Why I Deactivated My Twitter Account - Breaking Bad

Social media; with the exception of a rare few, who perhaps have been living on an unknown yet Internet free planet, we all know what it is and we all use it on a daily basis. How many of you click on Facebook even before you’ve said good morning to your family? Those little red notifications mean that the things we’ve posted have been read and approved by our peers using the ubiquitous “like” button, or should I say the like, love, ha ha, sad or anger emoticons, which we can now choose from! Thank goodness I have Facebook to define the way I feel.

One of the most well known icons on the planet 

One only has to go any place where there is a social gathering, be it a café, restaurant, airport waiting room or similar and you will be guaranteed to see the same thing. People, dozens of them, all poring over their smart ass phones. There will be little or no conversation, small children will be ignored, and older children who do not yet have a phone or tablet will be running about or finding other ways to draw the attention of their distracted parents. It is a sad scene indicative of the so called evolvement of our society.

Teenagers "socialising"

It would seem we cannot cope for even five minutes without our phones

For those parents who try to moderate or limit their children’s Internet diet, there will be daily battles as they say despairingly to their children, “Will you please put that down while we eat dinner?” The child/teen rolls their eyes and insists that unless they just send this one message to their bestie, then life won’t be worth living.  My recent experience of this was when my 19 year old step-daughter came to stay and asked one night if we could all watch a film. No problem. The film was duly put on and she spent the entire time looking at her phone! When asked “Are you watching this?” we got a detached “Yeah” as she continued scrolling, tapping and generally not watching the asked for film.

An epidemic of tapping and scrolling

Sigh.     

     

My other pet hate on Facebook are what I call the Facebook Police. You know who you are. The people who seem to have way too much time on their hands and who feel the need to comment on everything and everyone’s posts.

Example; someone asked if anyone knew of a Golden Retriever stud dog for her bitch as she wished to breed from her.  Oh. My. God. You would have thought that the poor woman had asked if anyone knew how she could poison her dog without anyone knowing. She was absolutely attacked by the self-righteous brigade who asked questions such as;

How can you breed more dogs when there are so many wanting rescue?

How can you make money out of your pet?

And on and on. While both questions might well be pertinent, it was NOT what the woman asked. She asked for a stud dog and got shot down in flames. She did not ask for a lecture in the morals of dog breeding.

Another example; a woman posted an ad for an antique baby’s crib. It was many years old and a really lovely thing. Here come the Facebook Police to say that a similar crib is less money in Mothercare. What? Who gives a f***? This is an antique, a lovely old thing, which cannot be compared to the piece of modern plywood in Mothercare. The posts continued as other people added their two penny’s worth. Ah yes, noted another nay sayer, my daughter just bought a crib like this off eBay for only 20 pence, or some such stupid comment. Again, no one asked you, keep out of her business, she’s selling a crib not asking for estimates on what it might be worth. Sheesh.

Another main player in social media is Twitter.  

Another well know Icon

Dictionary definition of the word Twitter;

To talk lightly and rapidly, especially of trivial matters; chatter.

Or as someone on Facebook recently said to me;

“A lot of people talking and no one listening”

Never were truer words spoken; thanks Rupert G J

The Twitter site, which started in 2006, allowed people to send messages or Tweets as they are known, of no more than 140 characters. That should have been my first warning as to the dubious usefulness of this social media. I mean really, what can one usefully say in 140 characters?

As an author I had a Twitter account. It was considered essential for furthering awareness of my books. I’ll be honest, I didn’t “get” Twitter but I duly began “Following” people and was very excited to see new people “Follow” me back. However, the excitement was short-lived and after a very short while, I began to wonder about the value of Twitter. It seemed to me that given the very fast turnover of Tweets, I’d need to be sat there 24/7 watching for new ones and re-tweeting or liking them! It was just something else to do. Something else demanding my time and attention and if I was Tweeting, I was not writing books!

Using Twitter to promote books

When I did use Twitter it was usually after I had written a blog or had a book release. I would tag people into Tweets. If they were individuals, I would only tag those I followed and who followed me. If it was a big organisation or group, I would tag them if I followed them, but they didn’t necessarily follow me.  

Obviously there would be a link to the blog or sometimes directly to the book. I mean, that’s what it’s for, right?

Wrong.

