My car broke down - and the reality of life in rural  France hit me hard

My car broke down incredibly slowly. At first, it just gave a polite cough from time to time. In fact, it coughed so seldom that I put it down to old age and did nothing about it. 

Then, gradually, it began making gasping noises. Off I went to the garage, but they didn’t have time to look at it.

The wheezing stopped for a week or two, but was followed by an orange warning light saying the depollution system was faulty. Then the car started going into ‘limp mode’. 

This is when the onboard computer decides that you might damage the engine if you continue driving normally. Back I went to the garage, but they were still busy. All garages in France seem to be permanently busy.

“She won’t do it again,” said the mechanic cheerily. “I bent the thingie back. Make an appointment.” 

I duly made a rendez-vous and drove off. For about three days the car behaved perfectly, but then – boom. 

The engine started shaking and vibrating and the car wouldn’t go faster than 20km/h. I juddered the car home and rang the garage, but obviously they were busy.

I was completely stuck. In the countryside, if your car breaks down you can’t go anywhere. Work, shopping, dates to play pool at the bar, medical appointments, convivial meetings at the club... all off-limits. 

There sat the car, looking sorry for itself, while I phoned every garage within a 20km radius. Every garage was busy and most were too busy to even answer the phone. 

While I was on hold, my eye was caught by an online news item persuading people in the countryside to save the environment by driving less. I nearly bashed in the computer screen. Exactly how?

It brought it home, yet again, that the great and the good in Paris simply haven’t a clue what life is like in the French countryside. 

There’s the PM, Sébastien Lecornu, abolishing chauffeurs for ex-government ministers, and one of them, Daniel Vaillant, ups and complains on RTL that he doesn’t know how he’ll cope.

The poor lamb was France's interior minister from 2000 to 2002, and ever since that date, French taxpayers have been picking up his bill for a chauffeur-driven car. 

“I haven’t driven for 25 years, how am I going to manage?" lamented the Socialist politician, now 76. The words 'shanks' and 'pony' did spring to mind.

In 2024, France spent €1.5million on cars, chauffeurs and secretarial services for ex-ministers, as well as €3million on police protection. 

That's the best part of €5million a year for people who don’t even work in government any more. 

It’s about time this was slashed. Sébastien Lecornu is right to end these privileges, and if Daniel Vaillant doesn’t fancy walking, then he can pay for his own taxis.

Meanwhile, here I am sitting on the phone like a sick parrot trying to find a garage with time to mend my car, so I can restart daily life.