The Devil You Know - Toilets of Tasmania, Part II

We won't go so far as to say that our journey through Australia (read the previous instalments of our intellectual yet thrilling epistolary bog blog tour here, here, and here) was of heroic, Herculean proportions, though we would argue that it contained rather more excitement than we had bargained for - and that's not even counting the Biblical floods, the plague, or the fact that there were free snacks at the pub quiz. One highlight was coming face to face with some Tasmanian devils at the Bonorong wildlife reserve, and concluding that they really are as bad-tempered as their reputation suggests. The toilet at this excellent park is simple but functional, with some rather festive details and helpful signage.

Regular readers will remember when Australian Friend sent us a breathtaking update from Hobart which featured a burning portaloo. In a wonderful instance of life imitating art, we ventured into Prince's Park and photographed the very same portaloos which were featured in the thrilling news report! (Presumably the portaloo that was actually on fire has been replaced, making this a rather neat example of Theseus's paradox.) Feast your eyes! You're welcome.

 

We have learned many things about Tasmania during our time on the island. For instance, Australia's oldest bridge was built here (by convicts, naturally - who else?) in 1823, its oldest brewery was founded in 1824, and Tasmania's oldest gaol was built in 1825. Does one deduce a very pleasing logical chain here? Either way, we heartily recommend the beers from the Cascade brewery bar, but found the toilets deplorable. Instead of showing you pictures of bad toilets that will make you sad, here is this very uplifting one from the Ginger Brown café nearby. Note the hygiene and beautiful floor - a boon to the intrepid traveller who has just confronted their mortality, and also the futility of cotton socks, in the snow at the top of Mount Wellington.

Australian Friend drew our attention to this prize-winning toilet in Sandy Bay, an area otherwise noted for its top pub quizzes. (What is it with public toilets winning prizes?)

We have mentioned many times, on this blog, how grateful we are to have such fast friends. They send us photos of plumbing, encourage our various delusions and ply us with drink when necessary. Truly, the levels of moral and immoral support registered at the Privy Counsel are off the charts, as evidenced for instance by this heartfelt message from Shewee Fiend Friend.

Jonny, who counts as a friend for administrative reasons, notes that "You must have so many pics of me in toilets. You could do a bonus '12 Days of Cistern' around Christmas time." Reader, are you already dreaming of the festive Twelve Days of Cistern? We are!

For the moment, behold: The Holy Trinity of Jonny.

We fear that nobody cares about the pictures of toilets that Jonny sends us, his fans having eyes only for Jonny himself (we hear Jonny is know as "the Marlon Brandon of toilet selfies" - at least round the Hyde Park area of Leeds), but bless him for trying!

In a final piece of exciting news, we have it from an authoritative source that this elegant mixer tap can be found in Battersea:

 

 

Does it remind us of anything? Reader, it does! It is the spitting image of the tap that Tudor Friend named "Prettiest Mixer Tap in Britain" in 2014, and which can be found in York.

Tudor Friend's legendary tap from 2014. At the time, we noted:
"Behold! The prettiest mixer-tap in Great Britain!
Its legendary healing powers are in no way exaggerated!"

Today's Festive Video channels the spirit of the Tasmanian devil.

 

 

 

Festive Video - Anjelah Johnson, Bon Qui Qui King Burger

 

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The Devil You Know - Toilets of Tasmania, Part I

The good people at Qantas probably meant well. (Hashtag: Famous Last Words.) Nonetheless, our sojourn in Adelaide Airport, though lengthy, was entirely unintended. Still, it yielded this gem of a sign.

Our Australian epistolary bog blog tour started in Sydney and went, via what might be Australia's best toilet, to Queensland. Leaving the mainland, we then entered the brisk and breezy embrace of Tasmania. Should you ever be fortunate enough to visit Hobart, be advised that the Sandy Bay area of the city boasts a pleasant yacht club, where one may indulge in a fun pub quiz (be further advised that Australian Friend is a ferocious pub quiz opponent) and also use these perfectly adequate toilets.

Should your mettle be sturdy and your spirit adventurous, and should you venture along the Derwent river outside the city limits, past the suburb of Claremont and all the way to Austins Ferry, you might spot this clean public toilet in Roseneath Park. The actual facilities are not perhaps sophisticated, veering more towards the functional or even rudimentary, but you will be pleased to know that the soap smells of roses.

