The Cottage

I was about to apologise for my very long absence, and then remembered that my name is not Julie, and I don't delude myself into thinking people are having sleepless nights in front of their computers just to see what I'm up to next. Coming up is a story, then. Not an excuse.

The Fabulous Man and I bought a house. At last. We looked for ages, and couldn't find exactly what we wanted where we wanted. Then we stumbled across a lovely little house called The Cottage in the foothills, rather than on the mountain itself. It's about a quarter of the size of our previous house, but we loved it, and our very first offer was accepted. We were, and still are, very happy with our purchase.

The Cottage



The Cottage was built in 1890, and luckily for us maintained very well. There were no major problems at all, but it still needed some paint and a few other small things. The walls were horrible. You know that very course sandpaper-like stuff you find on the outside of some houses? This was what covered our inside walls. So, before painting, the walls needed sanding, and we couldn't find one painter who was willing to tackle the job. They all said that they're sure the stuff is there for a reason, and the reason is probably that the walls underneath are in pretty bad shape.

The Fabulous Man decided to do it himself, and with the help of our lovely uncle Andrew, accepted the challenge. Together they spent the next few weeks, in-between day jobs, sanding and patching walls. Yes, the walls underneath were less than perfect. Wonky, to be kind. We bought buckets and buckets of plaster-like stuff from the hardware store to patch them up. My poor husband returned home every night covered with dust. I did my bit, and had paint under my nails for weeks. I'm happy to say I can also now use the words "caulking gun" in a meaningful sentence.

In the meantime we lived with my lovely mother-in-law. It was great. We took turns making tea for each other. The Little Girl had a fabulous time exploring new horizons and playing with her cousins on a daily basis. I even cooked a few times. No blog cooking, I'm sorry to say. Every time I try something new, there's always the very distinct possibility that I at the very least wreck something, possibly even burn down the kitchen. I didn't want to do this to her. Hence, no posts for months.

The kitchen. Yes, that is an open fireplace. And yes, that is a very tiny oven. No twelve course dinners, I'm afraid.



The end result is a dream. We are both very impressed with how it turned out. It is by far the friendliest house I've ever lived in, and the garden is full of beautiful shrubs, some roses, and, to my delight, a lemon tree. Opposite the house is a little french deli, for which I had grand plans of visiting each morning for coffee and croissants. Alas, the prices are higher than heaven, and the people are unfriendly. Hence, the Little Girl and I walk into town each day, talking to anybody and everybody. I am amazed every day by how friendly everybody is here. We love it.

I am almost fully back into cooking mode, and will try my best to come up with lovely recipes for you to drool over. In the meantime, I hope everybody is having a great week.