My first taste of things to come was in the build up to my most recent novel Caught in Traffick. A harrowing book set in Thailand and following the underground activities of a child trafficking gang. I duly sent my Tweets – which is by the way SO time consuming. I’d literally sit at the laptop for hours sending Tweets to all my contacts, which had now grown to over 1000.

I was pleased to see that someone had sent me a direct response. 

I was less enthusiastic when I read it.

This guy berated me in several Tweets (140 characters was clearly not enough in which to abuse me). He accused me of trying to make money out of the misery of children, of exploiting them. He called down shame upon me and asked others to “name and shame” me. I was absolutely mortified. 

My insides turned to jelly as I contemplated the horror of public humiliation. Would I be held up as a bad example; sacrificed and burned on the fires of social media?

As a child protection social worker who has spent years trying to protect children and fighting for their rights, to have someone accuse me of exploiting them was quite honestly, devastating. I then found that the guy had blocked me, thus preventing me from responding to him. However, I did some digging and found his website. Turns out he was a mercenary living in Thailand, charging people a small fortune to search for their lost children. Talk about hypocrisy!

I also discovered that the main players on Twitter were all after business. They were like a pack of hungry sharks, all sending me never ending Tweets asking if I wanted to sign up with them and have them send 4 Tweets a day or whatever it was, for only $9.99 a month.  Hang on, can’t I send my own Tweets for nothing? Hmm, the point being that they had eleventy million contacts who would all see the Tweet about MY book and of course rush to buy it. Nah, doesn’t work. I tried it and was several hundred dollars the poorer.

The straw that broke the camel’s back came last week. I am a member of a closed Facebook Book Group, which shall be nameless as what happened is no fault of this group. Someone in the group suggested that we all exchange Twitter details so we can support each other. Good idea we all said, let’s do it. And so began a frantic afternoon of adding many more people to my contact list. One of these people was a woman, who I shall not name, though I am sorely tempted to do so. She added me and I added her, I mean that was the idea. She is a book blogger, she has a website dedicated to reviewing other people’s books. An ideal contact.

I had written a blog about how I researched my latest book. The blog was therefore about child trafficking in Thailand and made difficult reading, which naturally, not everyone would find to their taste. However, I duly sent out my Tweets to these new contacts, confident that they at least would re-tweet it and raise the profile.

Sigh.

This woman sent me a sharply worded Tweet in response saying “No thank YOU I do NOT wish to read this”. I stared at it in disbelief. What? I mean, what? Once again, I went to message her back to say I had not intended any offence, only to find I had been blocked. This time, I felt angry, really bloody angry. This woman was one of many who had agreed to share Twitter details so we could be of support. Who blocks a fellow author simply because the blog content is not to her taste?

No my book is not chick lit, no, it’s not it’s not happy ever after, but it’s relevant and current and sticking your head in the sand and pretending it’s not there will not make it go away. Fine, if she didn’t want to read it, just don’t read it. I get it. But to send a rude and churlish response and then block me?

Enough was enough.

On 6^th November this year, after just over 12 months of trying, I deactivated my Twitter account.

I cannot begin to describe the feeling of freedom. Something lifted off me as I realised I would never again have to sit there sending hundreds of Tweets, which would only disappear into the ether.

For me, it feels good, feels right, so maybe I owe that woman my thanks?

Maybe

Watch out Facebook, you might be next.

Freya

Ache Rattle and Roll - Renovations Interrupted

It has been some time since I wrote a blog. This is for a couple of reasons;

One; We have had visitors over the summer for several weeks. This has been wonderful of course, but has led to weight gain, lethargy and general idleness in relation to all things relating to our renovation, here in Brittany.

 Two; I hurt! No wait ............ we both hurt!

A great time with dear friends

The realisation that my body had begun to betray me in the worst possible way kind of kind of crept up on me.

I used to be a very fit person. I left school at 16 years of age and went to work in a racing stables, where their idea of keeping the gals fit for duty, included tying lead weights to your legs and making you run everywhere – I kid you not, they really did that. Never occurred to me to complain!  I used to ride 5 or 6 lots of fizzy racehorses 6 days a week, plus all the mucking out, grooming etc that accompanies caring for horses. My career continued in other yards, as did my fitness.

