When French children go back to school in September its called ‘La Rentrée’.

In September local authorities give parents of school children around 400€ to help them buy books and rucksacks etc. Some supermarkets help by giving out voucher booklets as well. It must have been my letter that precipitated a ‘Chéquier Rentrée des Classes’ to be posted to us, not the fact that we had a school aged child. There were 20 tear-out vouchers but each one gave a massive, enormous, extremely generous 200 loyalty points. Over the previous 5 years, I had been used to collecting 5 or10 at a time. I could recuperate the 3 year’s of points that had been unjustly reclaimed. I could get gifts from the display case that were more interesting than cheap Chinese umbrellas or a bottle of wine. I had seen exactly what I wanted. Our church had moved to a new building and a small room had been labelled as a ‘Salon de thé’. I was to be responsible for it, but it was just 4 bare walls. I had to beg, steal (not really) or borrow furniture and equipment. The supermarket display case had some individual teapots that stood on their own cup. In France they are called ‘solitaires’. The ‘tasse’ was at the bottom and the ‘théière’ fitted on top.They were plain white, but I had ceramic paints. They retailed for about 10€. However, by spending 2 tokens I would immediately amass 400 points and could claim my FREE teapot or even several FREE teapots.

Time was of the essence. I didn’t want to wait long to redeem them and find that there were no more teapots.To get the first 200 points, I only had to spend 5€ on cartons of juice. The art was to spend not a penny more and not a penny less. By carefully selecting 3 products, I spent 5.19€. On the Saturday I was back, buying toothpaste and bread and now 400 points were on my loyalty card – enough for a teapot. The customer service lady was happy to hand one over. The next Tuesday 2 packets of salted nuts got me another 200 points. But the cashiers were becoming suspicious. I was amassing loads of points for spending only a little. They started scrutinising the vouchers. The small print was examined – my purchases were checked to see if they tallied with the voucher. When I presented one for fruit, I was told it was only for ‘fresh’ fruit and I had selected ‘frozen’. I had had 5 years of dealing with this store. I pointed out that if the cashier read the small print ‘frozen’ was listed.

When I went to claim my second teapot, there was a change of atmosphere. ‘Chilly’ summed it up. ‘The vouchers are in the name of Mr. G and not Mrs J’. I sighed. ‘Do you want me to go home and come back with my husband?’ I asked. They gave in.

Giving away 2 free gifts to the same customer in less than a week had perhaps never been done before. For the third teapot, I was asked for proof of identity, and had to show my passport. Each visit was stressful. My heartbeat would increase as I approached the till, wondering what objection they could try to find this time. Getting teapots made me feel close to a heart attack level. The ladies never warmed to me. I had explained why I wanted the pots and even invited them to come and visit the teashop one day. I was to them perhaps, a foreigner cunningly exploiting the system. They were like Russian boarder guards, trying to find a way of preventing me. It was no skin off their nose if I claimed several teapots. Why did they take it so personally? I found that the teapots were not even very good ones. They were all seconds and sat unevenly in their saucers, so the price to the shop was probably centimes. I persevered though July, August and September until all the vouchers were used. I even asked a friend who had a dog, if I could buy something for him in order to get the last 200 points. The most expensive spend had been 10€ on salted nuts and the least expensive had been 3€ on bread.

One explanation for bad customer service is that jobs are pretty secure in France. Sacking someone can lead to expensive lawsuits. Therefore, why be nice to the customers? In 2012 I read that Charles De Gaule Airport was going to teach staff to be friendlier by starting a ‘Service University’ aimed at training staff to be more responsive to customers’ needs with the aim of improving service quality and customer satisfaction.

By contrast, a friend in the UK was so friendly and welcoming in her job in a cosmetic shop that she was head hunted by the bank next door. She started working as the person who goes up and down the queues of customers advising them that they could use the machines and need not wait in a line. Waiting for 25 minutes was not seen to be the lot of its customers!

Living less than 600 metres from a large hypermarket naturally meant that during our first years in France we did our shopping there. Supermarket shopping is easy when you don’t know much of the language. We were often asked, “Avez-vous une carte de fidélité?” And after a few weeks we filled in our names on a form and got the said loyalty card. In the UK, every pound spent means 1 point on your card. Not so in French supermarkets. Boots The Chemist used to give a massive 4 points for every pound spent. It came as a shock to find that French supermarkets were far from generous. 1 euro 50 centimes might get you 1 point.

