I was led into a largish workshop. A dozen or so young women were seated at their pottery wheels. I looked around in fascination. As they treadled energetically, their wheels spun round and round. I watched as one took a lump of soft clay, slapped it down on to her wheel and centred it between her hands. As she squeezed, a column of pale grey clay rose at the bidding of her fingers. 'Stoneware,' said Madame. 'A much smoother material than earthenware.'

Intrigued, I saw that a veritable plantation of male members was rising up from the clay at one wheel after another. Each cylinder was carefully moulded and pressed into shape with deft, well-practised skills. Each had a burgeoning bulbous head that was rapidly plumped and smoothed into shape. A small cry of distress attracted my attention. One proud beauty had begun to wilt. 'Too much water in the mix,' said Madame. 'Harriet, don't try to revive it. You'd better start all over again.' With a cheese wire, the unfortunate Harriet sliced the collapsed clay from the wheel, then set to work to knead it again into a ball. 'It is most important to ensure that there are no air bubbles in the clay before it is used again,' said Madame. 'Otherwise, however well-shaped, it will probably crack in the firing.' Wetting her hands, Harriet now took the clay and slapped it down again on her wheel. 'Another problem we have,' said Madame, 'is that some of our over-imaginative girls will try to over-extend their handiwork. Too long and thin and it will certainly suffer a premature collapse. Too fat and it will prove too large for comfort except for our more capacious customers. What you are seeing here, of course, is the manufacture of our standard models.' 'They all seem very handsome specimens,' I said. 'On average, they are a fifth over life size. Reality unenhanced is too often a sore disappointment. But then that is true of so many aspects of life, is it not?' With this slightly depressing remark, she took me into a smaller room.