Sunday, 1 November 2020

Ten-Year Jubilee Extravaganza: A Decade of Enlightenment!

 Time, allegedly, flies. We're not personally convinced that this is the correct verb to attach to the fourth dimension of the universe, but we really, really, really don't have the energy to argue with anyone over anything. (It seems, for instance, that we have entered an uneasy peace with Shewee Fiend Friend on the subject of toilet roll orientation.) Whatever means of transport you choose to ascribe to time, however, it is an inescapable fact that this bog blog has been a vehicle for ranting on the internet for ten years. Readers who are perhaps not as regular as they would like might appreciate an explanation of how this came about.

Once upon a time, in a pub far, far away (Micklegate, in York, arguably counts as pretty far away for most people), we were ranting. Memory is a fickle mistress and Yorkshire ale is a potent brew, and thus details are hazy, but we’re reasonably certain that we were gesticulating, possibly even raising our voice to a far from genteel pitch. What were we ranting about? you wonder. World poverty? Slave labour in sweatshops? The utter, unforgivable shitness of the Eurovision Song Contest? No. We were ranting about British plumbing.


Scandinavia has many advantages. The twentieth century played the part of fairy godmother to this portion of the world, blessing it with democracy, universal healthcare, and excellent sanitation. As a result, its inhabitants are prone to exhibiting exorbitant, overwhelming smugness. Send an unsuspecting Scandi out in the world and they are susceptible to criticise other nations’ sanitary arrangements in an insufferably rude manner. Not because they wish to insult, you understand, but because they are flabbergasted. When it is demonstrably possible to construct toilets and pipes that work well, a Dane, Norwegian or Swede might reason, why on earth would you deliberately choose to make a cackhanded job of your bogs? Said Scandiwegians are perhaps particularly prone to ask this far-from-rhetorical question when in the British Isles, which, though rich in culture and steeped in history of the most exciting kind, are deplorably lacking in logical plumbing. Friendship with such a Dane, Norwegian, or Swede can often be challenging to a native of the misty isles in the West. Whatever laudable qualities such persons may possess, they are prone to being overshadowed by the Scandiwegian propensity to rant about mixer-taps. It is not what your average Brit appreciates, when in the pub, trying to maintain an enjoyable conversation. Such a Brit, who is likely to be a cultured, refined and well-travelled person, is not to be blamed for exclaiming, in an exasperated manner, for the love of God, why don’t you start a blog? (For this was the year of our Lord 2010, and blogs were still a thing.)


Our exasperated friend, whom we have referred to ever since as Enlightened Friend, uttered this impassioned plea not due to his belief in our writing skills or ability to turn an interesting tale, but due to his intense irritation with our constant complaints about British plumbing. Enlightened Friend’s hope was that, in writing down our criticisms of British taps on the internet and perhaps striking up friendships with other weirdoes there, we would cease to complain about them to him, and he would in future be able to drink his pint in peace. Being easily influenced, we happily took Enlightened Friend at his word, and started a toilet blog (or, as it soon became known, the intellectual bog blog). Indeed, so excited were we by the prospect of pontificating to, if not the world at large, then at least a certain small portion of our acquaintance, that we wrote three posts on the same day. The very first one, published on 18 October 2010, said, simply and perhaps ominously,


Most British people see no need for mixer taps, as when they do exist, they don't work anyway.  The rest of the world disagrees.  The controversy continues.


This was followed by some reflections on toilet paper, and our first review – of the toilets in the Yorkshire Museum. There was also the legendary review of the disabled toilet at the Centre for Medieval Studies in York, which gave us much solace during the year we spent drinking with weird medievalists and perhaps doing the odd stint of studying. For a long time we stuck to a bewildering and illogical points system for reviews, which was satirized to great effect by Semi-Intellectual Friend when he devised a toilet duck-based scoring system.

