Pete from Peterborough puts the single market to the test

Date: 04/04/1996

THE single European market walked up the drive and knocked on my front door last week.

“Hello,” it said, resplendent in blue overalls and a hard hat. “Your trees look as if they could do with a bit of a trim. Are you interested?”

I left the single European market on the doorstep while I rushed to fetch my Treaty of Rome as revised, amended and updated by Maastricht.

“If thou art a native of Europe, thou shalt be free to travel and work wherever thou wilt in the European Union, crossing national borders unimpeded to ply thy trade wheresoever thou likest without hindrance,” it said without equivocation.

“Come in,” I said to the single European market, “and have a cup of tea.”

The single European market appears to different people in different forms. To German building site foremen, it appears as scruffy, muscular Geordies who smell of hops and cigarette smoke, can carry 20 breeze-blocks on each forearm and who will work around the clock for the kind of cash the Germans use to blow their noses on.

To me, it appeared as Pete from Peterborough (although naturally I have concealed Pete's true identity and origins because I'm sure that, despite the single European market, some Belgian laws are being broken and I might want to use him again).

“I'm Pete,” said Pete, who is a qualified tree feller. “Thanks for the tea.”

He gulped it down and then asked for two more cups to take to two other tree feller fellas who were still waiting in the van outside, anxious to see if Pete had landed a catch or not.

Pete and his mates had driven from the United Kingdom to Belgium in their English-registered van towing a large tree-munching machine behind them and were simply cruising the streets looking for work. Taking advantage, if you like, of the single European market.

A fixed contract had brought them over to Belgium for a couple of days and after it was over, they thought they would hang about a bit and seek out additional business opportunities.

That's when they saw my lanky silver birches.

“You need to take those down by about a quarter,” explained Pete. “Otherwise they'll come through the roof. Tell you what, you think it over while I take the tea out to my mates. I'll sort you out a price and see what you think.”

Now the fact is that I had been thinking about tree lopping for some time, but had not got around to it. Apart from anything else, it costs an arm and a leg - something around 5,000 Belgian francs a tree, so I'm told. Ten years ago, I had nine trees trimmed for 30,000 Belgian francs and, after that experience, I decided I rather liked them tall and spindly.

But Pete was right. They were so tall and spindly they were leaning precariously, as well as depriving the garden of its share of the Belgian quota of Total Allowable Sunlight (TAS) under the Common Climate Policy (CCP).

Pete offered a price that was, I'm afraid, a fraction of the Belgian going rate, plus - no messing around - he asked if it was alright to start immediately. Like right now, after he had unhitched the tree-shredding machine and backed the van down the drive.

“Right,” I said, “you've got a deal. I'll just go and put the kettle on.”

Twenty-one cups of tea later (we British do love our tea), I have a huge stockpile of chopped silver birch, and a mountain of wood shavings which I apparently leave for a month and then scatter across the flower beds.

And Pete and his mates have cash in hand which they will exchange for pounds at the Belgian border in a particular bureau de change, which, he says, gives the best rate going. And with the exchange rate the way it is, Pete can well afford to undercut local Belgian firms and still make a tidy profit.

However, Pete is not on his way home yet. No sooner had he started the job than a Dutch neighbour just down the road stopped by and watched the work in progress for a minute or two. Then he went up to Pete and asked him to take his van, his mates and his tree-shredding machine round to his place afterwards.

Pete reckoned this happens every time they do a job. With luck, they'll work their way back to the UK via the tree-lined avenues of Belgium and northern France, cutting the foliage back and undercutting the local workforce in the process.

This is truly the single market at its finest, although I'm not sure that this is how it was meant to be.

But Pete has no doubts. He was able to quote accurately from the Commission's advice to workers who are prepared to get on their bikes or, in this case, climb into their vans, and look for a challenge: “You have the right to work as a paid employee in any Union country without going through any formalities. All you need to go to the country in which you wish to work is a valid identity card or passport.”

Pete waved his passport triumphantly, but I pointed out that he was not a paid employee, not as such. Not in the sense the Commission means.

But Pete held up an admonishing hand and read on: “You have the right to carry out a non-salaried economic activity, ie to work as a self-employed person in any Union country, either permanently or temporarily.”

That seemed to cover it. But what about tax? What about social security? Just where does the responsibility rest in a free-moving, border-less Europe of workers working without let or hindrance?

“Look,” said Pete, “do you want these trees lopped or don't you?”

I left him to get on with it, but not before asking Pete if he felt he was the topiary equivalent of a Spanish skipper phut-phutting into another tree feller's waters and catching some of his rivals' branches in his nets.

Pete's words were lost, drowned out by the million-decibel rasp of his chain-saw, but his face spoke volumes. “These are not Belgian trees any more. These are European trees,” said his expression. “We are all in Europe together now. You can't have national trees any more. The notion is alien to the concept of the European single market.”

So we all had another cup of tea and marvelled at the realisation of a European dream.