We happily shopped there for 2 years before we suddenly realised that all our accumulated points had disappeared. The customer service desk became almost as frequent a stop as the tills. When I asked where all my ponts had gone, I was shown the line of printing near the bottom of each till receipt. ‘ Date de validité des points 31/10/2011‘ – Its the date when all your points disappear if you haven’t used them. I had therefore lost the past two years of saved points!

The next year, I was determined to get something for my loyalty. I had set my heart on a folding umbrella. I was only 10 points short, so I decided to go and spend 10 euros to get my umbrella. To my surprise no points appeared on my till receipt.That was when I learnt that the minimum spend was 15 euros. Determined not to lose my points for a third year, I went again to spend the required 15 euros. Again, no points appeared on my card. “Non, madame , c’est demain.” I understood that the points were stored on their computer system and only appeared the next time a purchase was made. Yet, another trip was needed. Three trips, three transactions to get my last 10 points. All for a flimsy, paper-thin, Made in China, folding umbrella. Was it worth it? But, I had learnt the idiosyncrasies of French loyalty cards.

I don’t know about you, but after 25 years of marriage, our cutlery set still has knives, forks and spoons, but nearly all of the teaspoons have disappeared. So my next year’s aim was to exchange my points for a set of teaspoons. I had passed the display cabinet many times and seen exactly what I wanted – a set of 6 small spoons. By October, I had accumulated all my points and went to claim my free gift. “Désolé, Madame, il n’en reste plus.” I couldn’t believe that my prize was not only out of stock but also that no more could be ordered because it was near the end of the year. The brochure with all the range of gifts was put on the counter for me to look through. I didn’t have small children any more so I didn’t need any of the cuddly toys. I have all the towels and face cloths that I need – I wanted teaspoons! I have wanted teaspoons for a whole year. How could they could they dangle something before my eyes for 12 months only to take it away at the last minute? In the end I accepted a bottle of wine.

Now I shop at the smaller, cheaper German supermarkets. There are no points, no prizes, but at least I don’t feel cheated, exasperated and annoyed after every visit.

To those of you reading this who live outside of France, you will think – what is so special about that? IKEA know that offering free coffee gets people into their building and that studies have shown that they will buy something that they would not have done otherwise. It is a good marketing strategy.

However, when IKEA arrived in Reims it took a long while for the managers to realise that they were a Swedish firm and not a French one. We received their catalogue that clearly said that members of the IKEA family could have a free coffee. At that time there was a nice little coffee bar area selling coffee and cakes next to the cafeteria.

We ordered coffee and were asked for payment. We pointed out that usually it was free. Quite disappointed and feeling wronged, we returned home where I also had a copy of the British catalogue which I started comparing with the French one. Every page had been translated and said exactly the same, including in black and white – that free coffee was offered to family members. The next time we visited, I made sure that we had the catalogue with us. We made a little progress. We got one free cup but had to pay for the second! Our requests for free coffee were obviously causing waves and the manager was getting irritated. He was determined to keep things French – nothing free – it is just not done! A poster had been erected. Coffee free with purchases of more than 65 centimes. We were getting closer to the promised free coffee but there was still a gap to be bridged. We duly bought 2 little cakes to get our morning coffee fix.

At that time they had various offers. Bring in old garden furniture and receive a voucher in exchange. Our garden furniture had been a wedding present from dear Aunt Audrey. It was definitely at the end of its life. As we stood in the queue, the guy in front was getting impatient. He had a trolley load of chairs. Finally, he turned to us and said that he wasn’t waiting any longer, we could redeem his stuff as well if we liked. We did really well and got a 50 euro voucher. We selected a really nice solid reclining wooden garden chair for exactly that price. We had paid nothing. It was free! But coffee was still an issue. This time we had to pay, but could take the receipt down a floor to customer services and queue for a refund. The letter of the law had been obeyed but with enough aggravation to ensure hardly anyone would get their ‘Free’ coffee.

When a quick snack eating area was created near the entrance, free black coffee was offered. It was horribly strong for a cappuccino drinker and required the forethought to take along some milk powder. But it was truly free with no hoops to jump though.

This week we took a friend to IKEA. We arrived at 11am – coffee time. I asked at the quick food bar if we coud have a free coffee. ‘Its no longer here, its upstairs in the restaurant that you have to ask.’ In the restaurant I asked how to get a free coffee. ‘Take a cup and go to the machine’. ‘There are 3 of us’. ‘No problem, take 3 cups,’ as she swiped my Family Card. The machine didn’t just dispense black coffee, but also lattes, cappuccinos and viennois as well!! Wow, France is finally in line with the rest of the world – a free coffee! It makes you feel welcome, a true family member, someone who is encouraged to come whenever the doors are open! France is changing!! I wonder how much my tenacity was part of it. Perhaps you have me to thank for your free coffees (Monday to Fridays) in French IKEAs.

