Balls

Back in the early days of my exile in France after Georgie had returned to Londres, I was on my own with two terriers living in a wreck of a house with a leaky roof, rotten windows, very basic (and a bit dodgy) electrics, no heating apart from an ancient cuisinier stove (operating with a small pile of damp twigs, so not really operating) and a food store that consisted of bread, butter, soup, and a tin of something called casoulet. Luckily, neighbours Isabelle and Christian used to frequently invite me round for supper where I was tested for bravery by being offered such delicacies as garlic snails which I wolfed down with gay abandon.

A common feature of Isabelle's nosh-ups was her battery powered pepper mill which she used to (and still does) operate with obvious pride. Interestingly, by way of contrast, her kitchen reeks of contemporary technology typified by that mill while ours still remains proudly somewhere in the dark ages. Never having utilised a power-driven pepper mill before, I decided to look into upgrading my/our simple and very antiquated peppery thingy. This would actually be my/our first step in the daunting task of much needed domestic renovation. Waltzed into some snazzy shop in Aubusson and excitedly exited with a small Peugeot (non battery powered) pepper mill, the Rolls-Royce of pepper mills. It may have been small, but it came with a surprisingly big price tag.

About a decade later the wooden ring 'twister' at the bottom of the mill split vertically. This meant that to grind the pepper one had to grip the wooden ring tightly. Bit of a bore, but it worked. Then Georgie had the bright idea of wrapping the split wooded ring in duct tape to make it easier to operate.

Then her birthday loomed. Bought the perfect present. A big Peugeot pepper mill - hang the expense. Been using it for a couple of months. Excellent. However, needed refilling yesterday evening. Tricky operation. Took the top off, shoved a small plastic funnel in the opening and poured in a few pepper balls. All was going moderately well until a few balls jammed. Slowly removed the plastic funnel and... disaster. Pepper balls rolled everywhere. On the table, under plates and magazines, off the table onto the floor and into my shoes. I'm pretty sure one or two fell into my vin rouge too. Heated, but brief, discussion with Georgie. I think she opined that I wasn't holding the funnel correctly due to imbibing too much of the red laughing juice. I think I countered with a riposte that she was pouring the balls too quickly. I wonder if Isabelle and Christian have the same contretemps when it's refill time and have the Peugeot pepper mill directors ever been involved in a customer's divorce case? The mind boggles.