The Ominous Unlockable Door of Perugia

We ranted last week about the importance of taking a sick day when one feels like one has been possessed by a crapulence demon, which is cackling evilly and throbbing just behind one's frontal bone, and like literally the only thing that will save one's health from ruination and despair is to spend an entire day in bed watching Peaky Blinders and swearing quietly to oneself in a fake Brummie accent.

Of course, not everyone has the ability to take a sick day when sick. If there is one thing the reporting on the presidential election in the US has taught us, it is that not everyone in this world has health insurance, or the kind of employment contract that acknowledges that one is a human being, who will occasionally need to do human things, like resting.

As mentioned previously (for instance here, here, and also here), a toilet blogger's life is by necessity filled with many activities not related at all to bog-blogging. (There are few, if any, who have struck lucky and entered the elysian fields of full-time toilet-contemplation.) Your average toilet reviewer will spend most of their time toiling in the sweat of their brow, and also other places, some of which you wouldn't believe if we told you, to ensure that the wolf is kept from the door and that the cupboard is reasonably well stocked with bread for the day.

Still, we are quite happy just to have a job, and a salary with which to buy rum, wolf-repellent, and other essentials, and are, by and large, reasonably happy with our life situation (apart from, obviously, all the sexism, and post-modernism, and all the other -isms lurking everywhere, and also all the crap plumbing).

Our life situation, happy though we are with it in general (apart from the caveats listed above), does not permit us, alas, to fuck off to Perugia on a whim and take photos of toilets. Other people, however, apparently do have the kind of life situation that enables them to fuck off to Perugia and take photos of toilets. Our Mum, for instance. She sent us an informative missive the other day, saying:

Bar Caffè Stuzzicheria del Grifo, 23 Piazza Piccinino, 20 m från domkyrkan i Perugia. Trevlig uteservering med toa för konsumerande gäster. Har 2 dörrar varav den yttersta inte går att låsa och den innersta inte går att stänga.
Har tvättmöjlighet och toapapper men ingen nedfällbar toasits. 

(Bar Caffè Stuzzicheria del Grifo, 23 Piazza Piccinino, 20 metres from the cathedral in Perugia. Nice al fresco seating, with a toilet for guests. Has two doors, of which the outermost one is unlockable, and the innermost one uncloseable.
Has sink and toilet paper but no toilet seat.)

The seat-less toilet. Regular readers will recall Jonny's similarly seatless toilet from last week.
(Due to insurmountable technical difficulties,
this and the following photos are all sideways.)

The sink. Does a piece of your soul whither away and die
when contemplating this picture? A piece of our soul does.

This is a daring piece of toilet door photography! Brava, mamma!

We believe this is the al fresco dining area

Another one of our correspondents went to Stockholm the other weekend and stayed in a fancy hotel. Why anyone would choose to go to Stockholm of their own free will is beyond us. We don't like Stockholm, never have, and never will. Still. Presumably someone has to live there. Good luck to them.

A thoroughly non-offensive set-up, n'est-ce pas?

An elegant, even dramatic - but not wholly functional - shower.

Did we mention that we adore black-and-white tiled floors? Woof!

Our correspondent, earnestly at work.

La pudeur en defaut. A thoroughly offensive picture, showing a man
subjecting a woman to the kind of perving that amounts to sexual violence.

Apparently, just like the hotel where we stayed once with Australian Friend in Edinburgh, the Lady Hamilton Hotel in Stockholm's Old Town adheres to the criterion formulated by Helen Fielding's heroine Olivia Joules. We will repeat our statement from October 2011:

Personally, we couldn't care less, but in case you find the state of the end of the toilet roll a matter of importance on a par with democracy, world peace and being able to find a really good mojito: Reader, we assure you, the toilet paper in this hotel was folded into a neat point at the end.

By the way, here is a highly festive and decorative urinal for men in Stockholm's Old Town. Shame there is no equivalent service for the ladies.

A laudably decorative urinal. Shame the lack of equivalent services for women
makes this yet another expression of public sexism.

Another instance of decorative public facilities: an old phone box preserved in Stockholm! Perhaps this is where the ladies are supposed to tend to their business?

We'll go off on a proper rant about the lack of
public urinals for women another time. Hang on, turns out we already did.

We've devoted a lot of time and energy to feministing recently, and are correspondingly exhausted. Our recent brush with indisposition and decrepitude has taught us the importance of listening to one's body, and chillling the fuck out. We are, therefore, determined to spend the rest of this Sunday doing fuck-all except perhaps lying on the chaise-longue, imbibing whisky via a funnel. (We don't know if you have discovered this already, but if you add ginger to whisky it becomes a health drink of great magnitude, which has the further advantage of tasting delicious. It works with rum, too.)

