WHILE I maintain you can obtain good, helpful service in France, there are ex-pats who will tell you that such is not generally the case. I can understand their viewpoint because the French do use the word “Non” without qualification or apology when you are expecting a little more.

It is on such occasions that you wish your knowledge of French extended to being able to point out the basic requirements of business-client relationships.

When we first considered living in France and had bought a terraced house in Limousin with that in mind, it became evident we needed to open a bank account in our local village. Armed with passports, proof of house ownership and bills to prove that we were paying the utilities, we dropped into the local bank and asked if we could open a joint account. The woman behind the counter looked at our passports and papers, collected them up, passed them back and said: “Non.”

We looked at her with amazement, waiting for the qualification, the explanation or suggestion. None was forthcoming. We had never experienced such rudeness and lack of service in our lives.

I was beginning to boil as my brain started to kick into gear and search for words to put this unpleasant person in her place. Sensing this, Ellie asked “why” which prompted the bank employee to inform us we needed to bring proof of our English current account with three months of statements demonstrating that our banking was on-going in the UK.

Ellie repeated the requirements, the woman nodded and with that we left.

Of course, when we finally opened an account and put a few hundred thousand euros in, en route to investing in French insurance, the woman was much friendlier. I must admit, I gave her the basics and nothing more when dealing with her.

She could have said, as you would expect anyone in such a position: “I am sorry. This is insufficient. We need your latest and current bank statements going back three months. Then we will be only too happy to open an account for you.”

She is not alone. I called in at a campsite in Castres when coming back from Spain, as we were looking at property. I asked if we could stay the night. “No” came the reply. As she spoke English, I promptly asked if she could elucidate further and perhaps suggest where a weary traveller could find a camping site. It transpired; she could not. Apparently she was in the camping business and had no idea where there were other campsites.

You can ask someone in the store a question, which you have rehearsed beforehand. “Madame. Do you sell roofing felt for a garden shed?”

Flushed with the success of having mustered a smooth delivery of the necessary French and a passable accent, you find yourself a little surprised when your inquiry is greeted with an unadorned: “No.”

I looked at the woman and asked in French, somewhat aggressively: “Where?” – a retort in this game of monosyllabics, which she had started.

It was her turn to be shocked but she rallied by asking by way of confirmation if I meant where do they sell such items. I nodded and she then named a couple of outlets down the road.

I thanked her.

Of course you can come across those only too happy to explain and even delight in using their English from schooldays in furnishing you with the necessary information. Certainly, in tourist areas, they greet every inquiry with enthusiasm. But despite the welcoming “Bonjour” and their express wish that you have a nice day when the transaction is over, I do find the service aspect a little limited.

Our friends in the village invested 30,000 euros in a swimming pool. Because it was a proper, in the ground pool, there was a lot of red tape to overcome but they made it, ordered the pool and watched it being installed. With that, the pool filters were turned on, the final instalment was paid and the workers departed.

In the late Spring, they turned on the filters but there was no response. They went through the instruction manual to check on all aspects of trouble-shooting. The only area they could not touch was a box on the wall. They had been told not to open it and if they did, all guarantees would be declared void.

Eventually they phoned the swimming pool firm and asked them to come out.

“We are too busy,” they replied.

Can you imagine the gall of it?

Iza can speak French and was able to point out with suitable anger and assertion that they had just paid 30,000 euros the previous autumn for a system that no longer works and she expected them to rectify the failure.

Somewhat brusquely, the next day, the man arrived, who had installed the system, checked the items Isa and John had already run through and then opened the untouchable box. The man then exploded with annoyance, reached for a screwdriver and screwed the terminals tightly against the wires. The connections were loose and the electrical contact was haphazard. He had forgotten to tighten the connections the previous autumn.

With that, he informed them it was working and, without apology, left.

On another occasion, our friends phoned a local concern they had dealt with and asked to speak to Mr Barthez.

You could almost predict the answer. It was: “No.”

Not a “no he is in the loo’ or he is “off ill” or, as it transpired: “He has left the company.”

They left it up to Iza to inquire why she was unable to speak to Mr Barthez and upon then being informed he was no longer there, was able to inquire if anyone else was able to help.

Some would claim it is because of the French employment laws, which basically mean you have to rape the manager’s wife twice, not just once, in order to risk getting the sack. They want to change some aspects of this – hence the rioting and strikes now.

But if you become a permanent member of staff, you just have to go into work, stay clear of the manager’s wife and you are there for life. Small wonder the concept of putting yourself out in the name of service, does not appeal.

Service is not big in France. You would think a firm selling swimming pools, for instance, would suggest a maintenance contract, which would extract more money from the sale, by making annual checks on the pool and filter systems. We could do with that even though our wooden pool only cost £5,000 complete with installation and current control. But then again, the summer is short for the French. Swimming pool business with chemicals etc, begins to crank up in May but two months later, it is August and France all but closes down. Then there is just September. It is hardly worth their effort it seems.