Heading back towards the city with your now-fragrant hands, you might - why the hell not? - stop at the Mona art gallery and experience the rather insistent smell of the artificial digestive systems which are helpfully hung on hooks, for your perusal.

The gallery toilets would have been truly excellent, had they not been unisex. Remember, nobody - but nobody - wants to queue next to awkwardly smiling bearded hipsters. Sorry Mona, but your good soap, coat-hooks, and plentiful spare bog rolls are nullified by the bearded hipsters - even if they're metaphorical.

Going further afield, for instance as far as Richmond - home of Australia's oldest bridge (built by convicts (who else?) in 1823) - one may, should one so wish, enter the charmingly named Pooseum. We heartily recommend a chat with the friendly and knowledgeable Austrian proprietor.

In other news, if you weren't already terrified to the point of insanity by air dryers, here you go. You're welcome.

Jonny is naturally, though far from us geographically, with us in spirit.

Festive Video: Elvis Presley, (You're the) Devil in Disguise

Related Reading 

Read more about the horrors of awkwardly smiling bearded hipsters here and also here (bonus pretend Latin quote if you click on the link, and only a mild overdose of agonised hand-wringing).

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The Best Toilet in Australia?

Australia, as previously mentioned, does two things really well, and those two things are toilet coat-hooks, coffee, friendly banter, crocodiles, and beer. These things are largely helpful to the weary traveller. Should one find oneself in Sydney, moreover, one has the option of combining several of these Australian specialities on one of Dave's Pub Tours. We spent a chilly evening warming our cockles by means of what was effectively a history lesson, with beer, being entertained by Dave (not to be confused with the original Dave, or one of the other Daves). What's more, we believe we may have stumbled over what may be Australia's best toilet! Feel free to provide evidence proving that we're wrong, but we believe that these photos, from the Australian Hotel in the Rocks area of Sydney, speak for themselves.

We can't remember why we took this photo, but presumably we were struck by the lighting and also the art?

There was an airdryer, but also a paper towel dispenser - with festive eyes!

An instance of the cheerful practical spirit of Australia: why bother having two taps when you can have just one?

Does this charm your socks off?

Remember when Jonny came across a foot-operated door at the Toddington motorway services? This door is even more delightful.

We heartily recommend downing a half-pint in front of the fire in an old sailors' pub.

This excellent clock wall tells one what time it is in, among others, the Guinness and the Warsteiner geographic regions.

Moving on from Sydney, a quick note on the toilets of Queensland. In summary, there are many interesting varieties of water-saving flushes and taps, and also the windows are open a lot - if there are any. 

Last but not least, we ended up, for complicated reasons, in a hostel in Cairns, where the bar toilets sported this amusing sign:

For our Jonny Babe Parade photo, here's a nautical-themed one we hopefully haven't published before. (And if we have, we apologise - we are in the very privileged position of having more toilet selfies of Jonny than we know what to do with.) Jonny in a porthole - woof! You're welcome.

Another thing that Australia does really well is lots of sudden, unexpected rain. 

Festive Video: Creedence Clearwater Revival, Have You Ever Seen the Rain

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A Daring Dive into the Bogs - and Beer! - of Sydney

Australia, overall, is a civilised country. One might, if one were feeling pedantic, quibble about the lack of bookstores and the bizarre penchant for air-dryers, but we're not going to do that. In the words of the immortal Hegelian philosophers, "Australia, we love you!". We love the landscape, the clear signage and the heaven-sent coffee. What's more, Australia is rich in public toilets. Not for Australia the disturbing toilet shelves of Germany, the stingy fees of the so-called public toilets of Sweden, the awkward grace of India or the unadulterated horrors of the British Isles. Australia knows what needs doing, rolls its sleeves up and gets on with doing it. Its public conveniences are free, clean and always, always clearly signposted. Frankly, they're a jetlagged traveller's dream! Sydney, in particular, offers a veritable cornucopia of bogs. We have taken many photos of various conveniences but have, unfortunately, due to the aforementioned jetlag and general bewilderment, no idea which pictures are from where. Hence, we have decided to do a summary of typical features, including sinks, toilets and coat-hooks.

