A little knowledge

And it was all going so well. Having spent what seemed like an eternity finding your rural idyll (or barely standing and borderline habitable wreck, depending on your point of view) and with keys now in hand, you're desperate to start work on it. You've sketched out plans, your local building equipe is ready to go (bank holidays, ponts and other half finished jobs notwithstanding) and, of a late Autumn morning, work starts. By the time the sun has burned through the Gauloise infused mist, half the roof has disappeared, and by lunchtime the frames for the new skylights are already in place. Happy with progress, you wave a cheery farewell and start the long drive home.

The glow of wellbeing at your organisational genius lasts until teatime, when the phone rings. Philippe (builder, boules champion and part time philosopher) advises you that the mayor has just paid a visit to see what's going on (in retrospect, hardly surprising as the farm is only two fields away from the mairie), and has politely enquired as to the lack of permission to put the new windows in. That no one mentioned this was necessary is irrelevant, and already you can picture the painfully expensive consequences. Bugger.

By chance you have the mayor's mobile number, and with fingers crossed and breath held, dial it. His unexpectedly charming wife answers, and as she chuckles at your faux pas, reassures you that you're not the first to fall foul of the loi and her hubby's somewhat diligent adherence to it. A meeting is arranged for the following day and, following a largely sleepless night, you head back to the crime scene.

By the time you arrive, monsieur le mayor – who turns out to be Philippe's second cousin – is already there, and greets you with a smile. And things improve further still as he enthuses about both the farm being brought back to life and your young family becoming part of the commune (and in a stroke reducing the average age of its population by about 20 years). A long diatribe about the stupidity of the planning system follows, along with the handing over of a sheaf of forms – all of which he printed out and completed on your behalf the previous evening. So no fine, no inquisition, a surprising new ally - and an unofficial ok for the gang to crack on. Just discreetly, s'il te plait.