Accountants and lawyers.

All yesterday a growling autumnal storm doused us with torrential rain. Digby opted to hide under the bed with his favourite soft toy for much of the day while Wilf contentedly dozed through it all quite oblivious to the tumult outside. Who would have believed that two brothers could have such totally different temperaments? This morning the ground is soft underfoot and covered with a layer of golden leaves - autumn is well and truly here.

Activity in the household remains firmly focused on the move. The packing company has been booked and I've dutifully had palpitations at the price they want to charge. "Surely", I said to the 'font', "they've sent on an estimate for moving the furniture at Buckingham Palace". How droll. It only goes to show how much one acquires over the years even though we thought we'd downsized dramatically when leaving Scotland. This time rather than drive ourselves into paroxysms of hyper-activity we shall leave it to the removal men to pack . This isn't laziness but rather the result of reading the small print on the shipping contract. In clause thirteen thousand eight hundred and something there is a line which says anything we pack ourselves is excluded from the insurance cover. This had me muttering under my breath at the sheer venality of it all - particularly as the insurance premium seems to be roughly the same size as the GDP of many developing countries.
Tomorrow I'm off to Paris to see lawyers and accountants about a move back to France. All horribly grown up and tedious but at the same time necessary.The new house, which is in a part of France we've never been to before, has a small farm attached and this means registering as a farmer and paying all sorts of social security taxes. The new house is the oddest piece of architecture I've ever seen - the 'font' says it's a bit like a cajun house, whatever that might be.