I had three children and boinged effortlessly back into shape once I went back to the stables and worked it off.  My weight hardly ever crept over the 8 stone 2 mark and I was always a size ten.

The rot began in my mid 30’s when I ceased my outdoor work and went to University (I was a late bloomer) and qualified as a children’s social worker.  Contrary to popular belief, children’s social workers are not out there snatching children day and night – though it WAS part of the job. No, most of the time, you will find us in an office, behind a desk, trying to get to grips with the latest version of the software they have given us. We are the ones peering at the screen, squinting and usually cursing.

As any office based worker will tell you – there is always cake and there are always biscuits in there. It’s kind of an unwritten law. Often, no one knows how they get there – they just manifest on the spare desk in the office and you scoop them deftly up as you pass, saying, “When these are gone I’m not eating any more cakes”. This statement is accompanied by hysterical laughter from your colleagues; at which, you become offended and say, “What? I mean it” knowing full well that you will fail in your resolve the moment the next chocolate brownie appears.

It doesn't help living in France where these delicacies are so yummy

Anyway, that’s when it all began. I gained weight at a horrifying rate. Can I just pause here to ask why I can gain several pounds in less than a week, and yet to lose that same amount of weight it will take me at least a month? Why is that? 

My clothes became tighter, and after making a feeble attempt to chase an errant 14 year old who had escaped from his foster placement, I also realised how unfit I had become. This particular episode ended with me trying to save face and saying, “I’m not chasing you Ryan” (Why are they always called Ryan?) and standing still trying to look professional and not gasp for air, while hoping at the same time that my pelvic floor had held.

I joined several gyms at various times; it always ended badly - with me aching more than ever and feeling an abject failure as I tried in vain to work out surrounded by younger fitter bodies. I also never got to grips with that early morning workout, followed by a shower in an overheated changing room, which left me sweaty, cross and, with all those full length mirrors, more disillusioned that ever!

I then noted a deterioration when I was getting out of bed in a morning. I’m fairly certain that this simple task never used to be accompanied by sound effects! I sounded like my grandmother – a lot of old lady type oohin and ahhing as I straightened up, along with comments as to the current state of my back. Something like this;

Oooh my back’s aching this morning I don’t know what I’ve done. I didn’t really do anything yesterday did I? Why should it ache like this? Ouch that really hurts.

The above statements are made as I make my way to the bathroom, walking in a manner resembling a slightly disabled hermit crab, while emitting more sound effects.

Sigh.

The next thing to betray me were my fingers. Once so nimble, plaiting 2 or 3 horses in less than an hour in readiness for the races, typing quickly, making pastry and much more. Suddenly, they ached. I would wake up in the night flexing both hands open and closed in the vain hope that it would effect a cure.

It didn’t.

Steve was in no better a state. He too has always been fit and well. Ex-military, karate, running, boxing, and building – the man was fit! Suddenly, that had all changed and we would have the most unromantic conversations in the middle of the night which went something like this;

Me; Do your hands ache?

Steve; Yes, they do, both of them actually. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s all that drilling I did the other day – flex flex

Me; Yes, maybe that’s it. I wonder why mine are aching so much – flex flex

Steve; My knee’s hurting too – bend bend

Me; Oh no, really? I thought that was getting a bit better – flex flex

Steve; No, if anything it’s worse – bend, bend, flex flex

You get the picture!

I recalled my mother speaking words of doom as she warned me darkly of things to come, the things I could apparently look forwards to as an “older” person. “You wait till you’ve got all these aches and pains” she would mutter as she walked in a now depressingly familiar crab like manner holding her back. “It comes to us all” she predicted gloomily. 

I refused to admit she was right, and continued in my flexing, oh and the taking of supplements.

This is a new thing, and something I thought was reserved for people who read over 50's magazines and shop at Marks and Spencer’s or Holland and Barrett (ok ok I shop at them both). I began scouring the Internet for answers to the achy finger issue. Ha! Here, this is clearly what we need – Cat’s Claw. Not literally the claw from a cat you understand, but a supplement called Cat’s Claw. I sent for some of course, along with Omega 3 oil and other marvelous little pots of promise.

