The Journey home

Saturday morning arrived, as they usually do at the end of a holiday, and all we had to do was pack and leave the Gite clean and in good order, but our minds were buzzing with the discoveries we had made and the decision we were about to make. We said farewell to our hosts, having first been invited to view some of their daughter's paintings and prints. They were impressive and we were to discover more of her work in later years.
The journey back to the French coast was fairly uneventful, but with a slightly different route, this time back to St Malo, it was enjoyable. The difference being the thoughts we had about the possibility of actually buying a little piece of France, something we had never seriously contemplated.
Was it all a dream? Could it really be possible? Were we really serious about this, and of equal minds. Were we just plain "bonkers" to even think of such a thing, and if so, should we spend some more time searching for the right property, in the right location, with a more conventional profile. So many questions, so many doubts, so many possibilities, so very exciting.
Our arrival back in Portsmouth saw us busily pursuing the many agents we discovered who were seling properties in France and we began putting together a formidable portfolio of prospective houses.
There was just one problem. I was working full time and the opportunity to hop back and fore to France to view properties did not seem even a remote possibility at the time. One only did that once a year for the annual vacation, and it was a significant operation requiring planning, routes, insurance and all the other little jobs that make going on holiday such hard work, but loaded with eager anticipation. Which left us with the inevitable choice of either putting in an offer for what we had seen, or shelving the whole idea until some time in the future.
The choice was obvious, make an offer and have an open mind as to what to do if this was rejected, and so the process began.