Nearly two weeks ago, I told you that Penny and I would be going to go on a lightning trip to France to look at a couple of houses.

The history is that we've been wanting to buy a house in France for years - literally and after the global financial collapse, the change in value of the Euro, life seemed to say that we weren't going to do it. This was after having been to Normandy and Poitou Charente to look at houses and being disappointed at what was really available.

Then recently, we saw a programme on the Mayenne. For those who don't know, this is northern France just below Normandy; a couple of hours drive south from the port at Cherbourg. Prices there seem really quite reasonable and lo and behold, we found several that were not only in budget, but also habitable.

We made enquiries and in a flash, we got a phone call from a woman in a place called Passais La Conception - which is right on the border between Orne in Normandy and the Mayenne - to tell us about a four bedroomed house with an old butcher's shop (which had long since ceased trading) and a self contained flat, separate from the house itself. I couldn't believe the price and if nothing else, there was always a chance that we could supplement the cost of running the house by renting out the flat.

So hence the sudden need to drive all the way down and all the way back in one day.

We saw the place and put in an offer there and then, signing all the paperwork, getting the details for a French bank account sorted. We've been waiting on tenter hooks ever since.

Well, apart from some minor faults, which I can fix at my leisure, the house has passed inspection, the owner has accepted our somewhat daft offer and the sale is actually going through as we speak (in a manner of speaking that is).

Now this is all on the strength of me having this nice, bright, shiny new job. Not because we needed the money to buy the place, but we would need the extra income to decorate and more importantly, visit. It's not cheap getting to and from France by car--even less so by any other method of transport.

Everything seemed to be on the up and up, right?

That's what we thought too and the excitement of being able to have a place in France finally coming to fruition was - and still is - mounting steadily. I'd even told Pen I would be happy to get rid of my convertible and get something a little more practical for ferrying bits and pieces to the house to do up the flat and get it ready for renting out - which as luck would have it, is imminent.

So having been in my job for just one week and two days, the visit to France and its possibilities fresh in my mind, I got in the car at 06:30 last Wednesday morning to begin the 60 mile trip to work only to get no further than half way.

My route through from where I live to work, took me along a notorious stretch of the A303 and as I approached a turn off that led to RNAS Yeovilton, a military base, a chap in a Mazda Bongo (where DO they get these names?) one of those people carriers, decided to nip across my lane from the oncoming traffic flow, crossing my path and leaving me with nowhere to go.

I tried to swerve, standing on my brakes and gritting my teeth, while my knuckles whitened with the tension of the steering wheel, but with no effect - well, not enough to prevent the inevitable.

The impact was guess-timated at around fifty mph (80 kmh) and my car was wrecked, losing most of its front end, while taking off the front of the other driver's vehicle.

Christ it hurt.

The air bags went off causing contusions and bruising to my face and in the moment before impact, I had raised my right arm to protect myself, winding up slamming it against the windscreen. The windscreen broke, leaving me with severe bruising and contusions to my elbow as well as pretty severe bruising from the seat belt on the other side of my body. It may not sound much, but it was enough to keep me off work.

The policeman was surprised to see me get out of the car and walk to the ambulance, but not half as surprised as I was, I can tell you.

I had to wait for the better part of an hour before Pen arrived to get me. I don't think this helped matters, having spent an hour in the cold and wind already, sorting out things with the policeman, ambulance and others, but when I got home, I rang work and told them what had happened. I told them that I probably wouldn't be in for the rest of the week and they seemed quite happy; quite conciliatory in fact.

The weekend came and went, during which, I found getting about much harder than I thought, as it hurt big time to stand up, sit down, laugh, cough, hiccough, go to the toilet, wash, shower and dry off afterwards and don't even get me started on sneezing, which I did quite a lot after inhaling the talcum powder that smothered the air bags.

Sunday, I was told I should stay off work a little longer. It wasn't just the eight hours of work that Pen was worried about, but the three hours or more of driving either side of that. I have the possibility of a hire car, courtesy of my insurance company, so that wouldn't have been a problem and since sleeping has been an issue since the accident, I decided to take her advice.

Work were not impressed, I could tell from the tone of voice of the person I spoke to and later yesterday afternoon, I was told by my agency that I needn't bother going back.

I was devastated and whilst I knew that the accident wasn't my fault - I mean, I wasn't the one crossing lanes to turn off - I am able to claim for pain, suffering and loss of earnings, but I don't know to what degree. Whilst my injuries have not resulted in broken bones or loss of limbs, whatever, I've still sustained a nasty bout of whiplash, lost my car and my job and all that entails.

It was the first job I'd had since September '08 and this was to be me getting my foot back on the career ladder. Now, I not only don't have the job - a job that was supposed to last until mid September and possibly go permanent - I don't have that recent experience everyone thinks is so important either.

We're now beginning to think that this is fate stepping in and telling us that we need to move out to France and live there permanently. Perhaps that's so, but we don't have the house yet. With the way things have been going, I wouldn't like to bet on us getting it either - as hard as that is to swallow.

Still, when all's said and done, I'm alive and just as God damn ugly as I was before.

If the house IS ours and the sale DOES go through, there's every possibility that we're going to bugger off for good, but we'll have to wait and see...

Hugs

Nick