Last week a Russian woman was so frustrated with the French government for refusing to grant her citizenship that she stormed into the Louvre Museum and hurled a coffee mug straight at the Mona Lisa. Talk about gauche. But decent performance art on her part, I must admit.

I am similarly on the verge of throwing a piece of crockery at the oversized head of one of the officials working at the French consulate. Their general … how shall I say this nicely? “Frenchness” … is getting on my last nerve. I have been attempting to procure a long-stay visa and struggling with the bureaucracy of their convoluted website. The receptionist became so familiar with the sound of my voice that he deemed it appropriate to hang up the phone on me.

I have been instructed to obtain “proof of repatriation insurance” so that in case I die, the flight for my corpse to be sent home will be covered. Finding an excuse to drink red wine and eat baguette everyday for a year is more overwhelming than I had hoped.

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