 As we have often had occasion to mention, we are grateful for all the friends (including Jonny, who counts as a friend for administrative reasons) and family who send us interesting toilet pictures from around the world. Due to our hectic lifestyle, commitment to watching Toby Stephens wearing pirate trousers, and unreasonably lengthy hangovers, these pictures tend to not be put to profitable use by means of toilet blogging, but congregate in weird corners of the internet, tucked away in a multitude of apps and accounts, where they languish due to lack of light. (We have, for years, envisaged our archive as a dark crypt peopled by ghosts, dead nuns, and pheasants, such as described in the 1796 horror classic The Monk. You may read increasingly incoherent references to said archive here, here, here, here, and here.) Our Mum reminded us recently of some photos she sent us two years ago, which we thought we'd publish in this, our ten-year-anniversay bog blog post. We've also got pictures from other favourite contributors, such as Our Favourite Aunt, Intellectual Friend, and, last but definitely not least, Jonny. The fact that we thusly have pictures from Sweden, Denmark, Norway and the UK is no doubt a coincidence.

We decided, in a moment of unrestrained nostalgia, to return to the points system. It took a while before we could even find it, but it turns out we'd preserved it and we have inserted it at the bottom of this post for the benefit of scientifically-minded readers. Below is a picture sent to us by Our Mum from the Martini restaurant in Kristianstad, Sweden. According to what you might call, for convenience, the logic of our points system, these facilities get 9 points. We couldn't tell from the photo whether the soap was pleasantly scented or whether there was a coat-hook sturdy enough for  a rucksack, so we had to restrain ourselves somewhat in our scoring. Nonetheless, it looks like an excellent, comfortable and laudably hygienic toilet.

Martini, in Kristianstad: 9 points

Next up is an amusing photo, also from Our Mum, of a helpful sign at the airport in Bergen, Norway.

We hope, for the sake of humanity, that these are not unisex toilets. We have mentioned, on occasion, how much we loathe unisex toilets.


Our Favourite Aunt is a faithful correspondent and sent us, in 2016, the following photos from the porcelain museum in Gustavsberg, Sweden.

An exciting glimpse of hygienic porcelain from times past

We are nearly always reminded of something, and this obviously reminds us of the historical toilets exhibition at the Castle Museum, in York!

This is a toilet quote by August Strindberg. Not being fans of Strindberg, we're not going to bother translating it. Nonetheless, we appreciate Our Favourite Aunt's contribution.

We mentioned earlier our conception of our toilet photo archive as a dark, dripping crypt. Perhaps in the light of that metaphor, these pictures, from Intellectual Friend, are rather apt. They depict the gents' toilets at the Peder Oxe tavern in Copenhagen, where we seem to remember brandishing a flagon of ale with Intellectual Friend in 2017. Are the toilets in the cellar? We can't remember, but it looks as though they are rich in old stone and some eccentricity - both things that we love.

Danes are depressingly apt to install what we call the subjunctive mixer tap, but here it seems they have actually hardened the fuck up and got it right.

We're fairly sure that we have, at one or more points during the past ten years, expressed an opinion about urinals. Potentially we approve.

Intellectual Friend referred to this as a "tapestried toilet pic". It is perhaps fitting in light of our history of drinking in medieval milieus.

Ahh. Nothing warms the cockles like correctly hung toilet paper!

We're reaching the end of this blast from the past. How about some hyper-modernity, for the sake of contrast? Here's a photo of Jonny, in 2020, adhering to corona regulations.

Our spontaneous reaction to this photo was:

Plus points for the clear, helpful and polite signage, not sure about the mask. On the one hand the Counsel is all in favour of hygiene and adequate protection, on the other hand it doesn't like restrictions on perving. We shall leave it to the fans to decide!

Jonny argued that the mask is in contrast to his top, calling the look "street thug's soft side". Ever striving for fairness, we promised to take his argument under consideration.

