A house, Le Corbusier claimed, is a machine for living in. If so, most of us have to make do with an old fridge or a clapped-out Vauxhall. We can still fantasise, of course, and once a year we can even upgrade, albeit briefly, to the household equivalent of a Mercedes or flat-screen television. For two weeks, the holiday villa lets you live a dream.
The question is: how do you go about finding your dream? Many people simply start by trying holiday property adverts in newspapers or websites. These certainly offer real bargains, but also some real stinkers.
A few years ago, we used this approach to rent a house, which looked fine from the photographs we were sent, to discover, on arrival, that the place could only be reached by driving along a track that bisected the local rubbish tip and coiled up a cinder-covered hill whose flanks were washed away each time it rained. It was like holidaying in a quarry or the house hold equivalent of a London Underground train.
Today, I only travel with reputable villa specialists. They charge a bit more but you know your property has been inspected and should reach an acceptable standard. Your money, backed by travel-trade groups like AITO and Abta, should also be safe.
Get your brochure early (before Christmas if possible) and check it very carefully as you skip through the photographs of lavish gardens, deep-blue pools and verandas draped with jasmine and bougainvillea. Do not run away with yourself. If you have children, as we do (Anna, 13, Tom, 10, and Olivia, six), you should be prepared to sacrifice rustic charm for straight functionality. Forget the oak beams and walled herb gardens, not to mention the uneven floors and open-sided stairs. And, at the same time, avoid the brand-new, split-level creations of local architects. There is nothing worse than breaking in a young and inexperienced house, as Jerome K. Jerome observed. As to location, only France offers warmth and easy access by car, and I have stuck with it loyally for decades.
For basics, you need a kitchen or lounge that opens straight on to a good-sized patio; a barbecue and, of course, a decent swimming-pool (around 10 metres). Consider a pétanque pitch as a mere optional extra. In addition, try, if you can, to get a kitchen with both a washing-machine and a dishwasher, and train the kids to load (and unload) them. By contrast, satellite TVs have always been a bane wherever we have found them and have never been missed when not included.
Armed with this recipe, you should not go too far wrong, hurricanes permitting.
Certainly, on our last villa holiday, in a restored farmhouse in the Gironde outside Bordeaux, the recipe was a magnificent success. For an entire week, the five of us played in the pool and ate grand, barbecued dinners, travelling no further than the local village, Mirambeau, for provisions. That may seem culturally myopic, but the holiday provided us with precious, exclusive access to our children. As this kind of holiday will eventually lose its appeal for them, such opportunities need to be seized and cherished.
And this raises another issue. We chose to have both pool and house to ourselves. For those with younger children and, possibly late teenagers, such isolation may be a disadvantage. It depends on how well they get on with their own brothers and sisters. Outside interaction may be necessary. Be warned, however. Many a good friendship has been wrecked by incompatibilities that were only revealed after a two-week villa share had begun: smug early risers, compulsive Trivial Pursuit players, Led Zeppelin and Wagner lovers, lousy cooks, and over-zealous house cleaners come to mind. And I have been lucky.
Certainly, I have no regrets about our isolation. Indeed, the splendours of the Gironde would have gone completely unnoticed had our ageing Previa not erupted into a paroxysm of clunking. After contacting our insurance agents (never drive on the Continent without full cover), two mechanics from Gallic central casting arrived, cigarettes dangling from lips, peered into the car's interior, shrugged gloomily, and departed with our precious vehicle, leaving us with a rusty Renault as a temporary substitute.
Two days later, we were forced to drive 12 miles to collect our Previa, its shock- absorbers replaced. It was the first and only time we ventured beyond the local village. The countryside was glorious: rolling, low-browed hills covered with some of the world's greatest vineyards, testimony to Aquitaine's long, hot summers and mild autumns.
We drove on to Blaye, on the banks of the Gironde, bought a few cases of Côtes de Bourg and Haut-Médoc, had some ice-cream in a café, returned to our villa - and stayed there for the rest of the holiday.
Factfile
The McKie family travelled with Vacances en Campagne (Bookings 08700 771771; brochure line 08700 780185). A week's rental of St Bonnet, which sleeps eight, costs from £731-£1,727.
