Two things set me thinking this weekend about the English idea of ‘living the dream’ in France.
On Saturday a programme on TF1 followed the lives of three English women who had come to live in France but their dreams were shattered when their partners went back to England and abandoned them. Despite this they hung on grimly. One had been wanting to convert part of her property into two gites, another was finding it extremely expensive to disentangle her financial affairs. One was gamely braving French bureaucracy to get permission to sell her homemade chutney and lemon curd (oh for goodness sake!). What is it that keeps them in France?
Another thing is that we are looking after our friends’ chickens for a few days. Part of the dream fostered by the ‘Living France’ type of magazine encourages people to keep chickens. Don’t get me wrong, many of our French neighbours do keep chickens very successfully without too much bother.
But starting from scratch is expensive. Coops have to be built and gardens enclosed. I remember one of our friends holding out a handful of eggs and ruefully saying “These eggs have cost me 300€ each”.
The thing about chickens is that they produce eggs most days which is great if you run a chambres d’hôtes. But the downside is that if they are let out in the garden they soon make it a wasteland and destroy every living thing. You then have to provide them with fresh vegetables to eat, as well as proprietary chicken food with crushed up oyster shells or grit. And they are prone to the most complicated diseases. And watch out for the foxes and the buzzards.
The trouble is English people are too soft. Chickens are at their egglaying prime between four months and two years. But they can live until they are sixteen. What do you do with Henny-Penny and Matilda when they stop producing eggs? And as for growing hens for the pot, forget it.
So I’m glad we didn’t succumb to the temptation to get chickens. Anyway we are otherwise occupied with the four kittens we adopted when their starving mother appeared at the door last Spring. That’s as soft as you can get.
By the way Chris reckons that one of the best bits of living in France is that at last he can watch ‘Ski Sunday’ and see our lot winning.













