s good to know that we kept one of our first promises as husband and wife.

So, what about you? When was your deciding moment?

I feel low, depressed even, and hate it when the light fades at sunset.

But today was different .

Due to a lack of velux blinds in our top floor bedroom, the sun obligingly streamed through the six big windows to wake us up, and generally the weather has been bright and sunny, and tinged with the most fleeting of showers.

A late afternoon drive through the Anjou vineyards to Angers, albeit to drop my OH off to return to work in Berlin, was both beautiful and scenic.

Here’s hoping that the next few months will be as kind.

I saw this little insightful nugget when trawling through Facebook yesterday, and it really made me smile.
I reflected whether we all tend to talk up our lives through our social networks,and why?
We are now exposing ourselves to hundreds, if not thousands of people we would never have “met” before the social networking boom and that brings a certain requirement to keep up appearances, even if it is at a subconscious level.

As the eldest of four, I have vivid memories of appearances being altered when visitors called.
On hearing a car pulling up outside the house, my mother, peering through our front room window would announce the arrival of an entourage of family members.
Together we would skate around the house, plumping cushions, running the Hoover around, wiping a few straggling dishes on the drainer and hurling all signs of floor debris – toys, newspapers, books, – into our under stairs cupboard to be hidden from view.
The resultant frenzy took place during a five-minute breathing space where my father would go out front to do the meet and greet and kick the odd tyre of my Granddad/Uncle’s latest motor, and offering to carry in the bags and coats of the ladies.

Once installed in the house, tea was brewed, food was prepared, and, depending on who was visiting, other activities spawned from this: I might play a board game with my cousins, my father would play for my great-grandmother to sing.
Within the space of half an hour, the house would have returned to its semi-ramshackle state as is the way of things when family and friends call.

However, we all still enjoyed the time together, regardless of the mess on the floor and the pile of unwashed dishes.
So, why do we big things up on Facebook?
If we are all truly friends, there should be no need to do so, as we should accept each other the way we are, warts and all.

So, I ‘m signing off with my first truthful Facebook status of the New Year:
“In bed writing a blog post wearing yesterday’s tee-shirt – husband next to me in his vest with his grey hairs stuck to it”

There will be plenty to read during the longer evenings, with The Poitou Charentes Journal from Rachel and Kathryn, The Deux Sevres Monthly, from Sarah Berry, This French Life from Craig McGinty plus loads of well thumbed books and the odd DVD from Paperback Jan, who tirelessly drives around the countryside, supplying us all with something to need.

Yes, I think that Autumn is going to be a good time too.