Due South

During the past few years of my working life I have been, and still am, largely motivated by money. As a child I would scrimp and save and spend many happy evenings counting my accumulated stash. I remember though, at the age of about 7 or 8, reaching the princely sum of £3.50 or so and blowing the lot on a new motor for my lego train set. This unfortunately set the save/spend pattern for my later life; a habit that I have tried, and failed to shake off.

Not that I want to pass my days bathing in pools of crisp bank notes (of particularly large denominations naturally). I would however, like to be in better control of my finances and feel less inclined to blow any accumulated savings I may have on curry and beer.

What I do want though, eventually, is to have sufficient financial independence to be able to follow my calling to move to the South of France and do, more or less, nothing too much for the rest of my natural born days other than spend time with my wife, read a bit, write a bit, listen to some music and play my guitar a bit - maybe even have some friends round from time to time (remembering though my dear old Grandmother saying to me that both fish and guests begin to stink after three days).

Now I don't actually think I am asking for too much. I do not, after all, wish to become state dependent, whether it is this island state or that mainland state. All I ask is a modest means to earn a living, better weather and a reliable and inexpensive supply of olives, pastis and red wine; all served to me in the charmingly simple way of a provencal patron.

This seemingly simple goal is harder than you might imagine to achieve. Oh I know that there are people who just pack everything in and buy a one way ticket for the ferry, but in my mind, in order to make this move I must actually be able to support myself and my wife; and as things stand, I can hardly support a fence post in a light breeze with some help from several strong friends.

So there you have it in a nutshell. Despite my best efforts to "put a few bob by", I remain as broke today as I was when I started working all those years ago. I think I must suffer from an undiagnosed kind of incontinence with money.

But please don't think I have become depressed by this apparent lack of progress in achieving my ambition; for despite my complete lack of anything resembling a pot of gold I am happier now than I have ever been. What's that? 'Quality of life dear boy!', I hear the smarter ones saying through mouths stuffed full of coffee and croissants. Even the more cynical amongst you will be saying 'Aye, you have to have a dream to keep you going'. And I freely admit that both seem to be true in many ways.

Certainly in the last few years, both my life, and attitude to it, has changed dramatically for the better. I have married a woman I love, and who loves me back. I have my own flat more or less in the place I always wanted one. And I even get paid for doing a day's work which, more often than not, I quite enjoy.

'So what the bloody hell are you complaining about?', I can now hear both sides of the camp say.

Well, I'm not really complaining because I'm pretty much content with things as they are. Not because of what I do to keep myself financially afloat in a sea of debt, but because I enjoy the rest of the time I have to myself, and the time I share with others I care about. I believe in working for a living but also subscribe more to the "work to live" school of thought rather than the "live to work" ethic which so often prevails in today's competitive job market. Having said that, I also believe in getting paid as much as possible so that you can work less and less and do all the other things you enjoy more and more.

So where does this leave me and my yearning for Mediterranean sunshine? To be honest I'm not sure; perhaps those that say you have to have a dream to keep yourself going are right enough. Then again, what use is having a dream if you don't make any effort to achieve it, otherwise the autoroute du soleil would be littered with shattered dreams.

If you want my advice, do everything in your power to do what you want. Take French lessons, buy a French car, drink French wine (this is especially important as it helps to blur the harsh reality that you are drinking it in the comfort of your English speaking garret whilst looking at the rain stream down your window), eat French cheese and anything else which comes to mind which will either francophile you or raise money for MtF (Move to France) day.

Anything that is except write a an irregular blog that probably nobody will ever read because that is my chosen route, and I'm rather hoping that after a year or so of these thoughts my someone will help me realize my calling and will pay me to actually move there to write a Provencal diary. That would suit me fine; nothing fancy, a small cottage, with a couple of bedrooms and a sunny veranda and a reliable and inexpensive supply of olives, pastis and red wine; all served to me in the charmingly simple way of a provencal patron.

Who am I? I’m a nearly forty company director who is constantly asking himself, 'why must I work?'.