Reader, it is time for a Festive Video. What's more suitable than this favourite, which has given us intellectual solace on many an occasion! (Blogger have changed their layout and we have no idea how to intelligently insert videos any more, so to be on the safe side here's the link:

 Festive Video: Public Information Film - UK Separate Taps

Related Reading

All posts featuring Sheewee Fiend Friend

All posts featuring Enlightened Friend

Our very first blog post: Mixer Taps - the Controversy

Our first review, of the toilets in the Yorkshire Museum: The Yorkshire Museum

The legendary post in which Semi-Intellectual Friend launched his alternative scoring system: Rampant Titillation - Basically, a Real-Life Epistolary Novel!

A reminiscent blog post, from a time when we still had hangovers that ended: In Which the Privy Counsel Goes Ballistic

The commemorative post we wrote after five years of toilet-blogging, which seemed coherent and reasonable at the time: Five Fabulous (and Frightening) Years: The Story of the Privy Counsel

We're far from lacking in horrors at the moment, but somehow we never got around to writing a Halloween blog post this year. However, here is our very first Halloween post: Oh! the horror! SCREAMING BLOODY HORROR HALLOWEEN SPECIAL: The British Workplace

All posts featuring Halloween 


We gave up all belief in the logic of our points system long ago. But sometimes we use it just for kicks, and when we do, the points awarded are as follows:

* Covered loo roll holder: +1
* Loo roll lying loose: -1
* Normal white loo roll: +1
* Unbleached: +2
* Quilted or coloured: -1

* Bin in stall covered: +1
*Bin not pushing unpleasantly against user: +2

* Easy-to-use flush, not requiring great mechanical strength: +1
* Water-saving: +2
* Hard to use: -1

* Toilets clean: +1
* Toilets dirty: -1

* Revolving towel: +1
* Air dryer: -1
* Hygienic air dryer: +1
* Normal towel (unless clean and displaying evidence of being frequently changed): -1

* Push lever or other easy-to-use tap: +1
* Photo-cell tap: +2
* Lack of hot water: -1
* Unpleasant, separated taps: -1

*Pleasant soap: +1
* Also handlotion: +2
* No soap: -1

*Coat hook: +1
* Coat hook sturdy enough for rucksack or other large bag: +2
* No coat hook: -1

* Possibility of opening door without touching handle on exit: +1 bonus point.

* Toilets with noise-insulating cubicles (or no cubicle): +1 bonus point. 

Monday, 5 October 2020

Silver Linings, Golden Nuggets

 Look, we're not saying that pictures of Jonny have the power to cure all social ills, or even our own increasingly importunate existential angst. They do, however, give our days that certain je ne sais quoi - call it succour, call it a balm for the soul, call it thirty seconds of semi-ironical perving to distract one from the fanatical horror clowns banging pot lids behind one's prefrontal cortex. Whatever you want to label them as, pictures of Jonny are in abundance right now, our favourite young whipper-snapper having hit a creative seam that yields nugget after nugget of pure gold. (At least the gold metaphor works well, we think, if you're into toilet selfies of Jonny - some people, puzzlingly, appear not to be.)

Before we immerse ourselves in the symphonic poetry that is lots of lovely photos of Jonny in a toilet however, let's have some context. Some readers may not be as regular as others, and may not remember who, what, or why Jonny is. Let us make the preamble brief, however, so as not to frustrate those readers who are admirably regular, and are gagging for what we might term Jonny gold:

 Jonny is a young man from the North of England who we count as a friend for administrative reasons. He enjoys cycling, and public toilets. Some years ago we composed a lonely hearts ad for Jonny's benefit, which turned out to be a roaring success. Recently, Jonny and the queen of his heart - who, it appears, followed our advice and threw herself at this man - went on a romantic weekend together.

Jonny wrote to us, in his usual forthright style:

COVID ruined my weekend away.

But we booked a Premiere Inn in the Lakes. We got a disabled room as it was the only one left. Plenty of room in the bathroom to take pics.
Every cloud.

Jonny using adequate protection.

We could not agree more.

This looks like stupendously good cake.

Again, we could not agree more.
Some days later, having feasted on cake and other delights until he presumably couldn't take it any more, Jonny wrote again:

I'm wearing the same t-shirt but I travelled in it.
So many grab handles
It's huge in here
The oh! so ironical bottle of Corona adds, we're sure you agree, a pungent note of political realism.

