Your life does not get better by chance. It gets better by change.

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to live in France. Maybe it was the appeal of the unknown; the customs and traditions of a country physically so close, but culturally worlds apart from the UK. I was raised and educated in England. I worked there for over 20 years. But despite so many summers, winters, autumns and springs, I never felt I could really be comfortable in a country too entrenched in its own ‘small island’ ways to ever be anything other than a reluctant part of Europe.

If I ever had any ambition it was to come to France, create a home and try to understand what it was that drew me to the country. Getting here took six years of planning, hard work, selling one house, renting two others and a redundancy cheque. And, inevitably, there’s still more disruption to come. My future home has been entrusted to a hardy team of French builders and carpenters, and a plumber and electrician who are steadily converting an ancient Charentais stone barn into a kitchen, living room, three bedrooms, a bathroom and an en-suite. Other people have taken on bigger, scarier, greater budget-busting projects, but my own, with all its highs and lows (of which there have been many), is in every sense a life-changing experience. The safety net of what was my familiar, everyday life is gone. From grey Monday mornings and long working weeks to all-too-short but happy Friday evenings - each offered their own kind of security. And there are, of course, many things I miss about the UK. The French countryside is vast; a collection of sometimes exhilarating extremes. But the gentle Devon landscape I left behind me is breathtakingly beautiful (heartbreakingly so as it is greedily gobbled up by local planners for more new towns, industrial estates and business parks). I also miss good, old-fashioned British humour. Although there is plenty to find to laugh about here (and with a building project it’s either that or cry), I miss the ironic, irreverent, and (mostly) inoffensive remarks that were a part of working life. And then the big one: my mother’s cooking - warming, generous and always special. With love and inspiration she has shown that good food can help bring solace and reassurance during the sad and not-so-good times as well as being a celebration of the little - and big - joys of life. My parents, family, former work colleagues, old and not-so-old friends are hundreds of miles away. I miss them very much…but there’s Skype, emails, the telephone. Communication is so much easier; you can switch on and talk about anything. I just wish someone could invent a way for me to feel my father’s supportive hug, or my brother’s reassuring shoulder when my confidence sometimes wobbles or homesickness overwhelms me. I often think of those who encouraged and shared the dreams that every day become more real. One day they’ll be here, in Poitou Charentes, sharing - and laughing, probably - at my efforts to understand my adopted country. Until then there is so much to do, from making new friends, to learning new habits - and hopefully shedding some old ones. The journey starts here…