Sure, there are juggernauts thundering down the A35. But a mile off, here in ice-bound Harcombe, there’s nothing to disturb the snow-muffled silence. The trees are an amazing ghostly white from the hoar frost. Robins hop tamely right up to my feet, looking at me questioningly. It’s almost Narnian.

Apart from all those neighbours of ours who are the next step up the evolutionary chain with their 4-wheel drives. Yes yes I wish we had one too. Maybe when we grow up….

In the meantime, this (very broke) winter, I will mostly be walking to the shops. Today I lugged the Christmas dinner makings back in my rucksack.  Apart from the inconvenience, it’s all very romantic. Although clearly this is lost on the children, who’d rather stay inside watching Beebies while I’m out sculpting snowmen.  I might force them to eat bushtucker (see previous blogs) as punishment.

And talking of maggoty things, I’ve learned never to leave the lid open on the food recycling bin again. It’s not nice when you can see it writhing………….

We felt pretty nervous before we even entered the Power Tools shop. The salesmen were all toothless and grizzly. We’ve realised, sooner or later, we’re going to have to buy a chainsaw (our main heating is a wood burner. YOU try using an axe to cut enough firewood to last all winter).

Keith’s natural urban caution kicks in. ‘But what about safety goggles and ear defenders?’. He can’t quite get over the fact that you don’t need a licence or a safety certificate to own one.

Textbook strimming. Safety visor, ear defenders...... Taken shortly before the petrol incident.

So we came away with a cordless hedge cutter and a petrol strimmer instead.

Keith was momentarily thrown by the brilliantly translated assembly manual, which stated very clearly that the strimmer was not to be operated by alcoholics or women with the menses.

But once he’d got round those technical difficulties, he soon discovered the sheer pleasure of destroying swathes of nettles……the ‘Strimminator” we’re calling him now.

That was after he set fire to the patio by leaving the petrol cap off. 

...you remember DiCaprio in "The Beach"...?

 P.S. We googled hornets. They do sting. Like a wasp, only bigger. I’m off to ring Rentokil.

Not to mention the bloody great big hornets that come skydiving in to drink at our pond. They are truly scary, though our neighbour tell us that they don’t bite. Or sting, obviously. I’ll be googling ‘hornets’ tonight just to make sure. The kids just think they’re small but noisy birds, I’ve yet to tell them that they’re actually oversized bees…….

Obviously I didn't get this close...

But, we have actually, finally purchased a house after all these months. It’s a bit like being in a relationship – we dithered, we procrastinated, had a few flirtations on the side with other houses…..but then we finally comitted. 

Next post coming once we’ve worked out which way to  point the wireless router……

The Village. If only we could see it from the house....

 So lots of misgivings, last minute doubts…the stone-age slow-speed broadband, for one thing. The lack of civic amenities within a 3 mile radius, no public sewerage, and even no Tesco Express…yes yes I know we decried all that, but when you actually see the house standing there, in all it’s rustic isolation, well it’s quite another thing….

Not us. But I get the feeling it could be...

We did wonder whether it might occasionally get snowed in during the winter…so we thought, during that cold, snowy snap, that we might drive up and find out the answer.  Which, we discovered (but not in a nice way) is yes. We didn’t even get as far as the house. As soon as the minor unclassified C road started it’s gentle downhill inclination, so did we. One tap on the break and we slid gracefully into the hedge, never to get out again. Thankfully, a passing couple in their Pajero took one look at us and nipped back to the farm for a tow bar, the darlings. It later turns out they’ll be our neighbours if we move in, handy – huh?) I’ll never slate 4 x 4 owners again (unless they’re not from round ‘ere…)

 Oh and the drainage. (Yer shit goes into a field. Who’s field, we know not).

 And the borehole, fed by natural springwater! (And pumped into your house by a complex system of filters, tanks and a frost protection heater…..) All this lot takes up a shedful in the garden.  And I was hoping to put my bike in there….

A hidden gem. Apparently.

 The house was uninspiring to look at, and obviously uninhabited, but the bright and breezy agent, barely out of her teens, was waiting to show me round. Or would have had she been able to get in. The door was jammed stuck and she just couldn’t get it open.

Well, having driven all the way there and taken time out of my busy schedule, I wasn’t about to be deterred by a small matter of a sticking door. And bless the girl, she was a waif who might have been blown down by a strong gust of wind, so I smashed the door open with my bare fists.

Alright, obviously I didn’t do that but I did ram it with my shoulder and yes, the door did open. OK, somewhat dramatically. And noisily. There may have been some minor collateral damage.

At least seeing the interior did get to prove my suspicions that it was 4-roomed brick box with no hidden gems inside. Nothing that a complete demolition wouldn’t fix, but we’re not quite up to that.  

So obviously I am over-egging the drama of the situation for your entertainment, and I thought no more of the matter. Then a couple of months later I saw another house advertised through the same agent so rang up to arrange a viewing. Here’s a rough transcript of the conversation.

Looks innocent enough.....

Me; “Oh, hi there, you’ve got a property for sale that I’m interested in, can I arrange a viewing?

Fox & Sons: “Yes, sure. What’s your name please?”

Me: “Oh, it’s Alice Meacham, I am actually registered -

Fox & Sons: “Oh yes, Alice Meacham. Yes, we know who you are, yes, you’re definitely on our system”

Me: “Really? That’s odd, I’ve only ever see 1 or 2 properties with you” (laughs nervously, and somewhat incredulously)

Fox & Sons: (suppressed laughter) “Well, we certainly know your name!”.

Me: “Gosh, I’m not sure how to take that. So how come you know my name so well?”

Fox & Sons: “You must have one of those names that’s just known around the office!” (More suppressed hilarity)

Me: (feeling increasingly paranoid) “Erm, right. Well, could you send me details of the property then?”

Fox & Sons: “Yes of course, they’ll go out to you today” (giggles openly, and continually)

Me: “OK thanks. I think. (Desperately thrashing around for flashback. Did I have an unfortunately aligned piece of clothing? A bogey hanging from my nose?)

Look, is it to do with me breaking down the door on that place in Whitford?”

Fox & Sons: (helpless laughter, then pulls herself together as if suddenly finding a way out) “Oh, Yes. Yes, if we ever need a burglar round here, we know who to call!”

Me: (unsatisfied, I’m being fobbed off here) “Well, OK, um, I look forward to getting the details then. Thanks. Bye”

Fox and Sons: “Yes, they’ll go out today then, thanks, bye (peels of uninhibited raucous laughter before I put the phone down).

If you’ve ever seen ‘I’m Alan Partridge’ with the hotel receptionist played by Sally Phillips, you’ll know how I felt. Fortunately the house they sent me was crap, so I didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of a viewing.