We’ve just resolved this years little run in with the world of French bureaucracy, mostly of my own making, so we are happy.

A few months ago a nice man from the water board came by, smiling and pleasant, and stuck a piece of paper under my nose for me to sign. They wanted permission to lay a new water pipe through our land.

The proposed pipe will run about 500 metres through our land, mostly in fields but for about 30 metres in the middle it passes behind our house – through the garden.

So I ummed and ahhed a bit, talked about damage to roses and trees, received plenty of assurances, then signed the approval. Who wants to hold up progress? Well, Mrs B actually. When I told her what I’d done, her initial expression of panic gave way to a sprint to the phone to undo the terrible harm I had done.

It seemed I’d forgotten the enormous damage done to the garden five years ago – the last time they popped around. They drove an enormous digger around the garden, shortly after heavy rain, and a large part of the garden was turned to a scene from a first world war ‘life in the trenches’ movie. Not one slight effort was made by them to repair the damage done.

But all that was before Mrs B started gardening here, so was less terrible than it might have been. And less terrible than it would now be if the same thing happened again.

This took place about three months ago. It was a bit more complicated retracting permission than expected. Phone calls didn’t work, and emails went unanswered. Eventually Mrs B sent a letter by registered mail, explicitly revoking my permission, claiming I had some kind of mental crisis, and in any case hadn’t understood a word they were talking about, so was not fit to sign the approval. Not very flattering I thought, but it seemed to do the trick.

Yesterday a team of water authority workers, supervisors and negotiators arrived unexpectedly to try and reolve the issue – without our permission they needed to pass around the edge of our boundary, significantly adding to their costs and effort.

Well I’m pleased to report the meeting went very well. The route of the water pipe has been changed to avoid major plants, and they have promised to use the world’s smallest digger to make the trench. They will carefully lift plants, and then replant them afterwards. They recommended we took photos beforehand as evidence, and invited us to a nearby work site to see the fine job they could do.

So now they are happy, Mrs B is almost happy, and I am happy because Mrs B is happy and because my mental crisis has apparently now been forgiven. At least until they arrive on a wet February morning and crush the daffodils.

Why did they ignore our phone calls and emails? They didn’t seem to have a clear explanation. Why did I sign the form in the first place? I don’t seem to have a clear explanation! Nonetheless, proof-positive that if you keep at it, you can resolve issues with French bureacracy. Now, how do I appeal against my Taxe Fonciere bill?