We leave the day after tomorrow. In fact Hugo and Rupes left yesterday. We are staying on until the last possible moment to let Olivia’s ear infection clear up and also to enjoy some last-minute walks around the green fields.

Yesterday we spent the day in Annecy with my mother (who flew in from Rome) and our great friends Jean-Claude and Alex as well as their children Astrid and Elisa. Olivia and Elisa have been best friends since they were one. We met Jean-Claude when I fell in love with one of his wines and a friend of ours was looking for suppliers for his London wine bar. He is an amazing man, he now has an incredibly successful wine-making business, selling millions of bottles all over the world, but he also has time to do things like sell our car for us (which he did a few weeks ago) and give me advice about my novel which is about a housewife turned winemaker.

Annecy by the way has to be one of the nicest places I have ever visited; there is a stunning lake, great shops and swans gliding around the city centre’s waterways. Here is Leo on a boat on the lake.

My mother, the children and I are back with our other great friends Norrie and Mary. It feels like coming home. And talking of home….THE house. Well the news is not good. They want a price much closer to the asking price than we can come up with. That may change of course and I am not giving up. Meanwhile the upside is we can stay here and I can’t think of anywhere else I relax quite as much. The children are off playing with the rabbits and I am in Norrie’s office catching up with some work and admin. It also means we don’t have the stress of trying to sell Sainte Cecile and all the worry of what to do if it did sell (there are tenants there until March) or the expense of moving. And to some extent the heartbreak of leaving our family home of nine years.

It has been a lovely holiday and I do have that ‘going back to school’ feeling today. But I am not sad to be going back. I have great friends there too whom I am longing to see. And I am looking forward to getting back into my yoga/work/school routine. Last night I spoke to Rupert who said “It’s nice to be home.” So I guess for the moment Abu Dhabi is where home is. We’ll see what happens in the future.

The other great news is that the updated edition of Ciao Bella is in the window of Waterstone’s in High Street Kensington. Bang in the middle according to my friend Peter who saw it there. This is it, if you see it, buy it please. Then maybe one day we will be able to afford THE house!

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

We have been in touch with the owners and we are meeting them tomorrow to discuss the price. It is exciting and scary at the same time. Of course it is always scary to leave something that you love and that is secure. But at the same time I am keen to move on and I do love THE house.

The children are coming round to the idea as well. Bea and Olivia have been fighting over the same room but now decided to share it and make the other room a dressing room. As long as it has pink furry walls. Help.

Leo of course is fine and just accepts whatever is going on. He is just happy there is a tennis court. Rupert and I have decided to have a bedroom each. I will make mine a mini-boudoir with a desk, television, large comfortable bed and of course pink furry walls. My bedroom has two windows. The scary thing is I can see myself there when I’m 80, looking out of the window towards the church and the tennis court.

I leave you with a final image….toothy and the tennis court….wish us luck tomorrow. And offers are welcome for Sainte Cecile…..
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

My stepson Hugo is here. He is wonderful. But he wears his boxer shorts underneath his swimming trunks. What’s that all about?

Right, down to business…we saw the house. It is heavenly, totally heavenly. It was built in 1750 and looks like it will last another few hundred years. It is all marble, stone and wood. Solid, safe and glorious. It reminds me a little of an English farmhouse.

We played tennis on the tennis court. I played well and Leo lost a tooth. A sure sign that we must buy it. Having said that we can’t afford the asking price, but are keen to offer less. In part because we have just been told by the lady in the boulangerie in the nearest town (and they know everything) that we it is only worth a third of the asking price. But when you’re in love it’s hard to be practical….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

While we were still at the lakeside hotel in the Savoie last week Olivia and I had an interesting conversation.

“Mummy,” she began. “Not that you’re very old, but when you die would you like to be buried or burned?”

“I think probably burned,” I said. “But can I have lunch first?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes, but where do we scatter your ashes?” She looked around her. “How about here?” she suggested. “I know, I will throw you in the lake. You’ll like that, you like swimming.”

Here is a picture of me with Bea on said lake. I hope I won’t be swimming with the fishes too soon.

