Monday morning rolled around the same way it had done for the last 30 years. Shower, breakfast and work…same old same old. Who the hell would be crazy enough to rock what had been a comfortable existence all to indulge a crazy whim. A mild panic threatened to escalate into full blown panic as I rolled out of bed wishing I did not have to consider selling of our home. Maybe the decision would be taken out of my hands. How come you can really get excited about something and then when you almost have it in your grasp want to drop the idea and run as fast and far as you can. And then at the same time not get too excited at the prospect of the dream being fulfilled, just in case it fizzled.

Needless to day Vince went to work with a smile on his dial, but a frown on his crown. He now had an incredibly significant decision to make. What sort of financial offer should he make? He called me at about 10.30 a.m. to make absolutely sure that I was still up for the challenge. After about 10 minutes of aimless chatter it began to dawn on me that this was becoming a serious reality.

Vince called throughout the day to update me on the developments. When he arrived home that evening, we poured a stiff drink, and discussed the state of our project. Vince had a bundle of faxed information, re the farm including the income/expenditure statement, the produce, the acreage under development, the asset value including the implements etc. So much to learn as a greenhorn. To say that it was intimidating was an understatement! Bloody hell, buying a residential property was so much easier!

I think if I had known how challenging the seller’s wife would be, perhaps I would have been a lot more assertive in my dealings with her. Our original offer was rejected immediately. We knew we had gone in a bit too low, but felt a cheeky offer would test the water. We had our answer! So the negotiations began…. and continued for two months, during which time we also had to list our home for sale. That in itself could take up an entire book ... what a revolting experience! The offers and negotiations were wearing both sides down. The wife wouldn’t budge. Frustrations set in. We had made a decision and there was no turning back!

Not only was the purchase proving to be exasperating but we too now had to sell our home. We agreed that the best way to market our home economically would be to get three of the best agents in.

Oh my! Talk about bullshit…we had to deal with “sole Agents”…Show House Sundays….one agent defaming the other….it was a proverbial pain in the ass. I took on the selling of our home. Vince and I would make the final decision together, but I would handle all the initial dealings.

Our visits to the farm were becoming antagonistic from both sides. It was fast becoming a roller coaster of mistrust, and questioning of greed…this, the lady of the house had this in abundance!

We finally managed to agree on a fair amount excluding any livestock, but including implements. Now the date of occupation was the next nightmare. The seller’s wife insisted that we only take our rightful ownership on the 15 January, and we insisted on the 15 December. She insisted that all monies were to be in place on that date…or no moving in. That was one fire we needed to extinguish. The inferno was lurking around the corner.

We were buying a working farm, implying that the farm continue on its normal course. Now, Madam, suggested that as they had prepared the fruit trees, namely the apricots, for the year, and they were due to be harvested at the end of November that the entire crop would be for their coffers. We agreed. The vineyards, would be ours to harvest and the farm manager would continue to prepare and nurture them until we took over. We would pay a farm manager’s fee to ensure this was completed thoroughly. That all fell apart, once we moved onto the property. The “J” Factor as I named her, made a royal appearance, and presented us with a ridiculous bill for the previous months ‘costs’, which she charged at an hourly rate for the tractors and equipment that we had already purchased! Talk about greed…this Mama certainly had it in profusion!!

The ‘bill’ was outrageous. I withdrew from the meeting choosing to take a long walk down the road, seething at her audacity. Before I left the room, I let her know in my best Afrikaans that I would never invite her to tea, nor greet her in town! I stood up, glared at her, and spitting the words out through clenched teeth…said ‘’Gulsigheid is ‘n sonde’….. (translated…Greed is a sin….)…there was utter silence in the room. Vince said nothing, her husband was mute, and I left…incensed.

Vince told her in no uncertain terms that we would happily cancel the transaction. Sensing that nothing was about to change for the better, her husband stepped in and stopped the discussion. They left shortly thereafter.

Of course a legal letter arrived stating her claim but was soon dismissed and settled by the only lawyer in town. That was the last of her …but not her husband!!!

As for the sale of our home, there was laughter, tears but most of all excitement and apprehension at our new adventure.

We sold our home within two months, with us taking occupation on the 15 January to satisfy madam at the farm and planned, our final Christmas at home with the girls… before our new adventure commenced.

Packing up after 18 years in one home was exhausting. Finalizing telephone accounts electricity, and taking care of all the other little took a lot of time and patience!

The drive to the farm in the rain was bitter sweet. I had driven up in the jeep with Kai, as well as my cat Cleo and assorted personals. Vince had opted to drive the Alfa Spider….and Dayle the Merc. The bakkie was still in use in Cape Town , and would follow at a later stage.

Aggravation soon reared its head. We all arrived sans a piped band welcoming us onto Buitensorg, without the furniture truck…it had gotten lost. To add to the frustration, there was no stuffing cell phone signal. So we had to drive around to find a signal so we could make a call to the driver and guide him to our farm. It took two hours for them to make an appearance.

In the meantime, my nemesis made his appearance. The previous owner with his bloody Jack Russell, that chased my cat, caused mayhem with the delivering of the furniture, and finally left a fabulous stream on my Persian carpet…I was furious. The man had no respect! We were moving in, shouting directions with him passing comment on our possessions! It was raining, and the movers obviously needed the bathroom, and made use of the one in the passage….using the newsprint as loo paper…which I now know is the worst paper to put in the loo, as we have a septic tank. The city slickers assumed their waste would be flushed away smoothly and left the toilet door ajar. I went to close the door, and open the window, so we could all breathe reasonably, and to my horror noticed the entire contents had been forced to the top! It had wedged itself, and could not be flushed!

Screaming in disgust at the perpetrator, I suggested he remove the mess, sort out the bowl and keep flushing until evidence of his lavatory visit was a thing of the past. Toilet blockages would continue to be a bone of contention throughout our entire farm life.

An hour later, with my drunken assistants in the kitchen unpacking the kitchenware, clanging and banging their way through my crockery I’d had enough. I sent them packing. Nobody mentioned that weekends are the worst for the staff, they are all totally inebriated. Lesson number two . NEVER ask for staff help over a weekend, male or female!

Within an hour, on our very first day, I received a call from a neighbour. One of the cows on our farm had blown up after eating lucern. This happens if the cow has not eaten sufficiently before she goes into the field of lucern, gorges herself and the gasses cause her to literally blow –up! If the cow is still alive the only way to save her is to pierce her belly at a certain point to allow the gases to escape. We of course had no idea of any of this, at the time, and were only advised once the poor thing had died. The fences were obviously at fault as she was able to access the cultivated land. This call was followed by a call for my best kitchen knife to chop this poor cow up, and spread the good fortune amongst themselves. I complied hoping for a quick and comfortable severing of the beast. I should have known better. Steven came back to the farmhouse about an hour later with a severed thumb. He had apparently slipped while cutting up the carcass. He would be unable to work for almost two weeks after surgery on his hand. And this was our garden man and general labourer. I had so much to learn. All the staff were drunk as skunks and my kitchen stunk of old wine for hours after their being there. Never again!

The original owner left reluctantly with his shitting dog…. down the dusty confines of the gravel road and we subsided onto the closest chairs with a glass of wine! Two exhausting days. First packing the house in Cape Town and then unpacking the following day….it was really all too much.