Finally, Jonny ventured into what we might presume to call the tempestuous waters of political allegory, saying:

Found the worst toilet ever
Who on earth would want to sit in that corner seat facing the urinals?
No cubicles
STANK so bad.
One's heart, indeed, sinks at the sight of this sad state of things...

...but soars with delight at the vision of this Albion Apollo.

Our - for want of a better adjective - clear-sighted eagle eye spotted immediately that the hand-washing apparatus is the exact same kind as that in Morrison's in York, at least as it looked in 2011. We also remarked that the seat might in fact be a shelf, on which one might perhaps place a rucksack (or, depending on what one happens to be carrying at the point of needing to use this toilet, a large sack of potatoes, or a treasure chest overflowing with glittering, non-metaphorical gold). Jonny replied:

Oh, it could be for your bag. That's less weird.
1) I wouldn't put my bag on it either. 2) I wouldn't need to take my bag off to pee.
The handwashing apparatus was also broken.
We here ventured to suggest that this toilet might, in fact, be a representation of Britain today, at which Jonny retorted, as he is so often wont to do, "Are you putting words in my mouth?" Yes. Yes, we are. These are our words:
Everything is broken, dirty, and horrible, but at least there's Jonny.
According to tradition, there should now be a Festive Video. Since, as our long-suffering friends will attest, our favourite method of perving on Toby Stephens at the moment is enjoying the sight of pirates in tight trousers scheming against a) each other, b) the weather, and c) women wielding political power, let's have this enjoyable scene from Black Sails.
Festive Video: "Black Sails | The Best of Black Sails: Vane’s Warning in Charles Town | STARZ" 

Related Reading

Jonny and a Public Toilet - A Treat for Single Ladies

May we take this opportunity, while we have your ear, to remind you that there is a right way and a wrong way to hang toilet roll

Morrisons York: Aw, for f...

If you like toilets used as political metaphor, you may also enjoy Athens: Vacillating with Vespasian 

Another age-old method of perving on Toby Stephens is enjoying Jane Eyre

 While we're at it, we might as well take the opportunity of scoffing at people who haven't read Jane Eyre

Sunday, 9 February 2020

Out of Season

"Blogging," as Cicero quite possibly said, "is a heartless business". "Not only," that mighty Roman might, not unreasonably, have continued, "is it incredibly time-consuming and financially unrewarding, it also drives one potty trying to keep track of all the toilet photos that people have sent one via various apps". "Also," might the mighty statesman, orator, lawyer and philosopher have soliloquised over a quiet glass of quite possibly lead-enriched wine, "finding the balance between ranting and subtle toilet humour is a delicate business and one is quite likely to fall off the ledge into the murky waters of full-on unhinged crazy talk". Though not versed, whether well or in any other manner, in the classics ourselves, many of our friends are, and we are inclined to revere the words of the worthy Roman wordsmiths. "Nonetheless," as Virgil definitely never said, "sometimes a gentle bout of blogging relieves the mind and eases the disquiet in one's soul".

Let us, since we must fill this post with some kind of content other than made-up Roman philosophising, have a look at some photos that Shewee Fiend Friend sent us last year. Unfortunately the information about where these photos were taken and what the context was has been lost. Quite possibly it has been sucked into the space-time continuum and is currently disturbing the dreams of a bemused many-headed creature called Zorb, resident of a sulphurous planet in the Andromeda galaxy.

This is quite possibly the public toilet in a small Canadian town that closes for the season in October, and doesn't open again till spring. This seems to us a very sensible approach to winter, and we wish it were applied everywhere. If there were a public referendum, we would definitely vote in favour of enforced hibernation.

This seems to us to be a highly inoffensive toilet. Plus points for the disability-friendly bars.

Here is a picture of - possibly entirely unrelated - bison, and a wind-power generator. Could it be a metaphor of some kind?

