French waiter Guillaume Rey has been sacked from a Vancouver restaurant for (allegedly) being aggressive. His attitude to fellow staff members was apparently intolerable. According to management, he had to go. "Nonsense," said Mr Rey before the subsequent employment tribunal. He wasn't being aggressive. He was simply being French - more specifically, a French waiter. The French catering culture was, he claimed, more direct, honest and professional than the soppy, consensual world of the hospitality trade in the English-speaking spheres. It wasn't his fault that they couldn't cope with his higher standards. I paraphrase, but that's the gist.

And the world stood back, astonished. French waiters rude? Surely not?

Well, actually, no. I'm entirely with Mr Rey. True rudeness in serving circles is occasioned by lack of talent and of consideration. When, for instance, I am handed an unspeakable espresso in a polystyrene cup far too big by a young person filling in time between Instagram sessions and needing a badge on the chest as a reminder of his or her name. This happens almost every time I set foot in Britain.

It's also pretty rude when a tubby serving youth, having been asked for Cumberland sausage, fails to identify it even though it is curled before him on the hot counter, and bears a little sign declaring "Cumberland sausage". The youth, at Luton airport, had to call for help from the kitchen behind. In such circumstances, I fear Mr Rey might have been tempted to impoliteness. Other examples abound, including the fellow in a top-notch northern English restaurant who, on my asking why he didn't smile, leant down and said: "You wouldn't f***ing well smile if you worked here, pal."

The fact is that we, in Britain and our former colonies, don't take waiting seriously. It's what we do before something proper turns up. The French are different. For them, waiting is an honourable profession exacting respect. You can tell from the aprons, waistcoats, bow-ties - and age. These are - often venerable - people convinced that they are furthering the important cause of French gastronomy. They are therefore key constituents of French life, as British waiters are not. They might carry an order of a dozen different drinks in their heads, deliver them all to your terrace table on one tray, hail a passing taxi driver, give directions to Notre Dame - and get your change right, simultaneously. They are busy people doing important work. Naturally, then, they will be irritable when one of their number fails to come up to scratch.

Or when the customer changes the 12-drink order - in English. Imagine trying to change a 12-drink order in a British pub, in French. In truth, I don't have to imagine. In London some time back, I played the part of a French tourist unable to speak English for some hare-brained article or other. On entering a pub in Soho, I ordered: "Un demi-pression, s'il vous plaît." The bar fell silent. People stared. (We were, may I repeat, in Soho, not the Outer Hebrides.) And the barman cried, to acclaim: "Oh no, no, no. We don't do foreign here. You'll have to try harder."

That's not going to happen in Paris. Or Lille. Or Bordeaux. It takes more than a foreign language to break the formal politeness of French waiters - (the rudeness being, of course, on the part of customers who assume that the French serving staff in France will all speak English). The formality of French life - essentially "Bonjour m'sieur-dame" rather than "alright, mate?" - maintains the façade.

But it also requires that you, the customer, reciprocate. If you are rude, disdainful or simply very stupid, all bets are off. Should you treat a policeman, lawyer or hairdresser as an inferior, or a personal servant, you would expect a certain frostiness of reaction. So it is with French waiters and waitresses. You go into a bar crying: "Coupla beers, pal, chardonnay for the ladies and don't spare the peanuts," and you may be in for a long wait. This will be a useful lesson for you. The French waiting profession perpetuates standards to which we should all aspire. Mr Rey - whose case remains pending - is standing up for same in British Columbia. The world will be a slightly poorer place, should he lose.