In summary, one might say that although there is always plenty of soap there are always, always air-dryers, but also plenty of charm. Draw your own conclusions.

The festive stalls that you're not allowed to smoke in are in this charming public toilet in the Domain area of Sydney. We would link to the post featuring the toilet that Australian Friend sent us pictures of that this photo reminds us of, but we're currently, at the moment of writing, in a bar whose bartender claims to have a cure for jetlag and friends, it is not going to happen.

Coat-hooks, like tasteful sunglasses and quality dentistry, appear to be something of an Australian speciality! If doing good coat-hooks was an Olympic sport, the big country down under would be taking all the medals.

The top hook is from the Australian Museum in Sydney, where one can see a picture of what the Demon Duck of Doom might have looked like in prehistoric times, and frankly, things don't get much better than that.

In summary, there are two things that Australia does really well, and those two things are toilet coat-hooks, coffee, friendly banter, crocodiles, and beer.

We will not of course let you go without a photo of everyone's favourite toilet babe, Jonny, and a festive video!

Jonny says: 

"I would snog me in here."

We can only swooningly agree.

Festive Video:

Emmylou Harris, One of These Days

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Fires! Floods! Philology! God help us all.

 We mentioned the concept, in our last post, of themes. The word theme, of course, as every school child knows, comes from from the Greek thema, "a proposition, subject, deposit," literally "something set down," from PIE *dhe-mn, suffixed form of root *dhe- "to set, put". We have a custom, at the Privy Counsel, of waxing lyrical on the subject of philology round Easter-time, no doubt for sane and normal reasons. In fact, if one is being honest, we have a custom of waxing lyrical on the subject of philology at many other times of the year as well - our summertime treatise on proto-Indo-European verb roots, for instance, has become something of a classic among a certain substratum of what we might loosely term the intelligentsia.

Be that as it may, one might argue that holidays are a kind of theme. At the northern latitudes where the Privy Counsel HQ graces its environs, holidays are of course mostly an excuse to consume vast quantities of alcohol, rather than any custom, tradition or festivity of religious significance. One drinks schnapps at Christmas, to celebrate the birth of some dude two thousand years ago, then, three to four months later, one drinks schnapps again to celebrate the same dude's brutal torture and death. At midsummer one drinks schnapps to celebrate the heathen gods of old, in a drunken and undignified spectacle that the Church should definitely be more embarrassed about, considering that the efforts to Christianise the populace have continued unabated for over a thousand years. In August one drinks schnapps while consuming crayfish, for reasons that are not entirely clear but are probably related to either nineteenth-century nationalism or a touching devotion to the noble grain, which has of tradition been the alternative to the exotic southern grape in these boreal climes. Then everything goes dark and at Christmas one starts over again.

The Privy Counsel might be the only openly atheist bog blog, having announced as early as 2014 that "we don't even believe in Jebus". Still, we appreciate tradition as much as the next person, and will happily lift a pitcher of Easter ale skywards in honour of Jebus and his heavenly escalation, if custom so demands. As far as we understand, Holy Writ is full of stories of not only brutal torture and death, but also of many other types of calamities and disasters, there not being much call for writing at length about everything being fine. While we would personally happily sit down to a tale that went something like, "And lo, the Lord's chosen people learned to appreciate mixer taps, entirely stopped the heathen practice of making doors that don't go all the way down to the floor, and lived in peace and relative sanity until the end of time, yea," we understand that this style of narrative lacks the drama and tension that makes for a great work of literature. If instead one desires tales of devastation and carnage, there is apparently no better place to look than Australia. Australian Friend, in a feat of unparalleled toilet drama, has sent us the following screenshots, telling a gruesome story of Australian plumbing ineptness:

 

 

 

 

Our sincerest sympathies to Ms Fielding.

 

However, the drama, reader, does not end there! Behold, the nigh-on biblical phenomenon of the burning portaloo!

You will of course remember, from your youthful Bible studies, that the book of Exodus tells us that:

3 Now Moses kept the flock of Jethro his father in law, the priest of Midian: and he led the flock to the backside of the desert, and came to the mountain of God, even to Horeb.

