Having finally found a house that I could call home, I couldn’t believe that the surface areas did not add up to the correct size. I decided to confront the agent with my discovery, with my fingers crossed behind my back that an error had been made meaning that I had found a viable project. After several attempts my calls were returned so that I could voice my fears that the house was too small. He assured me that 120 square metres was quite adequate for two people with no children living at home, giving me the distinct impression that I was more than a little crazy. I eventually managed to get through to him that it was a question of addition, to which his "mais non, voyons", rapidly changed to admitting that I was absolutely right. Expressing his utter surprise, he promised to contact the owner who had provided him with the measurements in the first place. What I found difficult to believe was that with his trained eye, he couldn’t see from the outset that thirty square metres of the house didn’t actually exist. Even so, with his comfortable hand knitted cable jumper and casual attitude, which had led him to locking me in the house while he and my husband paced out an imaginary pool, I had difficulty in labelling him as a dishonest shark. A week later I contacted him again to be told that, surprise, surprise, the owner hadn’t returned his calls concerning the ‘mistake’ but that he would contact me as soon as possible. Two weeks later I saw it readvertised at a slightly smaller size with hardly any difference in price. In fact, on other sites it was not reduced in either size or price! My husband was not impressed as he had never been that enthusiastic on the project so I decided to take it no further. Nevertheless, two months later when it disappeared from the website completely, I felt the loss keenly. My shrinking house had gone for ever.

 

What is strange when buying a property in France is that the ‘loi carré’ is meticulously applied to flats so that every centimetre is accounted for, but this control is not applicable to houses. I decided to take a tape measure with me in future if I ever found anything remotely worth looking at  again. It was several weeks later when I was sent a picture of a very weird looking construction. I was trying to decide if I really liked its angular shape or if it was in fact quite ugly, when my husband pounced on it. Apparently it was everything he had always admired in a house and absolutely wonderful. For me with its kidney shaped swimming pool, it bore an amazing resemblance to the Thunderbirds’ island base, but lacking the fold down palm trees. Maybe he was right. It was certainly distinctive and different, so with tape measure in pocket we set off to see more. It was actually better in real life and though it was very well built and designed by a Dutch architect of renown, I wasn’t completely sure that I wanted to end up in a sixties time-warp. I also had issues with the fact that the garage was the hub of the house. It was somehow all a bit too masculine. However, our current house had been my dream so I put aside my misgivings. Five minutes later, though, I had totally fallen for the master bedroom on the top floor with a fireplace and triangular window to make the most of the view whilst lying in bed. After months of mediocre properties we had found something outstanding! Excitement was high and we decided to go for it on the spot. The agent had warned us previously that there could be no negotiating as both the eccentric owners and the price were inflexible. This was not how I thought it would be but the house was just within our budget so we agreed to the price. Little did we know that this fact would cause us so many problems and here is a warning for other would be buyers in France.

With our previous property, we made an offer which, after several revisions upwards, was eventually accepted by the family selling the house. To formalise our offer, we had to go to the agency, who took copies of our passports, to fill out an official form. Once a price had been agreed upon, an appointment was then made at the ‘notaires’ to sign the preliminary contract, the ‘compromis’. Two months later we had to return for the signing of the final act, the deeds. Naively, I imagined the process to be the same, but I had overlooked the important fact that the price had already been agreed upon. We had had no real choice in this matter.

Our spirits were high the following week when we set out to the agency. My husband had been contacted by the agent about the appointment and we had both been a bit puzzled by the details required beforehand such as copies of birth certificates and bank account details. Even the torrential rain did nothing to dampen our enthusiasm as we found somewhere to park and ran the last few metres. Imagine our total confusion when we saw the house owners already installed in the office and the weighty document before them. We had been summoned to sign the ‘compromis’ no less. The commitment was there but on being asked how we had arranged to pay the caution, amounting to just over twenty six thousand euros, the fact that I had left the cheque book at home was not acceptable. We were in the midst of a terrible misunderstanding, a living nightmare. How were we going to get through this ill fated meeting?...............