One final reflection: Something we've been ruminating lately is the need for people to fuck off more. And, when people don't fuck off (the default setting for most people is apparently to not fuck off when you want them to), for you to turn your phone off and go to bed at 7 pm, if that is what you really want.

Some words from the Band Perry have been fluttering around our prefrontal cortex over the past couple of weeks. We realise, upon looking the lyrics up online, that we misheard. Still, here is what we heard:

I just wanna stay in the dark
Turn off all the lights
Come home in time
[...]
I just wanna stay in the dark

To paraphrase Stephen Fry (not for the first time): Now we've said just about everything there is to be said, most of it inconsequential to a degree, we're mongrel-bitch tired and our fist cannot form letters any more, so fuck off, our darlings, and leave us alone.

Festive Video: The Band Perry, Stay in the Dark


Related Reading

All posts featuring Our Mum

Posts featuring sweating, in various and sometimes surprising places:

Nothing Short of a Long Memory

Educational Cake

This special post not only mentions sweating but also tells the thrilling story of when we stayed in a fancy hotel in Edinburgh with Australian Friend:
Literary Hotel Musings

A rant on the lack of public urinals for women: Piss-Poor Performance

All posts featuring toilets in Italy


If you happen to belong to the population cohort that enjoys sideways bloody pictures, ogle them to your heart's content here

Southern Comfort: A Joyful and Soothing Italian Toilet

You know how, sometimes, a day which you fully expected to be horrendous - and result in either an addiction to barbiturates or enrolment in a nunnery - actually turns out not just ok but POSITIVELY FESTIVE?

Yeah, so that happened. And then this article turned up and made the atmosphere at Privy Counsel HQ positively riotous with mirth! S:t Pauli pisses back! Using water-repellent paint! We love this so much we are currently making undignified noises, curling up helplessly on the floor, and hooting with laughter.

In celebration, let's have a look at the pictures from that Italian public toilet we maybe mentioned, once, or thought we did. It was a great public toilet, replete with cleanliness, functionality and one really, really lovely toilet attendant! (Read about another friendly toilet attendant, in Athens, here.)

When looking at this picture, we tend to make a weird, Al Pacino-esque noise.
It's somehow very satisfactory, isn't it?

As all our friends know,
A COVERED TOILET ROLL HOLDER MAKES OUR HEART LEAP WITH JOY.

AND SO DOES A COAT-HOOK THIS STURDY.

Today we happened to discuss British plumbing with our favourite aunt.
Can we just say, THIS IS HOW IT IS BLOODY WELL DONE.
There is soap, and one single, unified tap, from which water of a pleasant temperature comes out,
without scalding one or giving one's hands chilblains.
Water of a pleasant temperature coming from a tap IS, BY THE WAY, NORMAL.

AND A FESTIVE SIGN!

Also paper towels, hygienically encased in a very safe-looking dispenser,
and surrounded by lovely tiles of an attractive green colour, offset by stylish white ones.

As far as we remember, these toilets were in Oulx, by the way. (Read more about other toilets in the area here.)

Because this is the kind of day we've had, let's have this festive video:

Festive video - Darius Rucker, Wagon Wheel

Related Reading
That time when we went round terrorising London with shewees: Shewees Are a Girl's Best Friend!
That time when Shewee Fiend Friend pissed all over everything, all over the shop: SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES
That time when Shewee Fiend Friend was super frustrated by incompetent males unsuccessfully aiming for the toilet: (Don't) Aim for the Stars
Our classic review of an Italian train: Finally! An Italian Train!
Another Privy Counsel classic: Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts, But Totally Trust the Toilet Attendant
All posts about Italy

Let's Have a Sub-Category of Related Reading, Today, On the Horrors of British Taps
A Note on Desperate Measures
Tap Into Pain
Are You British? Does Tap Sanity Elude You?
Terminator Toilet
Oh, and also, this report about the S.t Pauli toilets, from Denmark, is hilarious.

Lead Pipe Dreams

We think it's time for a rant, don't you? A high-brow, vitriolic rant full of indignation? Yes!

Here are  Exuberant Archaeologist Friend's final comments on Italian toilets. We've divided them into manageable sections. As usual, a translation follows below the original. If you're so inclined, do take this opportunity of brushing up on your colloquial, ranting-about-toilets Swedish.

