The French are legendary for their bureaucracy, and they are proud of it. Questioned about it, they will slyly deny it but with that look in their eye like a cheeky child who took a cookie without asking. It’s a national institution and, in a wholly un-metaphorical way, it is one that employs vast numbers of the country’s population. While the Brits have the NHS bogging down their national expenditure with 2.5% of the people in the UK employed there, and the Americans their enormous military budget, the French spend all their cash on fonctionnaires.

There are 6 million of them employed in France, that’s the population of greater London, and in 2005 they accounted for 44% of government spending. There are forms, regulations and procedures for everything, and the letter must be followed. It’s amazing that anything gets done, to be honest, but at the same time you know nothing will be left out. Having waded through the forms, photocopying, queueing, signatures, payments and photocopying, there’s photocopying. Regardless of the importance of your task to you, it makes no difference once it crosses into the French authorities – all are equal in France; in birth and intent.

I found recently that you could post your application for many things in to the authorities (often the local prefecture), and this is how I applied for my driving license here. A week passed before I received anything – it was the large A4 envelope that I had addressed and stamped for them (as requested). Within it was a small note that simply said “You can collect your license. Please bring proof of identity”. On the back of the card was the address to the local prefecture.

I couldn’t describe the pain that this caused me. I had experienced the prefecture once before, when first registering my car, and I had intended never to go there again. Last time I had queued behind 500 people, having arrived at 8.30 AM, and finally walked out at 2PM with my carte grise (a note binding me to my car). I dutily went to the prefecture, earlier this time and with a flask, and then queued until the doors opened. I was 15th in line for my driving license, and there were already 270 waiting for their cartes grises and other documents.

I got through the queues and to the booth for my license. I was handed a piece of card with a stamp badly stuck to it. Confused, I asked what it was and was told it was a present (this was the fourth word she had used that I finally understood) as I had attached one too many stamps to my envelope.

You see, this whole story is about this stamp. In a process that took weeks, required me to take a morning off work and photocopy a great many documents, and then to sign a great deal more, the process this lady followed even refunded me if I attached too many stamps to an envelope that wasn’t even required. The whole system is set up to ensure absolute and unwavering fairness and consistency, as this is the framework that the French have built for themselves since the revolution.

While the Brits are proud of their very excellent NHS, the French have a quietly perfect system. They do not mention it or boast about it because the whole world would turn up asking for a piece of it. Each individual is given a social security number and an associated social security card. The card works like a government credit card, only valid in medical institutes and only with the approval of a doctor. It works like this: you visit your preferred, approved doctor and pay them with the card. They refer you to whatever treatment and drugs you need. You go to whoever you feel provides the best service and get the treatment/drugs from them. You pay them with the card.

It allows for complete medical security, complete fairness and best of all, the survival of the fittest style competition only found in the commercial world. The government sets approved rates for treatment and so all doctors and dentists work to a predictable and comprehensible framework. They are incentivised to compete, be good, be professional, be friendly, be convenient. They manage themselves and those who don’t go out of business. It is a fantastic system, with a few minor drawbacks: everyone who comes to France as a foreigner must have either a European health insurance card, have a government agreement in place to provide like-for-like cover, or have private medical insurance. Secondly, no supermarkets can sell drugs unless they allow for an on-site pharmacy.

But for who it matters to, it works very well.

These paperwork regulations also extend into house rentals, protecting the renter and lender fully if the process is followed and paperwork provided. It covers employment, childcare, insurance, food, the sale of goods…. the list is endless, but it never fails to protect both parties equally and fully. All people do tax returns every year, and are invoiced at the end of the year for a bill that citizens in many other countries never see. This ensures that no assumptions are made about a persons situation. At all. It provides complete clarity to the government about your tax, and also to you. (It also means that everyone is fully aware that from January to March they are working for free, but after that it’s all theirs!)

But it is complex. Put it this way, I have scanned over 60 pages so far this morning, and I am less than a third of the way down my 2009 income tax return checklist. PWC in the UK wanted basically a signature and a signed sheet excusing them of any responsibility of actually making my return accurate. The French checklist started with “All previous payslips for this year and the last”, wonder through “passport”, “working contract” and “housing allowances” before getting to “quantity of baguettes bought per week” and “shoe size”.

There is a tool sent to me so that the process is “simplified” for me. The checklist is automatically generated at the end of the form-filling…. Get that, the checklist itself is so complex they felt the need to automate it. What does that say about the rest of the return?

What’s more, the “simplification” means that I am asked questions like “How much did you spend on chocolate last year?”, and then “Please indicate if you are covered under the thirteenth treaty of the 1943 agreement, part 9, article 17, page 439, paragraph 6. If so, you are not eligible for tax reductions on doggy snacks.”.

It is endlessly deep, asking about foreign money earned, the sort of house I own, my dependents, everything. At the end of it all, there is a final statement “If your total calculated tax sum is more than 50% of your earnings this year, then remember to deduct the difference”.

Finally something simple.