“First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is..”
That’s a line from a Donovan song (showing my age now) and is currently highly relevant to our situation re moving to France.
When we bought the village house, we could see this mini-mountain from the tulip bedroom, then the trees grew and now we can only see it in winter.
This whole project has been defined by stages of dangerous naivety, smug achievement, financial fluctuations, unexpected critical illnesses, complete confusion, potentially fatal misunderstandings, stress-witch tendencies (me), job redundancies, enforced changes of plans….etc etc
Are we mad? what will it be next?
Thanks to Mr Cameron I now have to work for another seven years to claim my UK pension pittance (reduced of course to reflect my years at home looking after my children) Trevor’s company chopped employer pensions contributions years ago, and though now obliged to reinstate these it is way too late for him to catch up now.
We both have tiny pensions from years back ( lump sums already gone, spent on plumbing and electrics!) which will not support us in France, even though fresh food, logs, wine & diesel all way cheaper here.
Having put all our eggs in French property basket we no longer have a UK house to rent out or sell.
Most of our fellow expats of our age group have good pensions/savings/property investments/lucrative businesses. We have none of those. We have just found out that Trevor’s employer insurance package was chopped years ago too and nobody told him.
Excuse me while I scream