Steve and I then had slightly different, but no less romantic discussions;

Me; Do your fingers feel any better since we’ve been taking those tablets? Flex flex

Steve (looking thoughtful while flexing) Hmm, not sure, maybe a little

Me; I can’t tell; my fingers still ache

Steve; Mine do too, but maybe we’ve not taken them for long enough – flex flex

Me; Yes, I’m sure you’re right, we’ll have to keep taking them and hope they work – flex flex because my fingers really ache.

And so it goes on. The treacherous aching fingers, the horribly creaky backs, Steve’s knee, which in reality needs surgery, but as our French health cards have yet to materialise, this is a vain hope. With a poignant smile, I recall the days when we could refer to our knees as the left one and the right one, instead of the good knee and the bad knee!

I have also developed problems with my shoulders and arms aching – this is not least due to the fact that our beloved rescue dog Merlin pulls like a steam train on a downhill track. I mutter at him as he propels me along, “No wonder I ache with you wrenching my arms out of their sockets five times a day”. He wags and keeps going, certain that I am enjoying the hunt as much as he is 

Our beautiful Griffon Bleu De Gascogne, Merlin

And so, we press on, Steve with his knee support, me with my huge leather gloves for extra grip on the steam train hound. We take our supplements, we flex and we hope improvement is around the corner.

Steve keeps on going

Some aspects of getting older are no fun at all, but as a dear friend of mine always reminds me, the alternative is not so attractive, so we’ll be grateful for what we do have rather than lament the failure of our once fit and well bodies.

Ah well, I’m sure it’s time I took some tablets

                   ------------------------------------------------------

My latest book Caught in Traffick is now available via Amazon. The book is the sequel to my bestselling debut book, Known to Social Services. Set in Thailand and focusing on the organised crime of child traffickers; Caught in Traffick takes a fictional, yet horrifically realistic glimpse into the dark underworld of the ruthless traffickers.

   ------------------------------------------------------

Merlin the Hound Dog is a short story about our rescue dog, available as a download via Amazon

   ------------------------------------------------------

www.freyabarrington.blogspot.com

www.facebook.com/freyabarrington

Thanks for stopping by

Freya 

New Novel about Child Trafficking Titled "Caught In Traffick" Now Available

I am absolutely THRILLED to announce that my long awaited novel CAUGHT IN TRAFFICK is now available from Amazon and other outlets as a paperback and a download. Please follow the link below;

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Caught-Traffick-Freya-Barrington-ebook/dp/B01L80IVJM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1472539404&sr=8-1&keywords=caught+in+traffick

The sequel to my debut book Known to Social Services, Caught in Traffick picks up the story of Diane Foster; the social worker who was unfairly vilified for the death of a baby on her caseload. Diane is with her partner Ethan Montana in Thailand on a working holiday when they unwittingly become entangled in a complex and ruthless network of organised crime and child trafficking, which stretches from Bangkok to Pattaya.

The terrifying experiences of the children, and those striving to secure their liberty, provides a gripping and startlingly disturbing glimpse into the world of child trafficking.

Thousands of children worldwide are sold, kidnapped or simply given into the harrowing and frightening world of child trafficking, from which few escape. I wrote Caught in Traffick in the hope that the book will raise awareness and perhaps even challenge people’s views on this most heinous issue.

Thank you for the ongoing support.

www.freyabarrington.com

www.freyabarrington.blogspot.com

www.facebook.com/freyabarrington

Twitter: @freyabarrington

Freya

Book Information

In Freya Barrington's previous book, 'Known to Social Services', Freya Barrington gave us a frighteningly realistic insight into the harrowing world of the child protection social worker. Based on her own experiences, the book was a revelation and occupied the number one spot for social work books on Amazon UK within weeks of release and went on to win the autobiography/biography/memoir section of the 2015 London Book Festival and received an Honourable Mention at the 2016 Paris Book Festival. 

'Caught in Traffick' is the sequel to 'Known to Social Services', and continues the story of social worker Diane Foster. Set mainly in Thailand; Diane and her partner Ethan are on a working holiday, blissfully unaware of the dangers lurking against the beautiful backdrop of white beaches and glorious monuments. When four-year-old Darcie Taylor is abducted from a crowded beach, Diane and Ethan find themselves sucked into the horrifying world of child trafficking. When Darcie’s abduction is followed closely by the kidnap of another child, there can be no doubt that a well co-ordinated gang is operating in the area. 