Tomorrow we head back to the Savoie for our last week of holiday. We have rented a little cottage, the same one as last year, called La Clementine which is two minutes from THE house and ten minutes from the lake. On Tuesday we see the house inside, but meanwhile here is the exterior and view of the tennis court. You can’t tell me that’s not beautiful, whatever the weather….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

Today as I was about to board a plane to Stockholm my mother sent me an email saying “safe flight home”. It made me think, as the concept of home has been uppermost in my mind over the past few days.

Sweden is clearly no longer home. I love it here. I love the food and the cleanliness, the friendly people and the cakes. But it has not been home for a long time. Although I suppose in some deep part of my psyche there is a part that will always be Swedish.

While we were in the Languedoc this week we went home to Sainte Cecile. Bea wept and I felt ambiguous. It is still a lovely house. It is a perfect house in many ways. But for me the romance has slightly gone. It could be because it smelt wrong. Maybe I am rather like a mummy bunny rejecting its young when they have been touched by someone else. I don’t know. But even walking to the cross (which used to be one of my favourite things in the world) was less magical.

I felt like a bit of a traitor but half of me was thinking about the Savoie house which I think could become a home. But is it mad to give up on Sainte Cecile where the children were practically born? The landscape is lovely and we have good friends there as well as granny and grandpa. Leo and Bea took their first steps there. Most of my books were written there. And yet I don’t really feel at home there any more. But would I feel at home in THE house in the Savoie? Possibly…as Shakespeare says: No traveller returns.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

We drove over to dinner last night with my friend Regine and her husband Jean-Claude. The children stayed with Norrie and Mary. The drive was beautiful; I am more and more taken with this region. We had the GPS plotter leading the way and when she said: “caution you are entering a restricted area” we knew we had arrived.

Regine and Jean-Claude have a house just below the palace and Her Highness was not there but had sent food, crockery and servants. So I got closer to her than most. We had a fabulous evening; great fun people, lovely wine, good food including the MOST incredible brie stuffed with truffles which I don’t think I will ever forget. I sat next to a top surgeon and apparently Grey’s Anatomy is quite realistic (I don’t expect many people talk to him about soap operas but I just had to ask). He in turn told me I am far too thin so I had three puddings, what joy.

At one stage I heard my husband say to Regine: “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you seem to have a talking hedge.”

He was right. The hedge was bleating on about how tired he was and how noisy we were and how he had to work in the morning. Regine offered him a glass of champagne.

“I’m in my pyjamas,” said the hedge.

“We accept people in pyjamas,” she replied.

But he wasn’t moving. So we all told him (very loudly) we would be quieter. Rupert (what a hero) drove home around midnight and now we are getting ready to collect the children. Tomorrow we head to the Languedoc so I expect I will be off air for a while. After a brief trip to Stockholm for work we come back to this region for our last week and finally see THE house inside. As long as there are no talking hedges, I would like to buy it…..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

This morning I went for a run around the lake, not the whole way round, it is 18 kilometres, but for about 15 minutes. Suddenly it started pouring with rain. My instinct was to shriek and call a taxi. But then I thought; rain, there’s a novelty, let’s see what it’s like. And you know what? It was heavenly. I had the same feeling I sometimes have on a sunny evening wandering through a green field. It was really lovely soft warm rain that moisturised my body and soul. I am not sure after however many years we will spend in the desert, I will ever complain about the rain again. Which is almost genetically impossible for someone brought up in England.

Last night at dinner Leo announed he wants to be a “popular singer”. I wonder if it is possible for someone who calls it that to ever make it, but feel sure his rendition of ‘the lion sleeps tonight’ will help him enormously. The girls are so grown up and beautiful after their Roman holiday – they are speaking Italian and seem so much bigger than the boy. Olivia is in love with Europe and calls Abu Dhabi “the onion, because it makes me cry”. Bea is at her happiest with her favourite people in the world Norrie and Mary. My mother has been staying with them and today we take her back to Geneva and her flight to Rome. After a month with the ferals she is looking forward to sleeping for several days.

Unlike our last holiday, I fear we will not be losing weight. Here at the dreamy Chalet du Lac we have breakfast then a three-course lunch followed by a three-course dinner, all washed down with fine wines. We stay here until Friday before heading back home to the Languedoc. Although it doesn’t really feel like home any more. It will be interesting to see what we think of it and whether Olivia changes her mind about the onion. I hope so, because we are quite happy there.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

So we showed up at the airport last night at midnight, ready for our 2am flight to Geneva and our holiday.

