Latest Posts
-
Last Friday I was sneaking in a little rest after a busy morning unravelling la paperasserie (red tape), when I heard Tom’s feet resounding up the stairs. He burst through the bedroom door and…
-
As August faded into September, I found myself waking in the early hours. The children would soon be starting school speaking very little French, and the enormity of what we were asking of them…
-
“Many of us here use writing as a means of staying alive…” So wrote a French commanding officer, holed up in the underground citadel of Verdun, during the longest battle of World War I.…
-
When you’re so close to Champagne, how could you resist stopping by for a glass or two? Yet again… we’re travelling with kids. So rather than drag them around a series of vineyards, we…
Choosing the town where we would live our French dream was a bit like sticking a pin in a map. Where do you start? From the beginning, my husband Simon told me that I should feel free to pick any town or place, in any part of France I wanted. This was my dream, and he didn’t have a personal preference, he wanted me to have freedom to choose. Trouble was, I didn’t have a particular preference either. There was no…
