Wreck-O-Rama has become Wreck-O-Drama I’m afraid. We had our big meeting to review all the work estimates and as usual we have created a plan that only a Trump could love. Honest to god, what the hell is wrong with us? Are we fundamentally incapable of doing anything on a small scale?

We started out with a very modest plan: open living room, kitchen, eating area with 2 small rooms upstairs, one for us to sleep in and the other for Neil’s office. This has ballooned into an addition out the back for a long galley kitchen that juts out on to an enormous wall of rock and has the world’s most complicated roof design, 2 full bathrooms (to prevent divorce) as well as a toilet on the main floor because apparently I am too lazy to go upstairs every 20 minutes (my bladder and a tea bag, same size) and a full revamping of of the exterior.

Now the house has nothing. Everything has to be created for example a second floor. Literally the floor isn’t there yet. This costs money. These tremendously talented artisans cost money and we have already overpaid this Parisian artist for the bloody ‘house’ to begin with so it’s down to some really tough decisions.

One, we can overextend ourselves AGAIN and hope that my venture into the world of house cleaning pays off and we live happily ever after sipping cheap wine on the terrace of the small but not so simple house? B, we scale it right back to bare bones and turn it into a vacation house and if so every single one of you has to come for a vacation to help me pay it off. This level of quality entertainment doesn’t come free.

There is a truly horrible third option. We decide that we cannot make a go of it and walk away despite being beyond the time allowed to get all the quotes in. Doing this would mean a ‘pull-out penalty’ (Catholics, not a word) of over 9 thousand Euros which is like a million dollars Canadian. Okay it’s actually more like $13,000 but it might as well be a million to me because to pay that for a French real estate lesson might send me right round the friggin’ pipe.

So for the next few days we will be frantically reviewing and discussing all the relevant details while getting hammered (Mom, do NOT call AA, I am joking mostly) to try and come to a decision about what to do.

On the one hand I say what the hell? I came for the big game action right? So motor on and the worst that happens is I’ll have to sell it right? Not so fast old girl, houses take a really long time to sell here so this could be big financial trouble.

Okay then do it up as a rental and there’s a possibility for some income and investment reward. Hang on now my giraffe like friend. After you dump money into the reno you then have to buy furniture and linens, fully stock a kitchen, get a TV set-up going and all the other bells and whistles that make up a lovely vacation house. Where will the money be found for a place for you and Big Red to live?

Does anyone else talk to themselves like this?

Anyway I have no idea where this is going. The next couple of days will be really stressful and I can’t help thinking that this crap reminds me of something, what is it I wonder? Oh yeah, MY OLD LIFE! The one that I moved heaven and earth to run away from. As my mother always says you can’t run away from your feet.

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