One of the things that everyone and his mother knows is that French people love to have affairs. Absolutely love it, like elephants-love-cream-buns love it. This is not news. But when you come and live in France, you learn that there is something else that French people love even more than having sex with someone they’re not married to. That thing is  bureaucracy.

J’adore le filling in of multiple forms in papier, not online, in government buildings that close at lunchtime!

Mmm, sexy times indeed.

You may not know about this peculiar French pecadillo but you learn about it fast when you get here because there’s another thing that French people love: complaining about bureaucracy.

I feel like we’re learning a lot about what French people love, so let’s just list them quickly:

1. Bureaucracy
2. Moaning about bureaucracy
3. Extra-marital affairs
4. Picard

(That last one is just common sense.)

I sense your impatience. You clicked on a post with a titillating title and now you’re reading about French administration. What I’m getting at is that while we may think of them of wine-guzzling adulterers whose hobbies are strikes and cheese, the French see themselves as rational beings who value reason and order above all else. Laïcité, the much-vaunted separation of state and religion, is the ultimate expression of these values.

All this was a surprise for me. I had imagined French people to be more easy-osy than we uptight Brits but, in many ways, I have found the opposite to be true.

Take mealtimes as an example. Where Britain can be compared to an all day, all-you-can-eat buffet-style restaurant, France is more like a hotel with set hours for meals and woe betides hungry guest who attempt ot transgress them. The best example of this is how “le goûter”, or afternoon tea, is also known as “le quatre heure” because it is eaten at 4 o’clock AND 4 O’CLOCK ONLY BY JIMMINY. 

It’s not that much of a surprise, then, that this adherence to the clock carries over into other aspects of French life, including the most intimate part of all. Yes, it’s time to talk about sex o’clock.

The French, in their wisdom, have a set time when married people can meet their lovers. It’s from 5-to-7 o’clock – in case you want to set your alarm – and is known as “le cinq à sept”. The reason this time has been assigned is that it’s the period of time between finishing work and going home for dinner. Two hours of liberty in a life of responsibility.

You can’t argue with the choice of hour. It makes sense – a time when you could easily say that you’ll be late home because you’re having a drink with colleagues or going to the gym.  (Indeed, in French-speaking Quebec, saying that you’re having a “cinq à sept heure” means meeting friends for a post-work drink; in France, the same sentence would be met with sniggers.) So top marks, France, on your excellent planning.

So ingrained in French culture is the 5 à 7, that putting the phrase into a search engine brings up a string of hotels offering their service for “day use” rooms. And not just seedy establishments where you’d be afraid of  catching an STD on the bedspread, but even regular tourist hotels. Dayuse.fr is a site that allows customers to book 3 to 5-star hotels online, then pay in cash on arrival. No credit card trail, you see? Then there are the hotels actively pursue amorous 5 à 7 clients. The Love Hotel in Paris offers themed rooms in two central locations, available to rent by the day, the afternoon, or the hour. Their Metro room with its murale of commuters peering in through  the metro window is undoubtedly my favourite. 

What are we prudish Anglo-Saxons to make of all this? A couple of things spring to mind. Firstly, it’s all very tidy. Clearly there are advantages to an organised life, but isn’t setting a specific time of the day for an illicit activity the very antithesis of  what an affair is all about? Surely the thrill of such a relationship is in escaping a routine, not subsuming it to that same daily grind. “My goodness, it’s quarter-to-five, nearly time to shag Aurélie, but mustn’t forget to buy a baguette on my way home afterwards.”  Then again, perhaps the very routine of it is a way of easing guilt; a separation of emotions and functions, a kind of laïcité of love. 

My other thought was that there is something very old fashioned about all this. A man (because, let’s face it, this is all about men) finishing work in his office,  having a quickie with his mistress, then returning to the little lady at home making dinner and looking after the kids. It’s all very Don Draper.

And it seems that I’m not alone in thinking this way.  Though the expression cinq à sept is well known, it is less likely to be used by younger French people. With the popularity of dating apps specialising in extra-marital affairs, there are more opportunities to meet partners and arrange hook-ups outwith a regular routine OR SO I’M TOLD. 

Today’s working world isn’t a great wingman when it comes to aiding and abetting in affairs. Though contrary to popular belief – at least outside of France – the French are working longer hours than ever with executives, the very Don Draper types who would enjoy this kind of arrangement, often pressurised into working the longest of all. Finish work at 5 pm – are you Dolly Parton? With that kind of luxury, who would even need to have an affair? Your life is already amazing. Add the high cost of city-centre living pushing people further out into the suburbs with longer commute times and who even has time for a 5 à 7?

The crushing advent of Covid has led to a revolution in home-working in a France that is otherwise slow to adapt modern working practices. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that, during lockdown at least, French men and women may be forced into having sex with their – gasp! – spouses between the hours of five and seven.

At the time of writing, the whole of France is under a 6 pm curfew. I checked my declaration and “le cinq à sept” is not a valid excuse for being out of doors.