We're reasonably sure that this is still the same Canadian public toilet. We approve of the hook and the door handle, and note that although there is an infuriating trend in Scandiwegia to dispense with the hook in favour of a shelf on which one's stuff won't fit, the people of Canada have managed to install a dual system which one can only applaud.

Here's a picture of Jonny. He says:
"Happy New Year x
For all the fanz"
Since we haven't blogged in nigh-on a year, have a bonus Jonny,  from the Belfry Hotel!

"Look at that wet floor sign," says Jonny. Indeed!

It has been noted by more than one person that we at the Privy Counsel have shit taste in music considering our level of education and, it has been implied, degree of intelligence. We brush off these slurs with a haughty sneer and continue embracing eccentric country music. Let's have, today, a nice song by Gretchen Peters - whom we would totally have gone to see live last year if we hadn't been suffering from a debilitating hangover which enforced on us, in a manner of speaking, a lenghty hibernation.

Festive Video - Gretchen Peters, Say Grace
Related Reading
If you feel like you need a dose of wit, intelligence and joy, enjoy this fantastic video of Benjamin Boyce interviewing Helen Joyce:
Gender, Journalism, & Justice | with Helen Joyce

Other things that may cause joy:
All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend 
All posts featuring Jonny

Other Canadian toilets may be viewed in the post The Girl Bartenders Hate
and also Springing a Leak
All posts featuring Canada

Also, on rereading our last post, from June last year, we find it a rollicking and strangely literate read. Have a bash yourself if you're feeling nostalgic:  
Whether You Want It Or Not: Super Summer Extravaganza!

Wednesday, 26 June 2019

Whether You Want It Or Not: Super Summer Extravaganza!

It has been decreed by Privy Counsel headquarters that you deserve (the choice is yours whether to view this as benevolence or hostility) a super summer extravaganza blog post, and thus, whether you want it or not, and whether getting one is even in your best interests, you are getting a super summer extravaganza blog post! 

We have a lot of photos of toilets to get through, so we'd better get started before the leaves fall from the trees and the bears (those mythical creatures who, according to a popular idiom, crap in the woods) go to hibernate, the lucky fuckers, while the rest of us have to continue getting the bus to work in darkness while trying not to freeze our toes or other extremities off, spend the day under fluorescent lights engaged in meetings with people who can't form coherent sentences, then go home in the dark only to find that the cheese has gone mouldy and women STILL don't count as humans.

Let us keep the darkness, metaphorical as well as literal, at bay, however, by focusing on metaphorical (and, in the case of the northern latitudes, unremittingly literal at this time of year, actually) sunlight: We have a special treat for you today! Regular readers will remember with fondness and admiration past posts by Intellectual Friend. Well, hold on to your hats and make sure your toilet roll is turned the right way around - here is a new contribution from that worthy intellectual! From Greenland, no less!

I thought I would show you this private toilet, which I saw (and wincingly made use of) in a forlorn settlement called Oqaatsut, latitude 69 N, population 40 not counting a couple hundred sleddogs.

It is I believe the cosiest loo I have encountered so far in such a context (the context being the lack of running water, no sewage system (the skybound pipe behind the seat merely serving as a mildly efficient vent and stench suppressor) and the undiggability of the frozen ground).

Black plastic bag in the toilet bowl/barrel.
Suspicious yellow-tinted meltwater in the washbasin.

Helpful inscription on the wall above, "Uunga errorit", which can be interpreted as meaning "Wash here" (an injunction which I did not feel inclined to obey, especially as I had my hand sanitizer to hand), where -it is the imperative 2nd pers. sing. ending.
There was no toilet paper; but if there had been any, I'd assume by analogy with other lavatories in the country that the roll would be lying on a mouldy windowsill or on the actual and clammy floor at the very foot of the toilet. Note however the ingeniously placed wooden soapholder (what passed for soap in there looked however very unattractive) and also the purple hook and festive handknitted towel.

I should add that I failed to obtain prior permission to take this sneaky photo, partly because our host, a venerable lady and oldest dweller in said settlement, could only speak Greenlandic (and some thick dialect of it at that), so that technically it might be a case of rape and abuse of one's privacy and private property, such as it is, although I'm no expert.

