What appears to be a picturesque chateau-like abode on the crest of a sun-dappled Provencal hill, surrounded by ancient vineyards and olive groves, with potted geraniums on flagstone patios, is in fact the festering focal point of a centuries-old family feud, with the vendor's close relatives still neighbours. Their accumulated venom will presently be visited upon any interlopers stupid enough to think they can assume proprietary ownership merely by handing over an eye-watering amount of money and signing a worthless notarised title deed.
Should the new occupants manage to survive the regular ambuscades of psychotic second cousin Armande and his ancient fowling piece, and find time enough to investigate more closely the extent of renovations needed, they soon discover certain causes for concern.
Firstly, the fresh coat of varnish on all the major beams was conveniently disguising endemic dry rot and a healthy colony of particularly virulent woodworm. These major timbers, as well as most of the minor ones, will all need replacing. Secondly, that the deep, ancient foundations are steadily sinking, inadvertently positioned as they were above a sub-aquifer of the spring that was the main reason for siting the chateau there in the first place. The entire house will therefore have to deconstructed and moved at least 50m.
Speaking of the spring, the sole source of water, it now appears that its previously pristine waters have been poisoned -- probably by vindictive third cousin Renato. All water will henceforth have to be piped in from a valley 3km west, assuming necessary consents can be obtained.
Speaking of consents, on approaching the local authorities for planning permission to effect the improvements, many months' prevarications soon make it apparent that nothing will ever happen until the palms of every minor and major official up to, and including, the mayor have been crossed with sufficient francs to ensure long and prosperous retirements for every last mother of them.
And speaking of improvements, the one local tradesman able to be engaged -- a plumber, to unblock the only toilet -- on receipt of his stonking compulsory advance payment in full, suddenly remembers that he and his family have a six-month prior booking for a condo on the Costa Brava.
No surprise this particular publication has remained in the best-seller lists for so long, saving as it has untold calamity, deep trauma, and absolute fortunes.
Other hits in my extensive oeuvre include:
How To Decide Not to Invest in a Mongolian Goldmine With a Company Registered in Panama;
How To Decide Not to Buy a House in Auckland;
How To Decide Not to Have Lip, Breast and Buttock Augmentation, With Sundry Naff Tattoos;
How To Decide Not to Don a Batwing Suit and Attempt to Fly Through a Small Hole in a High Crag:
and ...
How To Decide Not to Paddle the Length of the Amazon Blindfolded in a Corrugated Iron Kayak.
Orders by appointment, accompanied by hard cash only.