² And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed.

³ And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt.

⁴ And when the Lord saw that he turned aside to see, God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said, Moses, Moses. And he said, Here am I.

⁵ And he said, Draw not nigh hither: put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.

We sincerely hope that the fireys kept their shoes on!

A post from your favourite intellectual bog blog just isn't complete without a confused bog selfie from everyone's favourite toilet correspondent, Jonny.

Jonny doing his bit for religion by consuming two drinks at once and, by the looks of things, experiencing some minor calamity - possibly of Biblical proportions.

Finally, here is a Festive Video that seems to us suitable for Easter.

Festive Video: Miranda Lambert, For the Birds

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Dunnies Down Under, or, Everything You Do Is Futile, or, Self-Medicating with Car-Sickness Tablets Is Not Hip

Being bored to the point of taking actual car sickness tablets - in the hope of being knocked out for twelve to fifteen hours - by the retrospectives and accounts of "highlights" that plague media as the calendar year approaches its end, we're not going to indulge in anything resembling either a) nostalgia or b) hand-wringing over the horrors of 2020. Instead, in a feat of if not optimism then at least a cynical refusal to engage with all the fuckery because who can be arsed any more, we're going to focus on toilet pictures from Australia.

Australian Friend, you will be pleased to know, is currently enjoying the sunshine and functioning plumbing of her homeland, and is, as regular readers are aware, an enthusiastic crapper correspondent. Here, for your enjoyment, is a selection of her recent missives!

"The delightful public toilet building in this colonial park."

 

 

 Does this delightful public toilet remind us of anything? You bet your hair shirt it does! How about the public toilets in Cubbon Park, Bangalore? (Read our balanced and objective review here.)

"I know you don't like videos but I forgot and made you a video of a toilet. It has many things I believe you may approve of. It's from a Victorian (c. 1850s) 'beauty spot' and there were peacocks." 

Indeed, there are so many things that we approve of in this video that we lose count and have to watch the video again. And again! And again! And again!

Normally, at this stage in a bog blog post, we'd be ranting about whatever snag in the fabric of the cosmos we happen to find a personal affront at the moment, frothing at the mouth and stridently yelling things like "FEMINISM NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT!" or "DANISH MIXER TAPS ARE NOT REAL MIXER TAPS!" into the void, halting only when the inevitable hangover causes us to focus all our energies on holding on to the toilet floor. However, today we somehow find ourselves lethargic, like an Australian at the beach, quaffing Foster's and ogling the lifeguard while idly flicking our totally rad flipflops back and forth to the soothing rhythm of the sea. (Car sickness tablets are surprisingly effective.) Maybe the sum total of things that one feels the need to rant about reached a critical mass and sucked all of the ranting into a black hole in which the infuriated expressions of pent-up peevishness will disintegrate into spaghetti-like strings of discontent? We can't prove that this didn't happen and anyway, as we apparently wrote in 2016,

Remember that ultimately, everything you do is futile. The universe is a vast and terrifying void, containing one tiny speck of dust to which we are clinging, and ultimately destroying. We are, essentially, short-sighted monkeys with computers. Now relax, and stop giving a fuck. Have a drink, maybe.

 

As regular readers are aware we are not fans of children at the Privy Counsel, and we especially abhor pictures of children. However, here is a picture a friend of ours sent us of their child, of which we approve with enthusiasm bordering on militancy. Maybe this is what we should all be doing? Having a bath, in solitude, and forgetting all the rampant fuckwittage happening outside? Happy sodding new year. Have a bath. Have a drink, maybe.

 

We would encourage everyone to adopt the message in this Festive Video as their New Year's resolution.

Festive Video: Chopper Reed, Harden the Fuck Up

Happy new year. Harden the fuck up.

Related Reading

We simply cannot recommend our friend Maureen Helen's post on so-called gender-neutral toilets enough: Does dislike of all-gender toilets make me a bigot? 

(The answer, according to legislation being rolled out in Australia very soon, is a totalitarian YES.)

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Our review of the public toilets in Cubbon Park, Bangalore: A Passage To India: More Indian Toilets

We are remembering with fondness, today, that time when Australian Friend assured us we could finally stop worrying about monosodium glutamate