Please let me stay

Just over 12 months ago, Cliona and I sat outside this same pokey little office on the first floor of the Agen prefecture, in the south-west of France.

Then, like now, we waited ... and watched our Moroccan friends climb the stairs clutching their appointment numbers to take a seat and attend to immigration formalities.

We didn't need a number. We just sat outside office #1 and waited.

Cliona, as an Irish/European citizen, was obliged to attend my Carte de Sejours (long-term visa) renewal application because I came into France as her spouse.

In my briefcase, I carried a full dossier of documents, certificates, attestations, translations and photocopies. And a printed receipt for 50 euros of fiscal stamps I had purchased online, the standard cost of these applications.

The appointment was set down for 3.30pm but we weren't seen until 4.20.

Our interviewer was a woman in her late 50's or early 60's, with long, dark hair streaked with grey.  She was the antithesis of the dour French bureaucrat. She wore a constant smile and often broke into a giggle.

She was accompanied by another, slightly younger woman, who appeared to be her superior. She was more serious, but had a kindly demeanour.

So I assumed my interviewer was a trainee.

The first thing she wanted to see was my current Carte de Sejours, which is due to expire next month. I produced it confidently.

The first thing her supervisor wanted to see was my passport, and she asked if I had made photocopies of all the pages with stamps.

Damn. I had copied the main page, but not the pages with stamps. That wasn't on the list of documents to bring. It wasn't a requirement for my initial Carte de Sejours application.

I thought, shit, they've tripped me at the first hurdle.

But the supervisor smiled and said, "I'll do it." She took my passport and left the office.

When she came back, she looked at her watch anxiously and said,  "The prefecture is going to close so you might have to sleep here overnight."

I said, "That's OK, it wouldn't be the first time."

She looked at me with a startled expression for a split second, then realised it was a joke.

But time was against us, so rather than take me through the required paperwork category by category, the supervisor said, "Come on, just give me all your documents."

When she saw the receipt for the 50 euros, she said, "No, we don't take stamps."

Oh great. Mr Fixit, John Dislins, told me this was an essential requirement. He should know, cause he's guided hundreds of expats through the French bureaucratic maze.

In the past, you had to go to a tobacconist or a newsagent to buy these stamps. Not anymore. You can purchase them online.

"What can I do?" I asked, "I've paid online.  Do you take cash?"

"Oh no," she said, "we don't require payment at all."

Then I remembered, my application for my first Carte de Sejours at Agen 12 months ago also was gratuit.

This surprised my friend John Dislins.

Clearly exasperated, he dropped me a line saying how amazed he was that Agen prefecture didn't stick to the rules ... and reminded me that the time I go in there without stamps will be the day they ask for them. How true, how French.

After receiving my récépissé, which gave me temporary residency until June, I had the temerity to ask if my next Carte de Sejours could be for five years.

The supervisor grimaced, "That is not something we can determine, it is up to the powers that be."

"But I've bought a house. And we are in the social security/health system. AND I HAVE A FRENCH DRIVER'S LICENCE!"

"Sorry," she said. "You'll have to wait and see."

Hmm ...I certainly don't want to go through this process every year.

But then again, what had just transpired was relatively quick and easy.

It certainly helps focus the mind when the prefecture is about to close and knock-off time looms.