“Oh and one more thing. Do you have any information about sending organic meat to France?”
I was on the phone to the Soil Association (SA).
“No, it’s definitely dead.” I said “Yes, and butchered. The same I supply to customers in the UK. You know vac-packed, labelled, insulated boxes, ice packs, pretty paper, recipes…”
“It’s not a great quantity. No. It’s for my son. Yes, he lives in France and he, his future wife and family want my meat.”
Ben and Berengere had asked if it was possible to send my beef and lamb down to them in Marseille. As I was talking to the SA anyway I thought it as good a place as any to start my enquiries.
But unfortunately they had no information on exporting organic meats, only importing. DEFRA, she thought, should be my next port of call.
I called DEFRA. If I want information about FMD/Bluetongue: press 1. Avian flu: press 2. The whole farm approach: press 3. Helpline: press 4. I pressed… another list of options and choices – yes, helpline again: press 9.
A very helpful and efficient person answered. No, they didn’t have any information on the export of organic meat but they could give me the number of the department that did.
Animal Health – yup, if I called them they would have all the answers. I was given the local phone number and a call reference number too. Excellent, I thought.
I phoned Animal Health. Heavens no, they didn’t have any information about exporting meat to France. Yes, they used to but it had all be centralised. Did DEFRA really say they could help? Well, how out of date were they?
I was directed to call the centralised Animal Health Export Centre in Carlisle where they could definitely help me.
I called. Those options again…cats, dogs and ferrets to the EU. Cats, dogs and ferrets not to the EU. Livestock and germplasm (germplasm?). Live animals, dead animals, other animals, meat and dairy…that was it. I pressed.
“I wondered if you could help me with necessary licences and/or regulations needed for the export of a small quantity of organic beef and lamb to my son in France.”
“No, sorry, we don’t deal with exports of meat to the European Union. We only negotiate with third world countries. Actually, in reality, we work with the world. All of it. “
“France? It’s in the world.” I squeak
“No, we have nothing to do with the European Community. You need to talk to the French Embassy.”
“The French Embassy?” I’m amazed.
“Yes, google it.”
“Okaay. Google it?”
“Yes.” She softened and giggled, warming in quite a conspirital way “Actually I go to France quite a bit for my holidays. You can find out all sorts of things from the Embassy site, about where to stay, what to eat and how to drive there. Really good maps and advice too.”
“As well as the export of meat?” I try to bring her back to the point in question.
“Oh yes, I should think so.” She replied, crisp and business like again “It’s them, after all, who look after their borders.”
I said a small thank you and did a search for the French Embassy. Loaded the English version and dialled the helpline number.
The options were spoken in French, which is much prettier, so I listened again, then again, and again…eventually someone picked up – they must have a signal for ‘imbecile-on-line’.
She spoke in French. I asked her politely if she wouldn’t mind talking to me in English as I wasn’t too sure of the correct way to ask about exporting meat. With a very French ‘Pooffe’ and a Gallic shrug reverberating down the phone, she replied in perfect English.
“Export of meat? You’re asking me?”
“Well yes, I was told you may be able to help?”
“No, this is London.” She replied with icy clarity “London. You need the French Department of Agriculture. Possibly the science department.”
“Oh. Could you put me through to them please?”
Without any hesitation the phone was ringing again. Another list of fast spoken options, in French. Ah, but wait…if I didn’t understand, it said in English, hold and I would be answered! A very proficient woman answered and changed to English immediately she heard my voice.
I repeated my question.
“Why are you asking me?”
I gave her a potted history of the last two hours.
“How extraordinary” she said “You don’t need us. I can’t believe this. Someone in your country must know!”
I nodded franticly on the phone. “Yes. Yes. I agree. Completely.”
“Well, it’s very obvious. You need to contact the MLC or Eblex. In England!” she says…from France.
“Oh, that’s great. I’m a member of Eblex. Thank you. Thank you so much.” I gabble.
“No problem. They, of course, will know…and good luck.” she threw at me from across the Channel.
I phoned Eblex (in England). A lovely lady answered. I’d come through to the wrong department. But that was okay. She knew exactly the man I needed, one Jean-Pierre Garnier. She would give me his number, but as he’s very, very busy she’d also give me his email. Any problems I was to get back to her and she’d find someone else to help.
I phoned the number. Jean-Pierre’s PA answered. I asked my question. Jean-Pierre was in Dubai, she said, he’s very, very busy. But she’d see if she could reach him and get back to me as soon as she had. The phone rang within ten minutes.
“I’ve just spoken with him. It’s what I thought, but I just wanted to make quite sure. You see I take meat back home with me to Spain. And yes, it is exactly as I thought…you do nothing.”