Memories

[anotherbanana]

Tax neighbour

In my last village my closest neighbour was more than a bit weird, no doubt about it; soon as I got to the village people warned me, not to get too close, not to say too much.

After all, they said, with their eyes narrowing sharply, he's a tax inspector and you never know whether he's not trying to find out if you have got a little bit you haven't declared or if there's been a little noir going on, which is everybodys right in France of course. Well, isn't it?

And the man putting in the double glazing said we could only do the cash-in-hand bit on the other side of the house, where he couldn't see.

Then there were the hints about him being chased out of another village, just down the road, for sticking his nose in where it was not wanted. Hmmmm.

Apparently the local lads turned his car upside for him and then tied his hands and shoved his head through a metal sheep fence so he spent the night there. Oh, they took off his trousers and drawers too.

And then there's his wife who hasn't been seen for years and years, never leaves the house, not even to shop. Not natural said the villagers, lowering their voices. But she is there as the shutters are raised and lowered at the same time every day apparently to keep the sun out, and the outside light goes on five minutes before he comes home every night. And what a time, 1130 every night and it was 1230 on Friday as I just happened to notice. Not nice, elle est sequestrée said one, he makes her, says another; there have been such violent rows that the neighbours have thought of intervening says another, which is just unheard of of course.

I even tried ringing the door bell to let them know there were tiles hanging off the roof after the last big storm, but there was no reply, twice. ‘Nah’, they said, ‘she doesn’t answer the door’.

The one person who is supposed to have met her said that she said that she was very strictly brought up by her father and so didn't like to go out. Which suits my neighbour, say others. It means he can spend his time elsewhere, but where, no one knows.

Maybe with his mother who he adores; I met her once in the local Super U, and she is a delightful old crone of about 85 with one good eye and one tooth which she displays proudly, but she's got all her marbles still that one, that's for sure. Trolley was full too, but only the cheap stuff on special offer. Yet, he is rich, they say, got four properties, even owns his mother's house and could turn her out in a second, so he could afford better than the cheapest. Who paid I ask?

Nah, he's not with his ma in the evenings. With the lads then? Nah, too late, they'll all have gone home to the bosom of, so where does he go, then? Well, you can see what they are really thinking can't you.

Even at weekends he is off like a ferret after a rabbit, except when he is cutting the grass. And no flowers or bushes or pretty stuff in the garden except for twelve (I counted) dahlias in front of the lounge window, and the house getting all tatty too. Looks like someone killed an animal by the front door, judging by the stains on the concrete.

And then there is the story about the bit of land next door, for 30 years non-constructible with a footpath running right through it down to the chateau, and protected of course. Then one day the footpath is deviated at great expense and the land suddenly becomes constructible and is bought by a young couple who immediately start work on the foundations, with a nod and a wink from Monsieur le Maire (Enarque, in office since the beginning of time).

But my neighbour doesn't like it at all, doesn't want it built on anyway, and he has the gendarmes out and the young couple have to stop everything because they don't have planning permission, do they, even though the mayor gave them the ok.

And then he digs a bit further and finds that the mayor did not have the right to make the land constructible at all, acting all by himself as he did, so he slaps him with a civil suit and a criminal prosecution for malfeasance in office, and he does the same to the deputy mayor too. But the mayor then tries to get him sacked from les impots, which is not a good idea, and it's the mayor who has to resign.

Now the land is now non-constuctible again unless it can be linked to a lotissment which it can't unless my neighbour or I give up a strip of our land which neither is gonna do.

And my good neighbour will only withdraw the criminal stuff if the new Mayor, who used to be the deputy will make the land totally non-constructible and put back the footpath where it was.

Which leaves the young couple renting a house and repaying €40000 they borrowed for a piece of land they can't build on. So my neighbour offers them €20000 for the plot to piss them off which they refuse, then he offers them the full price that they paid, and they refuse, just to piss him off.

And there we are, village life in the raw, in rural France, really!

Oh I do love a good bit of gossip!

[idun]

It isn't 'just' gossip, because when we move to such places we usually don't know anyone....... it is educational.

It's wonderful.  I just love to listen and learn and gently ask pertinent questions, and comme ca knowledge is acquired.

Don't get me started about construcable/non constructable land......... bought at agricultural prices and then voila, suddenly worth a fortune. And who is in on these magouille? I know I would never have trusted our local Maitre as far as I could have thrown them.

[Théière]

I thought you were going to burst into song wooly

[Judith-aka-Judith]

And if this were the plot of a novel, they would say it had all been made up and was far, far too far-fetched and couldn't happen!  Love it! 

[idun]

Is it really not like that where you live Judith?

No centuries old feuds? 

[Lori]

I do love reading your stories Wooly.  So much.

We too had stories from our time down South.  And, we were forever hearing about so many other tall stories.

Our neighbors had non constructible plots surrounding our home/lot. They were farmers, so it was classed as agricultural land. And they did continue to farm a portion of it.  They  had managed to convince the town to allow two sections to be plotted off with one going to their daughter (and her family) and the other to Madame's brother. So, those two families built their own homes on the two adjacent plots.

They had already sectioned off and sold the home/plot we bought after Monsieur's parents passed away.  We actually bought it from the person they sold it to after it was legally sectioned off (forget the French term for that).

Then, of course, more family needs arrived and they wanted to renovate a crumbling down portion of Madame and Monsieur's original family home.  They only lived in a small section as the rest was delapidated and falling apart.  Couldn't get planning permits; too many other permits had been granted for the entire property/land.  Caused a huge uproar with the Maire (yes he too had been there for donkeys years).  So, they attempted to do work without permits.  Crazy, but yes, oh so common.

And, of course there is always that one house that manages to get completely built with no permits given and goes into years of court suits before it is finally ordered to be torn down.

[idun]

I am unsure about how agricultural land can be used to build homes for farming families. I do know that one of our local viticulteur/farmer had several houses built on their land for their children. In fact when I think about it, that end of the village was starting to look like it's own little 'village'.[Www]

The parents had had that many kids they gave their last

one to her sister, who had none, but, once adult, the daughter was back and had

her own house built.

One thing for sure, I never heard mumblings or complaints about that, so I take it, it was all done properly.

[Judith-aka-Judith]

[quote user="idun"]

Is it really not like that where you live Judith?

No centuries old feuds? 

[/quote]

Oh, yes, highly likely but I don't get involved enough to know .. it still sounds like the plot of a novel.