RAGE part 2

So we couldn't get out of the sale, is the short version of the story.
Due to the aforementioned principle that the sale is done and dusted at the time, not even of the compromis, but when the offer is accepted, Mr D the seller was understandably NOT going to let us back out, especially as the upstairs neighbours had now revealed themselves to be Difficult. Our lawyer attempted some round-about way of getting us out of it, our notary was a complete spanner (no, spanners are useful. He was as useful as the new metro line 6 - makes sense in theory, but in fact doesn't help anyone, at all), and after a fair amount of trying to negotiate with the bastard balcony builders, we found ourselves trapped.
Ah yes, because our big mistake was attending a meeting in early October to try and deal with the balcony building bastards in an amicable and civil manner. This apparently sealed our fate. By trying to find a solution, we'd inadvertently given some sort of implied consent to the sale (like one implies consent to molestation by wearing a short skirt?).
So, 300 euros down the drain, a bollocking by phone from severe french lawyer lady (resulting in a hysterical crying and throwing things fit in my office one lonely day in autumn 2009), we found ourselves stuck with the flat and stuck with the neighbours.
While we were trying to manoeuvre out of the contract, the urbanisme had sent round their minion to take a look at the fantastical construction out of the back of our house. I was not present for the visit, but I can imagine there was much tut tutting and head shaking, and pursing of lips. Minion beetled back to the town hall, and issued a Procès Verbal against Mr A for his shenanigans.
Well we might as well have barged into the flat wearing crusader armour and planted the flag of St George in the middle of his beautifully renewed floor. Since that moment relations have just plummeted further, and every time we imagine things will improve they get worse!
I cannot really do justice to the insanity of things, I don't even know which strand to start posting about as it is all so damn messy.
Shortly after the visit of Mr Urbanisme to our house, I decided to take matters in hand and hold a meeting. At this point there was still some confusion as our paperwork stated the ground floor neighbour was the syndic, but nobody else's did. He just happened to be doing the syndic's role as he was the first to buy. Either way, someone was going to have to get things rolling and of course, that person was me.
I couldn't call it a General Assembly of Co-owners, as the Assemblée had not yet been properly constituted (round and round we go!), so I called it a sort-of-AG and left it at that. There were lots of things to discuss:
1. Mr A's balcony
2. Renovation of the electrics for the shared spaces
3. Modifying existing pipework: the front rain-water pipe runs into the house and down the middle, and the waste water for the top floor flat evacs into it. This is illegal, as Ms B kept pointing out.
4. New pipework for everyone's services
And other matters deemed of EXTREME importance to some (Ms B) such as the ground floor neighbour's bicycle being stored in the hallway and blocking access to the cellar. Oh yes.
We met on a Saturday morning. Mr A didn't come, he sent Ms B. Ms B is a neat and sophisticated looking Spanish woman in her 40s. She has a face like sour milk and the body of a teenage boy. She has a Southern French accent and an abrasive manner, once she starts talking she will not shut up. Her verbal attacks remind me of being pecked in the head by a chisel. She avoids obscenities, yet manages to be both rude and aggressive nonetheless. She is incapable of structuring any kind of argument, and speaks in riddles and clever quips that leave everyone else unable to either understand what the hell she is banging on about, or do anything about it. Ms B thinks I am stupid, and she thinks the syndic is evil. She hates X&Y, the top floor owners, as they have accomplished what Mr A hasn't been able to: Moving In Despite the Chaos.
But I digress. Ms B is a liability, not least to Mr A who she is claiming to represent.
At our Sort-of-AG, we couldn't get anywhere, Ms B flatly refusing to address the balcony and instead turning things around by complaining about the syndic's bicycle and beer crates in the hall. We barely touched the problems of renovating the shared spaces and water and gas pipes. The meeting was a nonsense, the syndic had no official authority, we weren't officially owners and Ms B clearly impossible to deal with.
Ms B turned nastier, firing off emails to us all, garbled essays with complaints, threats and accusations: Mr A was unable to complete his renovations, and this was all somehow our fault. With hindsight (ah...hindsight), we should have cut the crap right there, signed our completion of sale and taken the buggers to court. I tried to get a little more assertive, but the other owners (syndic and X&Y) preferred a softer approach. Understandable - they already lived in the house and couldn't escape if Mr A and Ms B decided to become crazier (they did anyway).
Ms B was not interested in the wrongs committed by her companion, she wanted us to focus on what was preventing Mr A from moving in.
Indeed, Mr A had the bright idea of ripping out the interior of the flat he bought, and moving his kitchen to the front of the house. We also had this bright idea until we realised there was nowhere to run the waste water from. Mr A was not to be hindered by this...according to Ms B, where Mr A's kitchen waste water facilites run are our responsibility too.
To this day, I have no idea if we actually have the full story of what Mr A actually wanted from us. I have r-read our email exchanges in anticipation of our court case, and still find it hard to decipher them. I sense there is a piece missing, but Ms B will not do us and herself a favour by explaining things as if to the idiot she believes me to be.
Looks like I'll need to post a "Rage part 3!"