Back to square one

Back to square one, or Grasse as it is called. Two months ago I queued in the Sous Préfecture in Grasse to try and sort out the mess with my driving licence, rendered useless by the DVLA in Swansea. When my turn came, it all seemed to go smoothly, and my papers (originals of course) were duly stapled together and a temporary permit allowing me to drive in France was issued.

The permit was valid for two months, so yesterday it was a case of waiting behind the yellow taped line on the tiled floor, and listening out for my number to be called. Been there, done that, I felt.

Eventually I was summoned to the counter. After explaining what I needed, the woman looked worried and said that I would have to re-queue to see the chef de service. More anthropology, measuring up the social, racial and morphological mix that is present day France. All quite interesting and friendly really. But things got worse. Half way through my second wait I had to put up - at length - with a loud Swiss woman who, no doubt thinking I was of her same opinion, was making overtly racist comments about the human contents of the waiting room (basically recommending mass deportation of 'foreigners': but what was she? And what was I?).

Hours later, the chef de service came out of his cubby hole, clutching my dossier. It was clear that nothing had been done, and I was back to square one. Still, he renewed my temporary permit. Meanwhile, I cannot drive in the UK. Thankyou DVLA.