petite anglaise

There is a coffee machine in the kitchen at work, quite a serious beast which grinds its own beans accompanied by a sound not unlike an electric drill and with the coin slot disabled so that caffeine is free to the masses. A double espresso is my drug of choice, and without it I am of limited use to anyone before midday.

I opened up the machine one morning to fill it up with fresh coffee beans and water and noticed that the dried blob of hot chocolate paste I had seen out of the corner of my eye had legs and was moving. Just as I found a suitable implement with which to remove the intruder, it scuttled off to hide inside the machine. Presumably it lives there. With its extended family.

A casual enquiry at the café downstairs confirmed what I had feared – cockroaches (cafards) frequently take up abode in coffee machines in Paris because it is nice and warm and there are coffee grounds to nibble on when they get peckish. I was assured that they don’t find their way into your cup of coffee and in answer to my question “how do you get rid of them?” I got a typical gallic shrug. Which means that they don’t do anything. Live and let live…

Mine’ll be an instant from now on then please. With a pro-plus chaser.