'What would you say,' my mother asked casually, 'if I told you we were thinking of moving to France?'

Responses such as, 'But you don't speak French', 'You've never been there before in your life' and 'Are you quite mad?' came to mind, but I held back. After all, they were only thinking about it. I couldn't see them actually doing it.

Just getting them to come up here from Oxford necessitates military-style planning, much consulting of the long-range weather forecast and the pre-booki

Due to my mother's bedding requirements - she travels with her own mattresses (the Princess and the Pea story pales by comparison) - they stay at the same self-catering cottage every time.

My cooking, which is heavy on garlic and onions, gives Mum indigestion, so we invariably have lunch at the on-site carvery.

Spontaneity is not their strong suit. Even after they renewed their passports and went off to the Dordogne in freezing cold January, I still didn't expect them to do more than potter about, drink caf au lait and go to farmers' markets. Imagine my surprise when, the day after their arrival, Dad rang me and burst out, 'We're buying a farmhouse. With two orchards!'

'What's it like inside?' I asked cautiously. He didn't know. 'Have you looked at anything else?' They liked that one. 'I thought you were looking at town properties?' They want to be in the country, even though Mum can't drive and Dad can't walk very far. My husband shook his head wearily. 'Don't they watch Relocation, Relocation?'

I thought I'd fill you in on all this because the Evening Press letters page has had a bit of a debate running in it recently about the advantages and disadvantages of living in France.

According to Mick Snowden, the police are helpful, schoolchildren are well-mannered, buses run on time and everyone's warm and welcoming, whereas Colin Robinson reminded us that only a few months ago an orgy of rioting broke out across much of the country.

For my folks, who, up until recently, had talked about retiring to York, the benefits of moving to France are three-fold. Cheap property prices mean they can sell their own house, buy somewhere decent in France and live out their lives comfortably on the rest, which is not something they could do in York (just named as one of the country's top property hotspots, with prices set to rise by up to 70 per cent over the next five years).

Then there's the not inconsiderable advantage (especially when you're in your mid-70s, as they are) that the French health service is far superior to our own ailing NHS. In Oxford, the primary care trust is struggling as badly as it is here in York. Given that York and Selby have a £24 million debt to make up over the next year, it's hardly a lure for a couple of pensioners requiring medical treatment, not to mention peace of mind.

Thirdly, the parents say the pace of life is slower. I assumed it was pretty slow in the Cotswold village they live in at the moment - it's so twee around there that when the daughter and I visited over half term, she asked why the houses all looked liked the ones in the Viking village - but apparently not. Having to fight for a parking space in Waitrose has pushed Dad to the limit. If he had to park in York he'd be a nervous wreck.

I still say it's a bit extreme to decamp to rural France for a parking space - the Dordogne in August gets pretty packed, too - but they're not to be dissuaded. This has caused a certain amount of chuntering, not to say division, within family ranks, with questions being raised about our inheritance (forget it), the grandchildren (they can visit) and The Future (if Dad goes first, Mum's hoping for a Maurice Chevalier-style replacement).

I haven't even mentioned Avian Flu - they're in the middle of Fois Gras country and the geese are getting not just fat, but vaccinated - because I know it won't change their minds. The two of them are as happy and excited as a couple of kids; moving to France has given them a whole new lease of life and I haven't seen them this energised for years.

I'm looking on the bright side: those Fun French classes the daughter has just started taking will come in very handy, holidays are taken care of (if I can persuade the husband to overcome his Francophobia) and I might even be able to escape there for a writer's retreat.

Then there's fruit-picking in the orchards, truffle-hunting in the woods, acres of space for the children to explore (why it's just like the Petit Filous advert!) and someone can teach me how to play with my Tesco boules set properly. All that and wild boar in the garden.

Now that's another thing you don't get in York. Thankfully.

Updated: 16:15 Friday, March 03, 2006