Being put out to grass
is a term from the horse racing world; it means that a racehorse is being
retired. I’m neither a racehorse nor retired but I had the dubious pleasure of
having to go to Grasse a few times in the last few months. An hours bus ride through the Provençal hills will take
you to this town, famous for its perfumes and infamous for its Sous Prefecture
that issues the driving licences. (I’m not the only one who has run into
trouble with this institution.)
In August my purse was
stolen. Annoying but bank cards where easily blocked and replaced. More
problematic was the stolen UK driving licence as it can't be issued to a foreign address. After some phone calls and
internet research I put myself out to Grasse in search of a French licence.
Visit one, august: A
very friendly lady assured me I was best to come back on the 15th of
September as they were making changes to the licence and my paperwork would
just be left on a pile in the office until then.
Visit two, September:
A not so friendly lady took great pleasure in tearing up my carefully filled
out forms as they were filled out in blue biro instead of black. She then
pushed all my other papers back over the counter saying I needed a copy of the
police report regarding the stolen purse.
Visit three, Late
September: A friendly gentleman told me the proof of address I provided was now
a week out of date, before pushing the papers back over the counter.
Visit Four, October: Everything
checked and double checked I handed my papers over with trepidation. All seemed
fine until the clerk got to my UK declaration of a clean licence. Some eyebrows
were frowned and managers consulted. Then the whole bunch of papers got pushed back
again with the remark that this was not the right declaration. (Really, I had
seen you 3 times before and now you tell me!) The poor civil servant at the
DVLA suffered the brunt of my frustration as how dare they send me the wrong
declaration. The lady assured me that each local authority in France has
different rules. The UK issues 2 different declarations and soon I would be in possession
of both.
Visit Five, November:
Not without trepidation I handed the pile of papers over to the clerk. I held
my breath as each sheet was scrutinised. She nodded and started tapping away on
her computer, a few minutes later I held a provisional French licence in my
hands. It is silly the things that make us punch the air in triumph, but this
certainly did. Pfew, this racehorse can retire now, at least until the next run
in with officialdom.
