THERE are signs - faint but there - that the Brits are tentatively returning to the housing market here.

It's been a long, long time since we've seen the little hire cars or the UK number-plated saloons, pulled up outside the immobiliers.

A long time since the cafes had their lunchtime share of comfortably dressed, G&T sipping couples, heads bowed over the photocopied single pages that substitute for brochures.

Actually the Lavit estate agent shut up shop long ago, as did the cafe opposite, so whiling away an hour or two on a hot day is no longer an option for any of us.

In most of the other towns and villages, the "to let" or "for sale" signs in the once prosperous immobiliers are as yellowing as the remaining sad little ads, the prices crossed off downwards as the months went by. Hard times indeed when they can't even off-load their own properties.

Those who remain have houses that

I know have been in the window for three or even four years now. Many are quite exquisite; sensitively renovated, beamed and honey-stoned realities of the French fantasy. The ones I know are selling for way, way below the original purchase price and the money poured into them over the years. Yet some have not had even one visit in two years. Others are lucky to have had a couple in dribs and drabs. The very, very lucky have been made an offer, but an offer cutting 40 per cent off the already pared back price. As most are expats returning to an overheated market, they simply cannot afford such a hit.

But now there's a whisper of hope rippling around the vendors and the odd report from agents and lawyers nationwide shows the tiniest of rises in interest. Various reasons are given, and then almost immediately discounted, as to why these increasingly rare and timid birds are returning. Some say it's the last wave of escapees before the coming UK general election; others, that the release of pension money with the new rules makes buying a second house possible; others still, that a deep discontentment with a perceived collapse of society's infrastructure is driving them out.

I think it is more visceral than all the above. There is a draw to France - an underlying longing. Financial crisis, pound/euro shifts, and political climate impinge only so far. I see it in the eyes of my summer visitors, in their little sighs and excited disbelief at the price of what's on offer. For most, it will remain a pipe dream, something to mull over in this most miserable of months.

The French lifestyle magazines geared to prospective emigrants are slipped in between the holiday brochures and endless repeats of those home-in-the-sun programmes are watched with a new intensity. We all need something to daydream about. And then life continues as normal.

But for those serious about changing their lives, would you permit me to give a little advice, or rather a few thoughts to ponder? I think I've earned the stripes.

So, think of the worse-case scenario and then ask yourself: Can I deal with this in

a foreign culture, a foreign language, possibly alone, possibly without savings

and almost certainly without family or friends within reach?

Because in the end that's what it comes down to. Sure, merde happens everywhere, but when it happens in words we know and within a familiar framework, we don't have to discover the processes to ease or sort it.

France is not UK sous le soleil. In truth it is as foreign as any country not embraced by the so-called European family. And as different as every one that is.

Most of you come here as a couple. Retired. You sell the family home and create a house and garden you see filled summer long with children and grandchildren. You calculate your fixed income from pensions and perhaps investments and then the markets start throwing hard balls.

The grandchildren grow bored with always having to come here and then, quite simply, grow up. One of you falters and fails. At least it's in a country with superb health care but the other can't understand what the consultant is saying and fear shuts down awareness of the little they do.

And then, inevitably given the age profile of most who come here, one of you dies. It's time to go back but you can't sell and this is where I began. Bleak, huh? Yes and no. This is how it will pan out wherever we are - home or abroad.

My final advice? If this hasn't put you off, then learn the language, meet the people, understand the culture, be fascinated not frightened by our differences, be grateful for the knowledge and help of other expats and keep looking outwards and expanding.

Above all, don't look back. There is no home to go back to. Life there has gone on without you and all has changed.

And if you can accept that and imagine

a summer of shimmering heat and an

often blissful playing out of the end times

- go for it.