Exuberant Archaeologist Friend writes:

Dessa trevligheter fann vi vid vårt besök på Diocletianus termer. Som för övrigt var kolossala bortom all sans.
Termernas frigidarium. Det var kärt. Och helt jävla jättestort. Ett gigantiskt badkar i marmor stilfullt dekorerat med lejonhufvuden. Samt ett antal fragmentariska blyrör, däribland ett från Vespasianus regeringstid. Fenomenalt.

(We found these pleasantnesses when visiting the thermae of Diocletian. Which by the way were colossal beyond reason.
The frigidarium of the thermae. It was darling. And totally bloody huge. A gigantic bath-tub of marble, stylishly decorated with lion heads. Also a number of fragmentary lead pipes, among which one from the time of Vespasian. Phenomenal.)

A sideways sign pointing to the frigidarium, for extra festivity!

What a lark! What a plunge! one would like to indulge in!

Does one yearn for a soak in this oh! so stylish tub? You know one does.

Lead pipe! Marked "Vespasian"! Hubba hubba!

More hubba!

Hubba hubba hubba!

Hunka!

Hunka hunka hunka! Hunka!

Exuberant Archaeologist Friend continues:

För övrigt önskar jag säga detta om våra toalett-upplevelser i Italien:

Att människor som praktiskt taget i direkt nedstigande led härstammar från ett folk som i hundratals år var en av de ledande auktoriteterna på avlopp och vattenförsörjning INTE mäktar med att konstruera ordentliga faciliteter är för mig en gåta.
Ingenting med de italienska toaletterna höll en standard som man kan kalla acceptabel. För att kunna spola i toaletten relativt framgångsrikt var man tvungen att upprepade gånger trycka på spolknappen som för att PUMPA fram vattnet. Detta är en synnerligen undermålig konstruktion. Man var sedan tvungen att vänta i flertalet minuter innan tanken återfyllts helt. Vattentrycket var en skam för mänskligheten, med ett undantag (Nationalmuseum). Avsaknaden av lock på toalett-tankarna är oförståeligt. 

Min make hade en synnerligen intressant upplevelse då han besökte en facilitet på ett kafé utanför San Clemente-basilikan; när han spolade i toaletten slocknade ljusen i cirka tre sekunder. Likaså när han började spola med vattnet i handfatet. På något oförklarligt vis verkade vatten och el vara sammankopplade. Trots en mindre oro för att bli elektrifierad valde denna modige man, denne hygienens förkämpe, att ändå tvätta sina händer för att sedan lämna denna demoniska toalett. Vad orsakade denna koppling mellan vatten och elektricitet? Vet ej. I sanning ett mysterium i klass med Loch Ness monstret.

(By the way, I would like to say this about our toilet experiences in Italy: 

That people who are more or less direct descendants of a people who, for hundreds of years, were one of the leading authorities on sewers and water supply DO NOT manage to construct proper toilets, is a mystery.
Nothing about the Italian toilets kept to a standard that you could call acceptable. To be able to flush relatively successfully, one had to repeatedly press the flush button, as if to PUMP the water through. This is a singularly inferior construction. One then had to wait for several minutes before the tank was completely refilled.   The water pressure was a disgrace to humanity, with one exception (the National Museum). The lack of a lid on the water tanks is incomprehensible. 

My husband had a singularly interesting experience when visiting the facilities of a café outside the San Clemente basilica; when he flushed the toilet, the light went out for about three seconds. The same thing happened when he turned the water on in the sink. In some inexplicable manner, the water and electricity seemed to be connected. Despite a certain worry of being eletrocuted, this brave man, this champion of hygiene, still chose to wash his hands before leaving this demoniacal toilet. What caused this connection between water and electricity? I know not. It is verily a mystery on the level of the Loch Ness monster.)

Basilica san Clemente. An anonymous café near here gives one the opportunity of dicing with death.
Image from disfrutaroma.com.

Sammanfattningsvis kan man säga att italienarna tyvärr mist sin plats som en framstående civilisation. Troligtvis vänder sig många stora romare i sina gravar vid tanken på denna degradering. Varför det har blivit så är en gåta. En gåta som vetenskapen kanske aldrig kan finna ett svar på. Tack och lov finnes det en god tröst i vinet som trots allt fortfarande är av utmärkt kvalité. Men skammen kvarstår för det italienska folket när en ättling till de germanska stammarna ställer frågan: 

"Who are the barbarians now, motherfuckers?"

(In conclusion, one could say that the Italians have unfortunately lost their position as a great civilisation. Most probably, several eminent Romans are turning in their graves at the thought of this degradation. Why things have turned out this way is a mystery. A mystery that science will perhaps never find an answer to. Thankfully there is comfort to be found in the wine, which is, despite everything, still of an excellent quality. But the shame remains for the people of Italy, when a descendant of the Germanic tribes poses the question: 

"Who are the barbarians now, motherfuckers?")