A chance meeting with the Director of Social Services Nicholas Bishop leads to a shocking revelation about the man who is still Diane’s most senior manager. Together, they become embroiled in a dangerous web of subterfuge and corruption, where organised crime syndicates and depraved sex offenders engage in a desperate battle of wits against those dedicated to their downfall. Trapped within this labyrinth of immorality are the children, who are sacrificed on the altar of greed and perversion for financial gain. With the gang’s tentacles reaching across to England, Diane is shocked to find herself faced with some old adversaries. With gripping twists and turns, hair-raising rescue attempts and heart breaking tragedies which leave you in despair; 'Caught in Traffick' will open your eyes to the disturbing underground world of child trafficking.

A Taste of Things to Come; a sneaky peek at the first chapter of my forthcoming novel Caught in Traffick

The time fast approaches for the release of my latest novel, Caught in Traffick. While we wait, I thought you might like to get a taste of what’s to come in this fast moving and gripping story of child trafficking in Thailand. Here is a tiny glimpse into Chapter One.

****

The beach at Jomtien, was crowded with tourists doing what tourists do. They sunbathed, swam, drank cocktails, and played with their children on the fine white sands. Screams and shouts of laughter emanated from the banana boats out on the Gulf of Thailand, filled with willing passengers who had paid for the dubious pleasure of being flung off into the warm blue ocean. A string of ponies, sweated in the hot February sun, carrying their cargo of small, equally hot children. No one paid any attention to the old man in the wheelchair, whose feeble demeanour was a signpost of his advanced years. He was simply an old man of no account who had been pushed into a shady spot by his nurse, to enjoy the warmth of the late morning sun. He wore a large straw hat, which obscured his face. Underneath the hat however, the Old Man’s deep set eyes were keen and searching, and the unsuspecting people on the beach could not have guessed the sinister purpose of his presence. Their indifference would be costly, for the Old Man had played this game many times before and was as sharp as he was cunning. 

The Old Man observed the tableau, which played out before him; with his shrewd eye for detail, he already knew where all the main players were situated. He knew the beach well, and had already committed many details of today’s particular scenario to memory. It was with good reason that the Old Man was known to the people who sought him out, as “The Watcher.”

He watched the fishing boats go by as they made their way back to the fishing ports. He watched the waiters making cocktails behind the gaily decorated bars, he watched two lovers kissing on the white sands, mistaken in the notion that they were hidden from view by the garish umbrellas. He watched the hippie types who still came to the area to smoke a little dope, get high and remember the good old days. He watched the parents; but most of all, as a hawk watches its prey, he watched the children.  His seasoned eye was drawn to one family in particular. Two parents with two young children, a blonde haired girl wearing an eye catching pink and white polka dot swimsuit, and a younger boy. Their father was swimming in the sea, leaving mother tending to both children. The Old Man watched and waited, knowing that the opportunity would arise as it always did. It had been over six months since the Old Man had been out hunting like this, and he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. He had travelled with special purpose from his home in Bangkok, with one thing in mind and now he had it in his sights.

A woman approached from his left hand side; she was a pretty young thing, dressed as a nurse; she attracted as little attention as the Old Man. She said nothing, but bent down to rearrange the blanket over his skinny legs. As she did so, she glanced up at him; “Soon” he whispered in an almost indiscernible voice, “It will be soon, stay close, and be ready.” The woman melted back into the crowds, but her sad eyes stayed constantly on the Old Man. She waited, as he waited; the sweat ran down her back in rivulets betraying the anxiety she felt at her situation.

The minutes ticked by.

Somewhere on the beach, a child cried out in pain. The woman did not turn her head to look; her eyes were fastened on the Old Man, knowing that this could be the moment. The Old Man had heard it of course, but unlike the woman, he fixed his gaze on the unfolding drama on the beach like a hawk on a mouse. The boy had wandered off and fallen; the mother turned, spoke briefly to the girl, and ran to her son. People instinctively turned their heads in the direction of the crying boy, some continued to watch as his mother comforted him, some smiled in sympathy, and no one, but no one had eyes on the girl; no one that is apart from Ruang Sak Yunram. 

****

I hope that has whetted your appetite J

The book is the sequel to my first book Known to Social Services and should be released very soon, possibly before the end of August, but no promises. Caught in Traffick will be available from Amazon as a paperback and a download. It will also be available from certain book stores.

