And this sudden urgency to get into the Half Barn was inspired by me stumbling, slipping, and sliding my way across to the caravan. It was late. It was dark. My torch was put in a safe place but I couldn't remember where that was. So in the dark, at nearly midnight, I was wending my way across the Courtyard over newly dug uneven soil which Danny, our builder, had rucked up whilst digging the drainage trenches.
"Danny, while you have the digger here can you make a hole so we can make a pond?" I asked, but through Hubs' translation services which I had to pay for by making him a cup of tea.
Into the caravan. Into bed. Two hours later wanted to go the loo. Big loos. Meant using the toilet in the house. Rummaged around in the dark for Hubs' torch, the electrics of the van were now not working because the lead had been pulled out so Danny wouldn't inadvertently elecrocute himself while digging the hole. Couldn't find it. Desperation upon me. Must get to the loo. Out the door. It was drizzling with rain. Made my skin, all of which was exposed, damp. Ground was damp too. Sticky with wetness sufficient to glue a goodly quantity to the bottom of my shoes.
Managed to avoid the pond-hole. Managed to avoid the washing line to the right. Managed to avoid the table of seedlings to the left. Managed not to trip over Gus and Bools who were waiting to get into the house. Managed not to trip over the chickens because they were still asleep up in their tree. Loo got to. Was a relief.
'I can't do this anymore' said Hubs when he came through the door later on. 'After you left I killed four mozzies. That caravan is murderous to sleep in. We're out of there'......
So we had a hunt around and found the bits and pieces of our four poster bed. It was a miracle that all were accounted for. Not only that, but none were broken.
Off we went to a BBQ. Back later to lug the mattress across from the caravan. First night, slept with bare mattress and throws to cover us up. Second night the same. Third night got the bedding sorted out. Slid into the wonderful comfort of a real bed for the first time in just over three years.
I didn't think the bed would survive. It was broken up into its constituent parts by our removal men. It is a 'flat pack' bed. Good thing really. If it had been an 'all glued together' bed it definitely would have suffered damage. But it didn't. Now I have not been fixated about that bed during the last three years. If it survived, then great. If it did not, then that was alright as well. Friends of ours had offered us a divan base, which was probably going to be the needed. It wasn't.
......because here I am. On my bed. Looking down the Half Barn. And I have missed that bed. It was like coming home. So many memories. Of the hours spent making plans for the future when back in the UK, most of which we have managed to achieve, or are on our way to achieving. Of the hours spent reading the smallholding books. And it was on this bed that I fretted and fussed whilst waiting to hear if Labartere was actually going to be ours. The same for when the sale was being finalised, my stress being so great that I couldn't do anything except lie on that bed and fret.
And back in the UK this bed dominated the bedroom. Was far to big really for the space. Here, though, it is a small bed in a big space......
As I said before, the walls need painting, the floor is still smeary from the tile filler, but we are home.
And from the window beside the bed, here is the view.....
It's nice to see Maxy. A magpie is perched on his back. He doesn't care. He is busy eating his breakfast. The house you can see is our nearest neighbour. It is lovely to have a good yelling match with Hubs without being aware of neighbours on the other side of the wall. It is lovely to be here. It is lovely to have a bed to lollop on. A proper bed. One which carries our history too.
It is lovely to go to the loo in the middle of the night.....and that is being sorted as well!