The French love their paperwork. They have tonnes of it. They keep every bit of paper sent to them for ever. When my ex needed to produce 10 years’ worth of wage slips to qualify for a training scheme – no problem. Here they are.

I once had my ID card stolen, and needed to replace it. My local Mairie doubted that they knew how to do this so sent me to The Expert at the Prefecture in Nimes.

This Expert gave me a list of all the documents I needed, which it took me three months to assemble. Stuff like, a copy of your birth certificate but the copy has to be less than three months old. Nothing too easy.

I took all my papers to The Expert and he examined them one by one, ticking them off on the list he himself had given me. Then he said, “All you have to do now is take them to your Mairie and get them to post them to me.”

I was a little nonplussed. “They need to stamp them?”

“No.”

“They need to do something to them? Verify them?”

“No. Just post them to me.”

“But,” I said, “you already have them. In your hands right now.”

At this point The Expert dropped my bundle onto his desk and pushed them towards me. “Ah yes, but I do not have the right to accept them in person, only via the postal system.”

I understood even then, over 20 years ago, that if I’d left my documents there they’d still be on his desk to this day, unmoved. Like him.

So I took them to my village Mairie who understood the problem immediately, put the documents into a large envelope and posted them to Nimes. I got my ID card a few weeks later.

Tell this story to English people and they’ll shriek with incredulity.

Tell it to a French person and they’ll nod sagely, then come back with their own story of bureaucratic stupidity. Like a colleague who got a new ID card after her divorce and the person making it accidentally put down her date of birth as the date the card was being issued. Nothing for it, just start all over again – otherwise you’re not even 18 years old and can’t drink any more in bars. Or drive. Or do anything without the permission of your parents – who are both dead.

Or back to one of the times I got married, my passport called me ‘Chris Ward’ and my birth certificate ‘Christopher Ward’. Clearly, said the secretary of the Mairie where we planned to marry, clearly these are two different people. Go away and try again.

And go away and try again we did – I got a new passport.

Today I’ve exchanged half a dozen e-mails with one of the schools where I work, trying to get my bill right.

Things I got wrong include, but are not limited to:

  • The dates – the period is not from 1 January to 31 January but 3 January to 31 January;

  • The amount of the bill: the € symbol should come after the amount, not before it.

  • The date of the bill: This should be updated each time I send and resend and re-effin’ send the bill to the current date.

  • The reference number: Should not be all in caps but as in the original contract.

  • The file name should reflect the date the bill is sent, updated as above.

    All this is on an Excel file that the person concerned could easily change themselves, but OH NO, eff you stupid English person this way I get 5 days work not 1 per week.

    And, after bitter experience, I know that there is absolutely no point in my pointing out the bleeding obvious, you just have to do what they want to do and that’s all there is to it.

Jeez.