Ouch.

That's it from Exuberant Archaeologist Friend for now, but we're certain there will be many more splendid rants in future. Other things that are coming in the near future are:
More toilets from German Friend (we still have a large pile in the archive - just waiting for the pheasants to pipe down), more toilets from Athens (with, by the way, excellent plumbing), another photo of Jonny in the bath (strap on your girdles and try to contain yourselves, ladies!).

A young person of our acquaintance told us that Don't Stop Me Now is an excellent song for cleaning - "My whole room was done before the song was over. Hoovering and everything". So, because Italians NEED TO CLEAN UP THEIR ACT, let's hear it!

Festive video - Queen, Don't Stop Me Now

Related Reading
All posts incorporating Barbarians
All posts by Exuberant Archaeologist Friend
We seem to have a talent for making our friends go off on rants about toilets. Here's another instance of this happening: Les Conduites Dangereuses: For Once it's Not Just Us Ranting

In other news:
CHRISTMAS IS COMING
Have you considered turning your back on mindless consumerism and instead benefiting mankind by spending a penny on Oxfam Unwrapped, WaterAid, or ToiletTwinning? Or why not donate to Amnesty International, or your local women's shelter?

Introducing Our Favourite Aunt

Bertie Wooster had a favourite aunt. Her name was Dahlia, and she enjoyed fox-hunting and French cuisine. We, too, have a favourite aunt. Our aunt enjoys, among other things, archaeology and strident feminism. She has many good qualities and is engaged in many laudable pursuits, but the foremost of her achievements, the crème de la crème of her activities, is undoubtedly her recent decision to send us a toilet photo from Rome.

Our aunt is rampantly intellectual and is well-versed in many subjects, but has hitherto been strangely inactive in the fertile field of toilet photography. It is our pleasure to introduce her very first contribution to this exciting discipline.

Toilet in the near vicinity of the Castel Sant'Angelo, Rome

View from the Castel Sant'Angelo, Rome

We have more pictures of Roman toilets, along with a spirited critique of Italian plumbing, from Exuberant Archaeologist Friend, coming - all good things to those who wait!

In other news,  a person who wishes to be known as "an anonymous benefactor" sent us a link to an article in the New York Times about how building toilets in India helps reduce the rate of disease, and simultaneously helps protect women from being raped or eaten by wild animals. A thousand hurrahs for sanitation!

We also have a very cheerful picture for you. Our mate Jonny is, as many of you know, a lovely dude, if a bit disgusting at times. Jonny can be a raging idiot (you know what we mean, Jonny), but we like to think that he is ever growing and developing in maturity and intellect. For instance, Jonny recently developed in the direction of taking a photo of himself looking rampantly intellectual in a toilet! This worthy achievement is totally worth a round of applause - well done, Jonny!

We can't think of anything more attractive than a lovely dude
being rampantly intellectual in a toilet. Can you?

In honour of our lovely aunt, our anonymous benefactor, and Jonny, let's have a festive video that celebrates two of our favourite things -  rampant intellectualism and strident feminism!

Festive video - Dolly Parton, Dumb Blonde

Related Reading
More on sanitation in India: There Is Too Much Going On. This Blog Post Will Probably Give You a Migraine.
Exuberant Archaeologist Friend has written some highly exuberant reviews of Italian toilets.

In other news:
CHRISTMAS IS COMING
Have you considered turning your back on mindless consumerism and instead benefiting mankind by spending a penny on Oxfam Unwrapped, WaterAid,  or ToiletTwinning? Or why not donate to Amnesty International, or your local women's shelter?

We Cheer Ourselves Up Using Pictures of Roman Plumbing, and Caitlin Moran

You know when you end up having to spend 27 minutes looking at pictures of Caitlin Moran on the internet just to be able to get on with the rest of your day?
As you know, we don't like to complain, but there are moments when one wishes that there was a lot less mansplaining happening, and a lot more syphilis. If the crotch of one's tights would stay in the position intended for it, and not slide down to one's knees, that would also be great. (One can dream, can't one?)

Incidentally, before we go any further, here is an emergency picture of Caitlin Moran. (We can't sit down and drink ourselves into a stupor while enjoying a spirited rant with all of you, so this is as close as we can get to providing spiritual solace.)

Caitlin Moran makes everything better.

