Life In 79

We have been working our way round our French farmhouse, renovating a room at a time and last month it was the turn of the bathroom. It wasn’t much to look at with its painted tiles of Lisbon and a galleon on the high seas, champagne coloured bath and OSB walls. But I have spent many a happy hour in that bathroom, soaking myself in the tub, polishing off a chapter or two as my skin begins to wrinkle and my fingertips resemble sultanas. Then Anna put her interior designer hat on. On these chilly nights I like to constantly top-up my cooling bath with hot water. I became adept at doing it with my foot. Now, instead of a bathtub against the wall, with tap at one end, the bath is like a small rowing boat in the middle of the room, with a tap positioned halfway down the side. If I want to top-up now, I not only have to use my hand, but also arch my midriff away from the scolding water in a very undignified fashion. It gets worse. On the old bath, the plug used to be at one end, near the tap...

I have always been a keen gardener. I don't know any of the latin names (couldn't identify a Alopecurus from a Zannichellia), but I love being in the great outdoors, getting some gentle exercise and creating attractive areas in the garden by mixing and matching plants.  I have a basic knowledge of some plants that like shade and others full sun, but I know nothing about the pH of soil, other than it can change the colour of hydrangea flowers. I decide where a plant would look good, dig a hole, shove it in and if it thrives, fantastic, if it starts wilting, I'll move it somewhere else. Our gardens in the UK have always been small (no bigger than a tennis court). I have been able to weed, trim and mow them in a day, but since moving to France gardening has taken on a new meaning.  We now have an acre of land and when I tell Anna, my wife, I'm going out to do some gardening, I really mean I am going to dig up brambles in various quarters of the estate. I have become obsess...