Mary Ann Edgar

I have been on the Côte d'Azur for three and a half years. In a previous life, worked for the London model agency, Models One and became an agent to photographer Mario Testino. I abandoned the world of fashion for motherhood, living mostly in southern England. I left the UK in 2005 and arrived here after a year in the Turks & Cacicos islands.

(Reflecting on what to tell the 'new girl'in Provence. Is it best to be economical with the truth and on standby with the teapot?)

A really good friend of mine from England has just told me that she and her partner are coming to live down here.  I'm thrilled because, at last, after nearly four years, I'll no longer be 'the new girl'.

Moving house is always a bit of a nightmare.  Changing countries is the same nightmare in glorious Technicolor with added Surroundsound and different teabags.  Settling in, be it town or country, has its rigours too, though, by now, one will have adapted to the teabags.

My problem is, how much do I tell her?  She's moving in deepest January to a bastide in deepest Var.  The photos, taken in high summer, show honey coloured stone walls, an azure pool glimmering in a garden of bougainvillea and palm trees.  Not too many shots of the kitchen units (no cupboard doors - just tea towels on a wire) and no mention in the details of any form of heating.  I'm hoping her experience of owning and running a livery yard will stand her in good stead.  And she's from Yorkshire so no stranger to a brisk East wind and a woolly jumper.  But I just know that they will be wanting to make some adjustments to the property.  Do I just give her a copy of Peter Mayle's 'A Year in Provence' and hope for the best or should I scare her silly with horror stories of plumbing blunders and corrugated screeding?

On reflection, I'm going the Peter Mayle route.  Accentuate the positive.  Who listens to boring old building problem yarns and anyway, you'd see it in their eyes - "That could never happen with our house."   I came across a card recently with a picture of the inside of a house, walls and stairs completely destroyed, rubble everywhere, with the caption "Gone for materials. Back in a couple of weeks".  How that brought back memories!  The bright side for me with builders though was that my French improved - my shouting French, not my speaking French. 

No, I shall welcome my friend to her new life in her sun-dappled olive groves.  By the time she's emptied her packing cases, Spring will be on the horizon, that azure pool will be starting to glimmer again (albeit possibly in need of a clean) and who could fail to feel positive and optimistic.  I will be on hand though with the teabags and, should she need them, a few choice Gallic expressions!