I will of course keep you posted, but you can sign up to follow my blog direct at;

www.freyabarrington.blogspot.com

Or visit my website;

www.freyabarrington.com

Or Facebook

www.facebook.com/freyabarrington

Freya

Easy Like Sunday Morning; a glimpse into one couple's daily life in rural Brittany

Last year, Steve and I spent seven months in the Tarn Et Garonne region of France on a house sit, which confirmed our suspicions – we wanted to remain in France full time. The Dordogne and The Limousin had been our first choices, but a three day stay in Dinan changed all that.

We fell for the charms of Brittany after a visit to Dinan

What's not to like?

We fell in love with the area, viewed a property in the Cote D’Armor region, loved it, put an offer in on it and three months later, had taken possession of it J

Our little piece of France

We have now lived in our small and beautifully tranquil village of 450 people for three and a half months, and it has surpassed all our expectations.  Steve is busy full time on renovating our house, with me as his first mate, labourer, plaster mixer supreme and coffee maker.

I DO work, maybe not as much as Steve, but I try

Oh and when I get the time, I write!  I am sat now at our breakfast bar as I write this blog; out of the window I can see the birds in the garden as they flock to the feeders. The neighbours climbing rose trails lazily over our wall, sharing it's beauty with us. Swallows flit silently in the eggshell blue sky, catching midges on the wing, and once again I count my blessings. 

My regular visitor

I am a member of an ex pats Facebook site for those of us lucky enough to live in Brittany. On occasion, someone from the UK or further afield will ask the question – “We’re thinking of moving to Brittany, can you recommend it?” The question seems to be all the more pressing in light of Brexit. People are worried that things will change, now that the UK have decided to leave the EU, and that maybe they won’t be able to live and work as freely in France. My view is, that people lived and worked in France before the UK was a member of the EU, and will continue to do so regardless of the decision to leave. It is not something I worry about at all.

The questions about a move to Brittany are usually met by an overwhelming barrage of answers, most, if not all of which, say – YES, come and join us here in this beautiful area of France. Come and find out for yourselves what life is like here.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1538666086361820/

Steve and I left the UK in 2010 in a haze of disillusionment and disappointment to live in Gozo. 

Steve by the pool overlooking the sea at our old house in Gozo

It was an absolutely life changing experience. We were there for over five years; we made wonderful lifelong friends there who we miss to this day. We worked on the island as singers, developing a solid following of like-minded people who loved the music and the camaraderie. Unforgettable memories, most of which are recorded in my award winning 2^nd book entitled, Gozo, Is the Grass Greener?

With an honorable mention at the 2015 London Book Festival and a WINNER at the 2016 Paris Book Festival, my autobiographical book about Gozo has proved popular

When we made the decision to live in France, we had many dire warnings of how difficult it would be to settle here. From the nightmare we were promised if we tried to buy a house, to the acres of forms required to open a bank account and register for health care, the nay sayers had something to say on just about every subject possible.

I will admit, there have been some obstacles, but none have been insurmountable. We now have a joint bank account, which yes, DID require a lot of ID and form filling, but it was not impossible. We have house and car insurance here, which was considerably cheaper than in the UK and offered more in the way of benefits.

The process of buying the house was surprisingly straightforward and has been explored in a previous blog.

Buying the house was amazingly hassle free

The health care registration is ongoing, but IS getting sorted, slowly but surely. We have had no problem accessing health care in the meantime – doctors, dentist and a trip to the A&E of the local hospital when Steve managed to prong himself on a sharp tile.  We have found an English speaking vet for our rescue dog Merlin and have so far, been impressed with the care offered, both to us and Merlin J

The one and only Merlin, our rescued Griffon Bleu

The village we live in could be straight out of a novel. Quaint, friendly, and accepting. We know our neighbours and are regulars at the local café/bar for coffee or a Kir cocktail (or 2) J

Our local cafe/bar

The Mairie (local mayor) has been round for coffee and helped us to fill in the forms we needed when we had to get permission to put some new windows in. There is a wonderful boulangerie, just a short stroll from our house, where I can get heavenly fresh bread, mouth-watering patisserie and basic shopping six days a week.  On the way, I might meet 3 or 4 neighbours who are on the same bread buying mission; we exchange a pleasant bonjour and go about our business.

