The House Swap that Never Happened.

If you have spent any time in France—especially in some of the rural areas—you have probably encountered the kind of laid back, quirky approach to life that many of the French seem to have. If not, you can learn about and appreciate that in a wonderful book by Peter Mayle titled A Year in Provence.

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The semi-biographical story was about a husband and wife from London, who had vacationed in France on several occasions and spoke the language “enough to get by”. Quite by accident, they came across a house on a nice piece of property in the Luberon region of Provence and, impulsively, they bought the place. The book is about the assortment of problems and adventures they encountered in the process of renovating and moving into their new home.

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A Year in Provence was published more than 30 years ago and was a runaway best seller. In fact, it set off a virtual land-rush in rural France by upper- and middle-class Brits. The French were not pleased.

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At the time, Peter Mayle was one of the key executives at a major advertising agency in London.  Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the globe, I had partnered with a young art director—I was words; he was pictures—and we had started an advertising agency in Honolulu. In my mind at the time, that was sufficient to rationalize that best-selling-author Peter Mayle and I were colleagues!

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Of course it was an absurd stretch, but I wrote to him in care of his London publisher asking if he would be interested in swapping houses for a month. I wrote of the natural beauty of Hawaii, noting specifically that our house was a short five-minute walk to a beach that was annually rated one of the top ten beaches in the world. 

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In due course, I received a very nice, very thoughtful reply . . . expressing his appreciation for the words of praise I had used to describe his book, graciously acknowledging that we were indeed colleagues in the advertising business, expressing the hope that one day he would indeed be able to visit these islands, and—finally, and most courteously—declining my offer with thanks.

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Peter Mayle died a few days ago. He was 78 . . . and, in my book, a classy guy.