A French cottage, a digger and a missing cedilla Well, J-Y's business card lacked that vital cedilla. Potential clients of "My Cock-up in the Morvan" seemed intrigued rather than deterred. Then we bought a mechanical digger. Maçonnerie du Morvan needed one for its main activities, but could not afford to buy. The local plant hire outfit was hopeless and J-Y suffered endless frustration and loss of earnings. We had a brainwave. We'll buy a digger and you can reimburse us with your labour while we pay for materials. Make sure you square it with le fisc" (like HMRC, but friendlier). For two memorable years we owned a digger, nicknamed (inevitably) Rosy, stabled at J-Y's place and for hire with J-Y as driver. We commandeered half the adjoining woodshed to create a bedroom with a splendid French window (echoes of Gerard Hoffnung's "There is a French widow in every room, affording delightful prospects"), and J-Y hacked tons of stone from the 2ft-thick dividing wall to create a doorway. He worked for us when foul weather prevented the outdoor work that was his bread and butter. He was primarily a builder, but could turn his hand to plumbing; electrics he delegated to his buddy Hans. Progress was slow because, on fine days, J-Y was busy on outdoor work. At 7am on a rainy day, the phone would ring. May we work in the cottage today? He and his sidekick always shared our lunch. I do a nice boeuf bourguignon, but on principle I dished up British grub: cottage pie, toad-in-the-hole (crapaud dans le trou), stew with dumplings or, of course, curry. Our timing was spot on: starter, main course, cheese, dessert and coffee consumed in precisely an hour. Two years passed. The entente remained cordiale. J-Y and his family entertained us at nearby Montreuillon , where J-Y had transformed a row of dilapidated cottages into a spectacular house, a fitting advertisement for Maçonnerie du Morvan - not a connerie in sight... By February 2012, J-Y had paid off his digger and his work was almost done. He and Hans arrived to build two steps up to the French window and put the finishing touches to the electrics. The new lavatory was flushed with pride, the lights were lit and we waved goodbye to J-Y and Hans, with a promise to invite them to the grand opening later. Before advancing age and stiff knees slowed us down, we were all about DIY. This time we decided to PAM (Pay a Man). I buttonholed a neighbour in the supermarket checkout queue and inquired about a spot of painting and decorating. He declined, but the next person in the queue knew a man who could. You don't need the web in the Morvan - you just ask around. Paul had - surprise, surprise - renovated his own house. He made light work of our cottage. Now I had the fun of furnishing my very own life-size dolls" house and equipping it down to the last teaspoon. When friends christened our cottage Le Petit Trianon after Marie Antoinette's playhouse, I had another brainwave. I had no wish to run a commercial gîte. What about encouraging congenial visitors and asking them to donate to our favourite good cause? Combat Stress helps servicemen and women whose wounds are not visible. Donations from UK taxpayers can also attract Gift Aid, which means that HMRC contributes, too. Combat Stress is running The Enemy Within appeal - read about it on www.combatstress.org.uk. So, why not come to Burgundy, with its delectable wines, scenery, châteaux, archaeological treasures - and even the Magny-Cours motor circuit? Email us on rosemary.border@numeo.fr or john.rabson@numeo.fr.