Decisions decisions

This is a rural area, with high levels of agriculture.  Acres of sweet corn rubs shoulders with the fast growing wheat. Hedges grow wild and untamed. Cows regard you with marvelous bovine disinterest as you walk on by, or if they are feeling mischievous they will rush at Merlin in an attempt to scare him and jostle noisily at the fence as they compete for the best position from which to see him. There are peaceful off road walks for me and Merlin; ponds with ragondin (coypu) wild duck, heron, buzzards, deer, foxes, badgers and much more. A short car ride will get you to areas with rivers, forests, lakes, historical buildings and areas of stunning beauty.  

Ragondin with babies

Our village at 6 am




There is space here. We never feel hemmed in or crowded. Even popular beauty spots seem secluded and almost muted in their tranquility. When I walk out in the early morning or late in the evening, the silence is quite literally deafening. 

Just before the sunrise in our village




Most of the people in the village seem to retire early, with shutters down and doors closed by 10pm. No one has music blaring out, no car engines revving, no shouting, just peace.

The beautiful early morning sun breaking through




The weather here suits Steve and I and we seem to have the best of both worlds. At the moment, we are enjoying the beautiful summer weather, with temperatures up in the high 20’s and low 30’s, which is quite hot enough for us. However, mornings still have that coolness, along with low lying mist over the fields. Perfect for walking Merlin and for making the most of the glorious countryside before it gets too hot.

Full moon!





We have not lived here through a winter, so cannot comment from experience. However, I am reliably informed that the winters are mild; frost and snow are rare. You can find out more about the weather in Brittany by following the link below.

http://gitelink.com/brittany/brittany-weather.htm

If it’s an ex pat community you want; you will have no difficulty in finding one in Brittany, though Steve and I prefer the more traditional aspects of life here. There are plenty of local bars with live music and many other social activities. Car boot sales are popular, as are fetes and similar festivities in the local villages.  Contrary to popular belief, the French are NOT ignorant, hostile, rude or awkward. We have found everyone to be pleasant, friendly, helpful and extremely polite. When you walk into a doctor’s surgery, a shop or anywhere really, everyone in the place will say good morning. Steve and I were initially taken aback in the local café when people we had never met would come in and greet us with a hand shake or a double kiss. I recall one lady bringing her five children in. Without a word from her, they all came over to us and shook Steve’s hand and kissed me soundly once on each cheek. Delightful J

There are small traditions here which endure. Each village has its own school; no question of closure, or moving several schools to one bigger school.  Local shops are supported; it would be unthinkable for a village, no matter how small, not to have a boulangerie!

I speak basic French, which is improving all the time. When no one around you speaks English, you learn very quickly. My vocabulary includes a startling variety of DIY and building phrases, such as, “We have some rubble to get rid of” – for the local rubbish tip! If in doubt I point and say, “Un comme ca s’il vous plait” J

Ready for the rubbish tip - again!




We know people who have lived here 20 years, while others, like us, have only been here a few months.  They all say the same – life here is lovely. Of course there are challenges; we are not living in a Disney movie, but there is an ease about living here, a laid back, relaxed vibe, which we soak up like sponges.  

So, if you are contemplating, “Shall we move to Brittany” I can speak from experience and say – do; you won’t regret it. Life is short, it is not a dress rehearsal. A recent study of people at the end of their lives discovered that they did not regret the things they had done, but the things they had NOT done, the risks they did not take and the road not taken.

Anyway, you will have to excuse me, I must go to the boulangerie, where I suspect there is a fresh baked baguette, and perhaps a strawberry tart with my name on it J

Ah yes, that'll do nicely





My new book, Caught in Traffick us due out imminently. It is a sequel to the award winning Known to Social Services. The book is about the harrowing world of child trafficking and is set in Thailand.

It will be available via Amazon in paperback and as a download. I will keep you informed.

Merlin also has his own short story, now available on Amazon, entitled, Merlin, The Hound Dog; Part One, In From The Cold. It is £1.99, a % of which will go to animal charities

Merlin also has his own Facebook page!

www.facebook.com/merlinthehounddog 

For more details about my writing, please visit my website;

www.freyabarrington.com

I will leave you with a few more photos of this most beautiful area.

A bientot J

Freya