But the brave old lady had cooked us lunch, bless her, and she sat and watched us eat it with great interest.
[Name omitted], the only fluent speaker of Greenlandic among us, mostly declined to engage in conversation with the host, leaving the hyggelig/lagom atmosphere to thicken up to its natural slightly awkward density.

It was a more or less planned stop we had on a little sailing trip which we took out of Ilulissat, a town to the north where we spent Easter. And here for the sake of variation are a few other pics from that Oqaatsut settlement and around: the [...] house of our host
[omitted due to privacy concerns], a bleak view of the village, the worthy old vessel in which we were sailed thereto, and an icefell or two.

We've seen a lot of primitive toilets in our day (for instance, this one or why not ponder this one or indeed this one), and Intellectual Friend's bog description does not scare us; being situated, as it is, in a context of rugged wilderness and base survival. Continuing the theme of rugged wilderness, but in a location which offers no excuse not to offer hygiene and comfort, let's have a look at the toilets at Tugg, a hipster burger place in Lund, Sweden, where we went one sunny day with Australian Friend.

You'd think that Lund, this eminent university town, would produce nothing but civilised functionality, but you'd be wrong. Our main critique of Tugg has heretofore centred on the fact that whoever designed this eatery decided to put metal chairs on a cement floor. Why people choose to make the surroundings in which people are supposed to eat actively unpleasant and potentially damaging to one's hearing is beyond us. Then we went to check out the loos and are subsequently also wondering why anyone would choose to make a toilet unnecessarily difficult to use, due to an inexplicable urge to pander to the 19th-century farmyard aesthetic. Let's show you what we mean.

Here is the toilet. Note the bare walls (nothing wrong with bare walls as such), the minimalist loo (again, nothing wrong with this for now), the weird and flimsy curtain stopping people outside from being able to look in, and the toilet rolls which, albeit plentiful, have worryingly been put into a rustic wooden box. It's not necessarily unhygienic but it's not exactly indicative of cleanliness either.

There are no paper towels; instead, brown (why brown? Why? Does anybody actually like the colour brown?) cloth towels have been placed in another rustic wooden box, this time placed reassuringly high up on the wall.

There are two bins; one for the brown (whyyyy?) towels, another for other waste. This is all fine.

 Now it's starting to get scary. The cistern for the toilet is an old-timey one on the wall, with a metal wire that needs to be pulled for flushing. Burlington is a Swedish brand with a nice-looking website that offers no information whatsoever about why one should use this type of cistern, whether it's in any way water-saving, or whether it's considered disability-friendly.

 The tap offers so many different types of horror that the breadth and width of the sum total of the horror is hard for the human intellect to comprehend. It's situated over a cattle-trough-like sink (why, in God's name, do hipsters keep insisting on sinks that look like they might be full of cow drool and half-chewed clumps of grass?) and is literally composed of a water-valve lever handle. It is very much not disability friendly, or indeed friendly to anyone who didn't grow up on a farm in the 19th century and has strong, calloused hands the size of dustbin lids, being very hard to turn. Also, the pipe offers only cold water. Not sure how this conforms to health and safety regulations, if at all. Note the toilet roll placed by the sink, on a wooden surface that is extremely likely to absorb water and breed bacteria, helpfully supplied by the hands touching the toilet roll.

In the manner of people who insist on serving you coffee in a glass, as if they are so far above material things that burn injuries are inconsequential (mugs have handles for a reason?), the architect behind this horror ensemble says, "I DON'T CARE ABOUT WHETHER YOU CAN WASH YOUR HANDS YOU DIRTY PEASANT ALSO STOP STARING AT ME AND GO CLEAN OUT THE OUTDOOR PRIVY NO I DON'T CARE THAT YOU ARE DYING FROM CHOLERA YOU SCURVY MALINGERER".

The door has an old-timey handle and no coat-hook.

The water pipe has a pressure gauge. Personally, we'd have preferred a sane and hygienic tap.

