Our new builder was Ricky – a swarthy, moustachioed Scouser whose torso was a pattern book for tattoo art. We promised him two days’ work a week, agreed an hourly rate and confirmed that we would provide the materials.

We had already become close friends with his parents – Margaret and Ted – who admitted that just about their only preparation for coming to France was to watch a few episodes of ‘A Place in the Sun’ on television. They did, however, have the advantage of having an immensely resourceful son.

It may be they could have succeeded anyway as their attitude is entirely positive. But we have also witnessed disasters, which invariably begin with a rose tinted view of life in France.

I think there is a connection to the phenomenon that UK marketing men call ‘nouveau rustique’ I understand that this refers to the kind of British family who quit the city in search of a chocolate box, sweet-smelling, machinery-free countryside. The move is often born from a messianic commitment to a safer environment (and better schools for their children), clean country air and communion with nature. In order to achieve this dream, they immediately push into spheres of influence such as the parish council, the WI, and the steering committee for the Village Green Preservation Society.

This dream may have some credence in the Cotswolds but rural France is different. French villages with tea rooms, scented candle gifts shops, and post offices selling booklets of local farm walks do not exist and the French are less than delighted when outsiders move in and try to take over local institutions. Indeed the British start with a disadvantage – they are foreigners, they do not understand the French way of life, and by creating enclaves they may be pushing up local property values beyond the means of the French locals. At least that is the perception.

To make things worse we have also seen British insensitivity at its worst. It may be based on ignorance or a lack of respect, or it may imply a lack of preparation and an unwillingness, or even an inability, to integrate. In the end it is usually something apparently trivial which sparks the Briton into putting up the ‘for sale’ sign. We know of one classic case where a tap started leaking and the property owner had neither the ability to either deal with it personally or to communicate the problem to a French plumber. If you feel like a stranger in a foreign land you will always be so; it is both an attitude and a state of mind.

As we had found out, there is also the steep learning curve of unscrupulous estate agents, dodgy builders and so on. And, looking back, we had probably made another potentially fatal mistake. Viewing property in the spring is much less sensible than looking at the middle of winter. Oddly enough French estate agencies don’t tell you that anywhere within the pull of the Massif Centrale – and all our target area qualified – can be bitterly cold for a few weeks each winter. Temperatures can easily fall to minus 16 degrees at night, but that is not the full story. Your insurance does not cover an unoccupied property where the pipes freeze, and there can even be a clause which insists, that in certain conditions, you should drain all water flow systems – including the toilet.

Meeting Ricky for the first time was a touch disconcerting. His sunny smile is the perfect adjunct to his tightly cropped hair, tattoos and pierced ears. At first the signals were mixed – I suppose we did not know what to expect. As it turned out Ricky is one of the nicest people you could meet and, better still, he proved to be an honest, reliable and intelligent builder. The slightly surprising thing was he had not come to France to follow this vocation, his ambition was to start a specialist art business.

On his 40th birthday Ricky bought himself a Harley Davison and hired the local salle de fête for the evening. There was music, dancing, lots to eat, and rather too much to drink. The highlight of the evening was hearing the roar of the Harley as he rode it, out of the October darkness, right into the salle de fete.

At first people did not know how to react. Then it was the Mayor, Monsieur Cabacou, who led the applause.

Early in the New Year my son, Simon, had sent out a digibox, LNB and satellite dish. The system had waited patiently in boxes for a little TV electrical know-how. It took Ricky just a couple of hours to install it.

The Free Sat package included all the UK mainstream terrestrials. Basically we got the BBC and ITV output plus Sky News and a dozen or so channels of dross which compete for unwatchability. If pushed, my vote for the very worst would go to the Lunn Poly channel. Beyond this you need a UK address for subscription services. Once we began to get notices that ITV transmissions would end I contacted Simon again. He sent out a new Free Sat card which cost a one-off £27 and it seems to have done the trick. The bonus is access to UK radio stations. There is something quite blissful about putting your feet up in the French winter sunshine and listening to road reports – particularly when the M25 is hit by the first flurries of snow. One trick is to output the satellite signal through a hi-fi system so you don’t have to turn your TV monitor on. Better still, if you have a home cinema system with wireless speakers, you can carry Terry Wogan and Alan Green out into the garden with you.

Ricky’s next job was to help me finish the kitchen, which meant levelling off the floor, plastering the walls, panelling the back wall, putting in a cupboard for electrics and then assembling the flat pack units.

