Monday, 18 July 2022

Full circle

Sometimes the best laid plans of mice and men go awry. Sometimes the cyclical currents of the cosmos carry you back to a place or a position you were always destined to occupy, whatever foolish ideas an individual might have held otherwise. Sometimes you’re just pissing against the wind.

We journeyed over to France last week, house hunting in Normandy, Brittany and Cote d’Amor, but unfortunately every property we fancied had a queue of Dutch folk outside…Dutch folk carrying Intermarché bags stuffed full of 50 euro notes. Mmmm. 

The situation quickly forced The Current Mrs Broom and I to reconsider our options. We wanted seaside. We didn’t wish to be as isolated and out in the sticks as last time. We wanted quasi Parisian ish sophistication, the chance to discuss Flaubert perhaps, with learned individuals at a special symposium. I wanted to wear cravats for gods sake. 

However, like I said. The unseen forces of the cosmos are forever at play, quietly nudging you onto the path you were apparently always destined to travel.

Our plan B turned out to be the « C » word. No not that one. C for Creuse, the department that is the butt of every sophisticated Frenchman’s humour. Bucolic, enormous and largely devoid of anyone other than these folks:

It is of course where we used to live, and as far from the sea and sophistication as it’s possible to get. It’s about the size of Wales but it’s population is probably no bigger than Droitwich. It’s a five hour drive, minimum, to any stretch of coastline. 

So to recap. Near the sea? Nope. Sophisticated? Erm…nope!

The few things it does have going for it though are well, lots of buildings like this:

I made a cheeky offer on the tower but they were having none of it. Bugger.

and this:

The current Mrs Broom makes a rare blog appearance.  She’s wondering how many curtains she’d have to make if we bought the tower in the background. I’m wondering how many years I’d have to spend as a male prostitute in order to pay for them. 

Bourganeuf. First town in France to have had a domestic electricity supply, and boy don’t they go on about it.

Bourganeuf central. Without our two massive heads blocking the view.

So we did the six hour drive down to the département and saw this, amongst many others:

In a town, so sort of sophisticated, massive, and emanating that especially french sense of faded and slightly tragic former glory. It was also dirt cheap.


You’d definitely need a goodly selection of cravats if you were going to live in it. 


Along with a masters degree in household electrics. The house was rewired in 1926. This was a clumsy recent attempt at grafting it onto a new supply. Oh yeah there was an asbestos and boiler problem too. The diagnostic report on the property ran to 14 pages.

From a Broom disaster narrative perspective this property had everything going for it. An expensive money pit in which I could regularly electrocute myself. Unfortunately I’m not getting any younger so despite the prospect of generating good stories for the blog, we eventually settled on this:

An architect designed barn conversion with an attached gîte. 

Our offer has been accepted and if all goes smoothly (it never does) we should be in it October ish. 

Sublime to the ridiculous. There’s seven bedrooms to choose from to turn into a games room. I shan’t miss  the box room I’ve been confined to for the last two and a half years that’s for sure!

So that’s the « what I did in my holidays » bit over and done with.

Gaming won’t really restart until we’ve moved and most of my toys will shortly be packed up ready for the removal chaps.

Post move I’ll be returning to my Strike campaign, plus working on some pre dreadnought naval action and these chaps:

Pendraken 10mm Elizabethan’s. Pike and shot - but not as you know it. 

I’m a bit torn at the mo between doing a Low Countries campaign with them or maybe an alt history Armada invasion one. The enforced lack of gaming will at least grant me a little time to make that decision I suppose.

Right then, I’d best sling my hook I suppose.

Toodlooh for now mes amis!