We actually own an apartment in Nice, bought from the proceeds of selling my house when I moved in with my husband. It is an interesting (polite term) business, buying property in France...

...unlike the UK, both parties - vendor and buyer - are required to turn up at the Notaire's office for the handing over ceremony. You should set aside half a day for this in the normal course of events ('normal' meaning 'if you are French'). In the abnormal course of events (I am abnormal, dear reader), not having French as a first language, the government requires an official translator to be in attendance.

My translator was a jolly chap, intent on lightening the proceedings by telling jokes, showing his amazing mastery of the English language (ha ha ha). Some of these jokes may have been funny (let's give him the benefit of the doubt), but I was multi-tasking at the time - endeavouring to stay awake AND trying to concentrate on what the Notaire was insistent on getting me to nod to - so my funny bone was not that keen on being tickled.

The contract that had to be signed by me (you'll notice my husband had a pressing appointment with his job in the UK at this time) was the thickness of the telephone directory for the whole of the northern hemisphere, and every single word had to be read out in French. And then, due to the presence of an abnormal party (me), it then had to be read out, word by word, in English. Without the jokes. (Difficult one for my translator).

It was a complete revelation, this document, and after the first five hours I could see that it was entirely in my interest that not one, teensy word was missed out.

"Zees bit 'ere means you should not leek ze walls by the windows. Do you agree to undertake not to leek ze walls by the windows, Madame?" (This is true, I had to agree not to lick the walls by the windows - and make absolutely certain that none of my guests would engage in such a delicious activity - before they would let me buy the place).

And then, just when I thought my will to live was rallying slightly, I had to sign, or initial, 12,637 pages - in French AND in English (I have a very nice French initial as it turns out; it's much more chic than my English one).

It is only now that the procedure takes another turn. On the verge of tears, having thought you'd never see your loved ones again, let alone the property you have rashly agreed not to lick the walls of (IT'S MY PROPERTY NOW! IF I WANT TO LICK THE WALLS YOU CAN'T STOP ME! SEE YOU IN THE EUROPEAN COURT OF HUMAN RIGHTS, FRENCHY!) you subsequently shake hands with everyone in the room (76 people), thank the Notaire for taking 8 thousand quid off you, and stagger outside towards the nearest bar, where you down 4 bottles of the local plonk in 25 minutes.

Apartment, what apartment? Hic.