WE have toyed with the idea of buying another car: not a brand new one but new to us. We have a motorhome that is 15 years old and has just 35,000 miles on the clock, and when we first moved to France, we bought a Skoda diesel estate, brand new.

We also have a 19-year-old Honda Civic, which just keeps going. It is due an MOT in August, which it may well fail, but it has served us well.

I take the dogs in it, up into the woods or along to the paths, morning and afternoon, so Ronda the Honda (my wife gives names to everything, it seems) is showing signs of wear both inside and outside. If it fails the bi-annual MOT, that will leave us with ten-year-old Rhoda the Skoda and the sprightly Harvey the RV.

We decided that as two of our vehicles are right-hand drive and we have been driving all over Europe in our English cars and campers for many years before retirement, another right-hand drive vehicle would not be a problem.

The fact is second-hand cars retain their value in France and we know many ex-pats who go back to England to purchase their cars for they are much cheaper. Such is the trend, left-hand drive vehicles have increased in price in the UK, because there is a market for them among ex-pats.

We had not planned to buy a car over Christmas, but my son-in-law Marc dropped in to a VW garage in Towcester one Sunday morning and I found myself impressed by a second-hand 2.0 Golf Match diesel. Marc suggested we return to his house and we could pick up Ellie for her to make a decision.

“It’s a foregone conclusion. She will tell me to buy it.”

How did I know, Marc asked?

“Because you think it is a good deal and because it is red,” I explained.

I wondered what it would be called. The last red car she had was Baton (as in Baton Rouge). This time our new car was to be dubbed Moulin (as in Moulin Rouge). I should have guessed by following the logic.

The car was duly approved, apart from requiring a check on the heating system, and confirmation came through, to Marc’s satisfaction, on December 30. Of course, I had to pay road tax, but otherwise all looked simple.

We telephoned the English-speaking service for our bank in France and were greeted by a message system. We left the message, but no one called back that morning. The bank handles all our insurance but we found their reaction tepid to say the least, after knowing English agents and companies, and the fact they almost bite your hand off to have your custom.

So I contacted a few English insurance companies but none of them were prepared to insure my car because I had a French address. Eventually, we found a company that would insure us travelling back to France – for a total of four days – for £220.

We did contact one French insurance agency, which we had dealt with before, but he seemed at a loss to know how he could insure the car while it was in England.

Eventually, explaining the situation in English, he came up with the theory that in law his hands were tied and he could only insure me third party; not comprehensive.

It was either a lie or a misunderstanding on his part. We had insured Harvey the RV comprehensively when we bought it in England and drove it back to France. There are times such as these when the language is not the only barrier.

We tried phoning our French bank direct but our usual liaison officer was on holiday and the young clerk said he would put us through to someone who could speak English. With that we were re-routed back to the English-speaking service and the message system.

It was somewhat fraught and Ellie suggested, as it was coming up to New Year’s Eve and we were due to fly back on January 3, that perhaps it would be best to leave the insurance until we were back in France.

We were due to return to the UK on January 15; Marc could keep the car at his garage and we would be able to insure it without all the problems that had dogged us all the way.

The bank did get back to us but explained it was very difficult doing it over the phone – they have all our insurance custom so it is not that we are unknown. The succession of faxes, print-outs etc required for this task prompted us to postpone this until we were back in France.

Unfortunately the branch is closed on Mondays, so I phoned the English-speaking service after our return to France and was asked details of our insurance requirements. We were told they would telephone back.

The next day we phoned to say we had not heard anything and it was a matter of some urgency to insure the car, which was currently uninsured and residing in our daughter’s garage in England.

The man would get back to us. He had all the details.

Four hours later, I phoned again and the lady on the other end said I could insure it over the phone. I asked why this had not been said in the first place when we phoned from England and secondly after we had returned from France.

I was told she was sorry but clearly the previous operators were not familiar with the process. She could chase up the insurance agent if I liked. I suggested she did just that.

Two hours later, there was still nothing in the way of a return call. Inertia grips the French bureaucracy, which on most days is about as effective as an elephant trying to work an egg-whisk.

By now, having made some 12 phone calls in an attempt to insure a car, I phoned again and was asked to leave a message on the bank’s English-speaking service, which I did, asking if they really were in the business of providing insurance and if they did not come through within the hour, I would be withdrawing all my insurance business from Credit Agricole.

Clearly the message was picked up, as within 20 minutes there was a knock on the door. Our liaison clerk, Laura, had returned from holiday to the local branch and we explained in French the problems we had experienced.

She took the details, the registration document etc and told us to wait as she returned to the branch just across the road. Within 15 minutes she returned with a quote and insurance options. She assured us that had she not been on leave, she could have insured us fully comprehensive when we phoned from England just before the New Year.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back with the policy document. The car was insured - fully comprehensive. Of course the fact we live within a nine-iron golf shot from the bank, was one of the reasons we enjoyed door-to-door service.

It was a nice, personal service, with the bank official coming to us. It was quaint and went some way to mitigating the chronic inefficiency that we had encountered trying to get the car insured.

Now you might be saying to yourselves: that’s the problem with you living in France. Oh no. Inefficiency is European. Another week I will tell you the difficulties I had in paying for this car from my English bank account at Nat West, Watford.