Anyone used to good customer service will, one day, be shocked by the lack of it in France.

When I had a problem with a MacDonald’s order, a young French friend who had worked for the company told me what I should do. ‘Go in and shout at the servers, then they will fetch the manager. Shout at the manager and then you will get what you want.’

Children at the age of two or three have tantrums to try to get what they want, so it came as a shock to hear someone suggesting that I would need to regress considerably to get good customer service in France.

Our first experience of terrible customer service, was when my husband ordered a ‘bombe surprise’ in a Brittany restaurant. The frozen dessert did indeed contain a surprise for embedded into the centre was the end of a blue rubber glove! We called over the waiter and showed it to him. He shrugged his shoulders and after serving several other people, went to have a word with the boss. She too shrugged her shoulders and continued with her work. A while later the waiter came over to tell us the verdict. ‘It wasn’t made by us.’ No attempt to remove it, replace it or even apologise.

If I remember correctly we did get a little recompense – we were not charged for one of the cups of coffee. Starbucks is rapidly expanding though the world. There is now even one in Reims! Their customer care team has said, “We’re in the people business serving coffee, not in the coffee business serving people”. With that motto it’s hardly surprising that they are doing so well.

French people don’t expect to get something for nothing. Years of receiving scratch cards that bluntly say ‘ PERDU’, telephone calls fictictiously saying you have won a prize, heat pumps that are free, etc have hardened them to believe that there is nothing free in life. Arriving, with hope in my heart that entry in a competition was worth a chance, I was met with, ‘Vous croyez en Père Noêl?’ Even after losing several thousands of pounds on a ‘free’ heat pump, my belief had not been entirely quenched.

The newly opened IKEA promised prizes to the first customers of the day. Persuading my husband to leave our bed early on a Saturday morning was the hardest part.. My daughter assured me that IKEA was incredibly generous and gave out vouchers of varying amounts at the door and someone she knew had got £70 worth. Arriving just before opening time, I was second in the queue, behind a man. In fact, I was last in the queue too, as there were only the two of us. The doors opened and the manager gave us both a mug and indicated we should go upstairs to the coffee bar.

That was it! We could have a coffee in the mug that was the prize! No tokens, no vouchers – did they know that in English ‘a mug’ has another meaning?

I was still undaunted when the local municipal magazine promised a bicycle to the winner of a competition that had as its aim to teach us all about every tidy tip and recycling point in the city. There were about 12 questions on the specifics of various ‘déchèteries’ and recycling opportunities. Over the next two or three weeks we visited all the locations mentioned and found the answers to the questions. At each one, I asked, ‘has anyone else asked you this question?’ and the answer was invariably, ‘Non, vous êtes le seul‘. One or two of the places we needed to visit were the other side of the city in the northern suburbs. I became an expert at Google Earth on my computer and by dropping the little man in the location, I found the answers from the comfort of our study. One question asked, ‘which recycling facility was to be found in the carpark at Office World’. Because we lived nearby we knew that there had been a metal container for posting old clothes. But, it was no longer there!! I figured that if I got all the answers right, I must have an good chance of winning as anyone else who was not from Cormontreuil would search in vain.

I hand delivered my entry to the address given. Several weeks later I received a letter to say a bicycle was waiting for me. Always hope, always have faith!!

Recently, I had seen advertised a stack of mugs that sit nicely in a wire holder and only take up the place of one mug. Being in the process of moving and downsizing, I thought this set would take up less space than conventional mugs.

We receive publicity brochures in our letterbox every week and so when I saw a stack of mugs advertised for only 9.99€ . I was tempted. I tore the page out of the brochure. A few days later, I set off down the road and up the hill, brochure page in hand. Drawing close to my destination I realised that the torn out page hadn’t got the name of the shop on it. Was it GiFi or La Foir’Fouille?

I was closest to latter, so I entered and approached the till. ‘Bonjour, excuse me, but is this brochure for you or GiFi?’ ‘It’s us’, said one of the 2 assistants. I explained that I was interested in the stacking mugs. ‘Come this way,’ she said, leading me straight to a tall display unit. Sure enough, there were the items, but high up, way above our heads. ‘Which would you like?’ It turned out that there was a choice between 5 with a geometric black and white design, or 6, each having a different colour. The 6 were more attractive and cheaper!

