A new potential buyer for the chateau has popped up. In fact they popped to the extent that they were given pizza for lunch by the maire after they missed the appropriate slot in the local restaurants. They are trying to sidestep the agent who demands an extraordinary 8% of the purchase price for her services. The estate agent trade in this part of the world appears to be dominated by British women and a grim business it seems to be since property takes an age to sell, particularly since the trickle of Brits who used to come here has largely dried up. The French seem to rely on a chalked phone number in front of a property for sale and it may work. Two local houses have been thus sold in the village although each of them took five years to find a buyer. I was curious about such a property a dozen miles away and looked for it on line. The number belonged to a notaire but nowhere did they have details of the house. The village is in the middle of nowhere but has a stock of 18th century houses so grand that I wondered who had built them and why. I even went to the mairie and asked the history of the place. The maire looked as if I was insane. Who gave a shit? History is not considered that interesting here. Even the chateau’s is obscure and half a dozen versions exist.

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