We're grateful that we were in such charming company, or bad things might have happened to our mental state. Swiftly moving on before anyone develops tuberculosis or gangrene of the soul, let's contemplate these interesting pictures from New York, described in Shewee Fiend Friend's characteristically terse staccato style.

Ok I'm in a weird speakeasy

They only have whiskey

And all vegan food

The bathrooms

Are beautiful


No paper towel or soap

Not sure how they're supposed to do that without soap
Our waiter left the bathroom before me
 I knocked the toilet paper over

Afterwards we went to burp Castle

There are paintings of drunk monks everywhere
The toilet was disappointing

The toilet per se may be disappointing, but we see much entertainment value in the graffiti, for instance the "PODCASTS???" scrawl (we don't see the point in them either - why listen to people breathing weirdly into a microphone when you can get the information much quicker by reading?). Also we enjoy, as ever, almost seeing people.

We asked whether Burp Castle was a typo, but learned that it wasn't:

Nope that's what it's called

It's a monastery esque place

You're not allowed to speak above a whisper
 We suggested that you then "can't get drunk as there would be a great risk of laughing raucously?", and the following pithy exchange took place:

Shewee Fiend Friend: I guess? Unless you are good at getting drunk quietly
Privy Counsel: You might as well just inject yourself with melatonin and go quietly to sleep

 Jonny has been no slouch this summer, sending us many excellent contributions with messages which, readers of this long and pontificating post will be delighted to know, are short to the point of abruptness.

The conversation for this one went as follows:

Privy Counsellor: So many things going on. Care to make any comment?

Jonny: Not at this time.

Privy Counsellor: You have the right to remain silent.

According to the diploma this urinal is located at the Flying Duck in Ilkley, and has been twinned with another toilet somewhere.

Continuing the Ilkley theme, Jonny writes:

Nice toilets

Someone wee'd on the seat which is infuriating

But nice nonetheless

Hamiltons Cafe just out of Ilkley

This reminds us of that time when Shewee Fiend Friend's flatmate "created small pools".

This sink, thankfully, does not resemble a cattle-trough, though the taps are that worrying breed of subjunctive mixer taps.

Semi-Intellectual Friend has also been in touch, offering this commentary on our ongoing Jonny Babe Parade:
Johnny looks shit hot. Shit hotter every time I see him on there in fact. I reckon he's one of those Paul Rudd types that just grows increasingly into their own good looks.

Yes, we naturally asked Semi-Intellectual Friend's permission to share these words, and got the following response:

If you ever want to share my compliments about Jonny on the blog (or any mutual friend (that I've just not met yet)), totally go for it. He's got Hollywood magnetism and the world needs to know about it.
Finally, in a triumph of 19th-century farmyard romanticism, we offer this picture of Jonny, dressed as a cowboy, in front of a sink shaped like a cattle-trough.

For today's Festive Video, let's have something that evokes the midnight sun and the hope of good plumbing, as well as offering a mild dose of 19th-century barnyard aestheticism (hopefully a mild dose may ensure a vaccinating effect, like cowpox).

Festive Video: Maxida Märak and Downhill Bluegrass Band, Nikesunnas Jojk

Related Reading

All posts featuring Intellectual Friend

On toilet roll orientation: Rocking, Rolling, Ranting 

A medieval lavvy seat: The City Museum in Winchester: Circling the Drain

Yet another medieval lavvy seat, the finding of which was reported in the Guardian, the link to which article was probably sent to us by Shewee Fiend Friend:
Helle's toilet: 12th-century three-person loo seat goes on display

All posts featuring sinks that look like cattle-troughs

All posts featuring Australian Friend

All posts featuring Sheewee Fiend Friend

All posts featuring Almost Seeing People

All posts featuring Jonny

On the difficulty, for some people, to aim: (Don't) Aim for the Stars 

A post in which we hold forth on the topic of subjunctive mixer taps: The Hirschsprung Museum, or, Revising the Status of Denmark, or, Feverish Paranoia

All posts featuring Semi-Intellectual Friend
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