By then she had clambered on top of packing cases that were in front of the shelves. Reaching up and balancing precariously, she retrieved one of each for me to make my choice. At this point, I was holding onto her leg in case she fell! But, she was soon down on the ground again – perhaps her sport is rock climbing – she was certainly very agile. I returned to the till with my chosen item, having had a personal shopper to guide me straight to the item I wanted and to help me access what would have been impossible. And all with a friendly smile as well.

Every example of bad customer service remains in one’s memory. So, today I will immortalise in writing an example of excellent customer service.

We all need to reduce our energy consumption. What better way than investing in a type of adapter that switches of your TV at night when it’s on standby mode? I saw one advertised in the publicity brochure of a Office Furniture supplier that was just down the road from our house. However, when I got it home and removed it from its plastic wrapping, I could not get it to work. As I am a fierce champion of consumer rights I took the item back to the shop the very next day.

The manager dealt with my complaint. ‘ You have opened the packaging – we can’t put it back on display, so you can’t have your money back’. A less brave person might have caved in and accepted defeat. He obviously had not encountered a Brit who had fought many battles in the past. ‘How could I know that it doesn’t work without opening the sealed package?’ He called for a minion and thrusting the device into his hand, ordered him to go and test it. A few minutes later the young employee returned, ‘It doesn’t work.’ was his brief report.

The manager offered me an ‘Avoir’. This is a slip of paper that credits you with the sum you have paid, obliging a purchase during the next 3 months. I took it reluctantly as I seldom shopped there. That evening, as I mulled over the events of the day, I became even more dissatisfied with this outcome. I could see that flimsy square ticket could easily get lost, or forgotten about, or expire before the date limit. Each of which outcomes would mean the shop had profited at my expense. I did not want to have a bank account at an office supply shop that I seldom used.

I looked on line at the shop’s website. In big letters it proclaimed ‘Satisfait ou Remboursé’ .It didn’t take a degree in French to know that a dissatisfied customer should be offered their money back! I printed out the webpage.

The next day I was back in the shop with my husband in tow, just for moral support – he hates confrontations. I approached the manager, proferred the offending, flimsy ‘Avoir’ and the page from their website – ‘Satisfied or Your Money Back’. It couldn’t be clearer. The bossman looked at the page and said, ‘That’s for internet purchases only.’

I have heard tales from young employees that the only way customers get their money back in some establishments is to scream and shout and create such a scene that the boss man accedes to their demands in order to get rid of them. I had also heard that having a man with you, who could potentially threaten the boss is also seen as a way to get justice.

I don’t know if he thought that my husband might grab him by the collar but, his tone changed. ‘As I am a nice man, this time you can have your money back.’ My ‘Avoir’ was duly exchanged for cash but I left the shop unconvinced that others would benefit from the breech that I had opened for the rights of the consumer!

It was our wedding anniversary this week. Instead of going out for a meal or exchanging presents, I suggested heading off for the day to look at hot air balloons.

Every year there is a festival to the west of us, a two and a half hours drive away. Every year hundreds of ‘montgolfières’, as they are called in French, after their inventors Joseph and Etienne Montgolfière, gather on an aerodrome close to Verdun. The balloons come from 67 different nations and the week long event attracts tens of thousands of visitors.

As we got closer to the airfield, I said that we should play a game to find out who could be the first to spot a balloon in the sky. I had expected to see the sky full of wonderful multicoloured shapes with their small baskets -‘nacelles’ hanging underneath. When my husband had been in hospital it was one of the things that gave him joy when groups of hot-air balloons flew silently over Reims.

Car parking was free, but there were not very many cars, though camper vans were in abundance. We still had not managed to spot a balloon, even though we were now on site.

The airfield hangers had been taken over by various large companies and there were displays as wide ranging as milk production through to a flight simulator. Many children were present as part of their summer holiday play schemes. We watched a Triathlon which consisted of the children riding little bikes though a course, then jumping small obstacles followed by a running event. Children were having fun. Others could have a rugby initiation session.

We still had not seen a hot air balloon. Several light aircraft were landing on the airfield but we were not sure if they were part of the event or whether they were part of the normal daily activities. The sound system was playing mostly Elton John’s hits but gave out no announcements of activities to come.

We learnt that 6.30 in the morning and 6.30 in the evening are the stillest parts of the day and flights usually take off at these times. But surely there would be one or two balloons inflated on the ground and tethered, even if they were not due to fly? It was not a windy day after all! Could it be that a camper van camped for the week was the best way of seeing these illusive objects, as 6.30 in the morning would pose no problem to families sleeping on site? Whereas for us to arrive at 6.30 a.m. would need a pre-dawn depart.