It was surprising how quickly all this was achieved. Working alongside someone who turns up on time and gets on with the job, was strangely energising.

The floor was up to four centimetres out in the worst places, so we put down self levelling compound. It was easy to use, we just poured it out and went away to let it settle. Job done.

Ricky and I plastered the kitchen using a method different from the one I had learnt from Kevin. Standard French plâtre (plaster) comes in two grades – 3,000 and 2,000 and he used the latter on our walls.

Like mixing most plasters, the water goes in first, then you need an electric drill with a twirler on the end – like a food mixer. You mix to a consistency where you can hold the bucket upside down and the plaster does not fall out. Then you simply float it onto the wall like porridge. Better still, you can even come back next day to get rid of marks and runs. You just damp the surface down with a spray and rework. The same method is also good for filling.

We also worked on the other jobs together, but I left Ricky to build the kitchen units. In his previous UK incarnation he had worked as manager for a company making doors and windows. This was his métier.

The fashion in French kitchens has moved from completely fitted to a more free-standing look which is, at least partly, because of the possible build up of damp at the back of fitted units.

It is often claimed that local joiners can do a better and cheaper job than building a flat pack. That may well be true, but the problem is finding the joiner who is better and cheaper. Getting the attention of a real craftsman, who comes personally recommended is not easy. We had tried a couple; they came, saw, promised to give a detailed quote, and then disappeared from public view as completely as Lord Lucan. This had persuaded us to take the flat pack route. We had bought ours in England because we had heard that French units, and therefore worktops, were lower than English ones. Our one worry was that there would be something missing and our units were probably deleted stock by now and, even if it was possible, the thought of getting something sent out by an English supplier was pretty daunting.

That aside, fitting a kitchen is, relatively, one of the easier DIY jobs. One of the important things is not to make the units too airtight. If the walls on which they are mounted cannot breathe, the damp can set in very quickly. And when chipboard starts to swell and sag the only remedy is a bonfire. It is also worth remembering that French water systems are under constant mains pressure, although a pressure reduction valve is sometimes fitted near the water meter. The point is that one careless hammer blow can turn the kitchen floor into a lagoon and when it is a nice new kitchen floor, this is best avoided.

As Ricky built the units, I took out the fireplace which had been the seat of the celebrated fire which occurred when the Germans left. This left a gaping hole approximately two metres by three which I filled with concrete blocks. In the UK these appear to be used mainly as internal wall materials, while in France they normally use traditional bricks in the north and concrete blocks in the south. As we lived pretty much in the centre I felt I could make an executive decision.

The blocks usually come in three sizes; all are 50 centimetres long and 20 centimetres wide with depths of 10, 15, or 20 centimetres. The rough rule of thumb is the higher the wall the thicker the block. For the fireplace I decided the 10 centimetre size would do.

I used two spirit levels, one 60 cm long and one a metre and a half. The short one I used to keep the present block level and the longer one to make sure the rows were level vertically and horizontally. I checked diagonally across the rows as well. I know from bitter experience that, once out of true, it is difficult to put things right again. To make sure, I only did two rows at a time.

Working on the fireplace I used a mortar mix of four sand to one of cement which I mixed initially on a large piece of wood, then added the water a little at a time. After a couple of mixes I knew how much water to put in the bucket and then, following the dry mix, I sloshed in most of the water immediately. This is hard work. When I need a larger quantity of mortar I mix in the wheelbarrow. For really big jobs, a concrete mixer is the best preventative of backache.

The gap that had once been the fireplace was something of a pyramid shape. After the first two rows, I had to cut the blocks at either end with a diamond disc angle grinder to make them fit.

There are some great deals on tools in France. In Entrechoux an Outiror van comes round once a month or so. We get a flyer through the letter box telling us where and when, and it pays to get there early. The Outiror – which is about the size of a mobile library – is a magnet to DIY aficionados. I have seen them huddling in groups in a winter storm waiting for the van to arrive.

Outiror sell an amazing range of DIY goods, gardening, and household items. All the items are reasonably priced, while some are unbelievably cheap. I bought a holdall containing three different sized angle grinders plus 10 different discs for less than £20. There is a quality issue: what is good enough for an amateur like me would be no good for a professional builder. I’ll use an angle grinder once every couple of months, but a builder might use it every day. My bargain is the builder’s cash down the drain.

Outiror also give some amazing offers to regular customers. You do not have to buy to claim them and they will post them out to you. Astonishing.