Where do you start when, after beaucoup des annees, you find the place you think Will Do?

The rusty gates of green corrugated metal had reluctantly given way, we had tripped over the rubble strewn around like bottles and glasses after a great party, waded through the knee high weeds and grasses of a short access track to turn the corner and be greeted by a neglected, abandoned and abused barn and outbuildings.

But I didn't see the damp, I didn't see the mould, I didn't see the holes in the roofs or, come to that the woodworm, and the stains where water had dribbled through. I saw only possibilities . I saw flagged floors, beamed ceilings, lightness, a space for sitting, a space for eating and drinking, spaces for sleeping and bathing. I saw my dream place in the French countryside. Bonjour, et bienvenue, the barn said to me.

Yes, this is yet another story of a journey from abandonment to new life - the story, my story, our story I should say, of a renovation project that has taken three years, is still not quite right. But heigh ho, I think it beats a poke in the eye with a stick.

'This is my little private project,' said our agent, a jolly single twenty something. But we were sold, ready to sign on the dotted, this Was It.... She didn't need to do a sales pitch.

The warm Charentaise sunshine beamed down quietly and we beamed at our agent...