There were rows and rows of Range Rovers with trailers that contained packed away balloons, neatly folded into their baskets, but no magnificent inflated colourful orbs.

Should we have lunch from one of the fast food stands? The same foods seemed to be on sale at all of them, the prices were inflated and the calorie contents were high. We cut our losses and drove home.

We must be among just a few people who have gone to a balloon festival that attracts people from around the world, that boasts 10’s of thousands of participants and who have come away without seeing a single one!

It is hard to believe that we have been here so long. When we arrived there were 2 bakeries, a horse-meat butcher, and a delicatessen that also sold raw meat. Now only one bakery remains.

Our established evening walk is to join the dots between the new buildings under construction in the roads surrounding our habitation.

The first stop is the large house only 2 metres back from a busy main road and bus route. It has been built on what was the front garden of the widow’s home. She used to say ‘I have a – large parcel – ‘grand terrain’ . This turned out to be very true as her house still exists close behind this new build. The first to be altered was her old bungalow . The roof was removed, walls were built higher and dormer windows added to make a two-story building. The garden behind became a newly built creche and the bottom of the garden has a new two-storey large home. Fortunately, her rear garden abutted the end of our road, so these properties are accessible . But it is the closeness of each property to the other that intrigues us. The upstairs windows overlook the gardens of the neighbours. French planning permission allows for garden walls being 2 metres high – but does not give anyone the right to light or a view. Our house overlooks the cemetery. This does not please everybody, but we are increasingly grateful for our dead neighbours as no one can build on the land at the bottom of our garden.

Our next stop is to check on the progress of……. well, we don’t know what it is yet. It started as an enormous hole in the ground, as do most new buildings. It’s on a long piece of garden that was beside the road for several tens of metres. Is it going to be one house? If so it will be big. Is it two houses or more? Several gaps in the brickwork indicate possible entrances. We will have to wait and see how it develops. Again, the proximity to existing houses is chilling. The homes behind this property are exactly like ours. The new house walls rise from the line that was the fence at the bottom of the garden. From having a view, these houses will be only able to see the back walls of these new builds – again – ‘thank- you God for our cemetery!’

Next stop, a block of flats three storeys high, the frontage of which bends in order to follow a slight curve in the road. Not a centimetre of ground has been left off the architects plans. The house beside it has lost its out-buildings where their children’s toys were stored. The block now has inhabitants that look down on the now tiny yard of the house that is dwarfed by it. A neat fence marks the new-build’s limits, but on the old house’s side of it are piles of rubble and roughly cut off out buildings. We assume the owners were promised that their buildings and yard would be put back to being a semblance of neatness. However, we noted with horror that there is now no access to this ugly pile of builder’s rubble except though their house. I can imagine the regular phone calls to the developers asking them to come and sort out this mess which was no doubt agreed when contracts were signed. ‘Thank-you God for our cemetery’.

Around the corner another 3 storey block of flats fills the exact ground plan of a old recently demolished house and garden. This one has strange balconies. They are not in alignment with the front of the building. They are smaller at one end and larger at the other, so the room inside is not rectangular. What a nightmare for trying to fit in furniture! ‘Thank you God for our rectangular rooms.’

This brings us to the subject of balconies. Having watched these buildings being constructed from the digging of the huge hole for the garage, to seeing people moving in, I am deeply concerned about balconies. The problem, in my eyes, is that they are not supported by any substantial brickwork and anyone standing on one is over a void of fresh air. Balconies have become of great concern to me. I note that almost every new flat must have one. Yet, architects delight in suspending them over the heads of other balcony owners and only fixing them to the buildings on one of the 4 sides. My worries are not unsubstantiated. I read about a building firm that had been passed from father to son. The father was a qualified architect, but the son had studied art. The balconies had been made from cast concrete instead of being pre-formed. A group of friends was enjoying a party and several were on the balcony which snapped off killing some of these young people. ‘Thank God for our tiny balcony that is not even one storey from the ground.’

This brings us to the last new build on our circular walk of our neighbourhood. The ground floor has been made into a little tiny shop. The name ‘Proxi Market’ hides the fact that it is a very small outlet for the giant Carrefour chain. Who would have thought 15 years ago that the independent boulangerie and the horse-meat butcher would be replaced by a supermarket selling industrial bread and pre-packed meat.