“Geneva?” said the young man at the Etihad counter. “There is no flight to Geneva tonight.”

“Ha ha,” I said. “Very funny.”

Sadly he wasn’t joking. The flight we were meant to be on had left at 2am the previous morning. I had got it wrong. I felt sick. We were told to go and see the ticket desk and try to get the next flight, scheduled for 9am this morning. I can’t believe how nice Etihad was about it. I mean it’s not their fault I am a natural blonde (I hide it well most of the time). And the flight was lovely, we were looked after by a Swedish attendant called Mattias who was so thrilled to find some “countrymen” as he called us that he kept bringing Leo treats from up front.

Now we are here we are by our lake, having been for a swim and settled into our rooms with a view.

Obviously Rupes didn’t let me forget my mistake, there were constant references to what day it is today and so on. “Is this joke going to go on all day?” I asked him.

“Oh no,” he laughed. “Much longer.”

This evening the girls arrive with my mother. Norrie and Mary have gone to collect them. Tomorrow we go and see THE house and we have a big, long, French lunch in honour of Norrie and Mary’s 41st wedding anniversary and the fact that my mother has survived for a month with the ferals.

We have lots of plans for our time in the Savoie, including a trip, I hope, to the home of the “mother of the nation” or the equivalent of the queen in the UAE. She summers here (like you do) and my friend is her BF so summers with her. The girls will be most impressed if we get to meet her; I am wondering what the protocol is. Does one curtsy?Do I have to wear a scarf?
Meanwhile the terrace beckons with a view of the lake and the swans gliding around looking serene. Oh and I forgot to say, it even rained earlier – total bliss.

And we have until the 29th of August when we fly home to enjoy it. Did I say 29th, maybe I meant 30th…..could be a good way to extend the holiday.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

I remember being shocked in France when our childminder, among others, would tell the children things that were plainly not true in order to calm them down. So, for example, if I dropped them off before I was due to go off on a trip and they started crying, she would say, “mummy will be back later” which I was plainly not, as later I would be on my way to wherever I was heading.

I would try to explain that it was not strictly true but always felt uncomfortable contradicting her, because she was so much more experienced than I was with children and also totally brilliant. In fact they are going to stay with her on this trip, she has almost become a third grandmother.

Poor Leo has had a similar experience here. He changed summer camps this week as the one at the Shang-ri La finished at the end of July. He has been at his football camp all week. And all week they have been promising him a cup for being the best footballer.

Every day they say the cup is coming tomorrow. Today was the last day and still no cup. He was not amused when Rupert went to collect him.

“They kept saying tomorrow and now it’s today and there’s no cup,” he fumed. “They lied to me. And I was going to give that cup to my son.”

Poor love. He seems to have got over it though and is watching Spiderman 3 as I pack and unpack and pack again. Shoes are a nightmare; how on earth am I supposed to know what shoes I will want to wear ten days from now? I can’t even decide which ones to wear on the flight.

We leave at midnight, I am not sure when I will be online again, so goodbye for now.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009

I was really heartened to read today that there is a beauty contest for victims of landmines called Miss Landmine. Not only does it raise awareness of this dreadful weapon (which costs about $15 but ruins a life in less than a second), but it also means a lot to the women entering it. One woman said she felt she was no longer hiding herself away but was proud to be out there, showing herself off.

Now I read that Cambodia is banning it, calling it an “insult to disabled people”. So what does that make Miss World? An insult to “normal” women? Or women with big breasts and big hair? All this political correctness does my head in. And I don’t think it is particularly constructive any more. If Miss Landmine now doesn’t go ahead then the winner will not get a custom-made prosthetic limb. So who exactly does that help? The PC brigade possibly. But it sure as hell doesn’t help the woman without a leg.

On a lighter note, I went to see our dentist yesterday. He is one of those lovely gentle Indians who talks like he’s in a Merchant Ivory Film. When it was time to X-ray my teeth, he leaned over and asked sotto voce: “Are you in the family way?” I may just be part of the last generation who will know what that means.

On Thursday we head off to France on holiday. I am longing to see the girls, my mother, our friends and to breathe the air. But I am not looking forward to speaking French. I am already rehearsing conversations in my head, and they are not going well.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2009