Now exhale. Feels better, doesn't it? And guess what. It gets even better! It's dark outside, and there's all kinds of doom happening left, right and centre, and also there's something really weird going on with the Privy Counsel HQ toilet, which we hope will sort itself out before anything distressing happens. But we had a cheeky pint (and, incidentally, some seriously calorific pastries and, funnily enough, an extended spirited rant) with Exuberant Archaeologist Friend today, and realised that we haven't posted all her Rome photos. So here are more of Exuberant Archaeologist Friend's Rome photos! Huzzah!

Exuberant Archaeologist Friend writes, in her bold, plucky style (a translation follows, as usual, below the original, but do take the opportunity, if the mood takes you, of brushing up on your colloquial Swedish):

Detta är lite annat smått och gott:
Vad vi tror var ett avlopp som vi hittade på Colosseum. Synnerligen intressant. Kanske har det sköljt bort mer blod än avföring men det lämnade dock ett bestående intryck.
Vi fann en offentlig dryckesfontän i Ostia samt vad vi tror var ett annat avlopp. Detta var trevligt. I synnerhet som detta avlopp var klädsamt täckt av rik grönska. Vi blev en aning poetiska. Fontänen var mycket rar och vi önskade innerligt att den fortfarande fungerade. Men ack, den var snustorr och detta beredde oss en viss sorg.
Mera bilder följer.

(Here are a few more titbits:
What we think was a drain, that we found in the Colosseum. Singularly interesting. It might have drained away more blood than faeces, but it still left an indelible impression.
We found a public drinking fountain in Ostia, and what we think was another drain. This was nice. Especially since the drain was becomingly covered in lush greenery. We waxed somewhat lyrical. It was a very dear fountain, and we heartily wished that it still worked. But alas, it was bone dry, and this caused us a certain sorrow.
More pictures coming.)

ZOMG A DRAIN. IN THE COLOSSEUM. IN THE COLOSSEUM!

Huzzah - a drinking fountain in Ostia!

Another drain. This one is becomingly covered in lush greenery.

That's all we have energy for now - we have to watch a frivolous tv programme, then get on with some grammar and maybe bash our head against the wall for a bit.

There are lots more exciting posts coming up, though - Bogsley Hansson Friend sent us an awesome picture of a ventilation pipe (and also a water-saving sink!), and there is one more Italian instalment from Exuberant Archaeologist Friend coming, in which she loses her shit over Italian plumbing, in a manner which inspires feelings of courage and valour in one's breast.

Today's festive video is, inevitably, going to consist of a melodramatic country song.

Festive video - Miranda Lambert, Mama's Broken Heart

Related Reading

All previous posts about Caitlin Moran:
Joy in the Morning, Afternoon, and Well Into the Evening - Caitlin Moran in a Bathroom

In Which We Indulge in a Feminist Rant and, of Course, Incontinence

Caitlin Moran - Our Favourite Non-Toilet-Related Person

That time when we were enormously excited by a drain in Athens:
The Ancient Agora Museum in Athens - Unbridled Stoicism

That time when we tried to cheer ourselves up with a picture from our mate Jonny:
We Clutch Desperately at Straws, and Try to Cheer Everyone Up with One of Jonny's Pictures

Another post in which we bitch and moan a fair amount, about, among other things, grammar:
"Oh for Shame, How the Mortals Put the Blame on Us Gods" - We Indulge in Melodrama

All previous posts from Exuberant Archaeologist Friend

Exuberant Archaeologist Friend Is Not Impressed with Italian Toilets Again

Feeling wordly-wise and ever so slightly hungover, we've got some advice to offer today. Firstly, we would like everyone to know that, if you make the decision to use mint tea as a mixer for rum (because you can't go to the supermarket as it is raining and you've just sprayed your totally fucking fabulous hair into perfection), add either lemon or honey. Never both. (We don't know why his should be but have been assured by Shewee Fiend Friend that it is a big, big mistake to add lemon and honey. (Luckily, friends of ours rather awesomely brought Prosecco, meaning we didn't, in the end, have to sit there drinking rum with mint tea in it and trying to decide whether to add lemon or honey.))

Secondly, we would like to send a greeting to the many, many SEO spammers in the Ukraine who frequent our blog and leave comments. We hope you're all ok in the Ukraine, despite political unrest, and wish you all the best. However, we unfortunately only publish genuine comments, so actually you're wasting your time. Go and spam someone else!

Now for some more Roman toilets. Exuberant Archaeologist Friend writes (a translation follows below, as usual, although do seize this opportunity to brush up on your colloquial Swedish!):

Den första är från vårt hotellrum och den var världens i särklass mest obekväma toalett att sitta på. Ringen var alldeles för liten (dessutom av porslin) så att man basically satt på sina sittben istället för sitt rumpfläsk. It hurt. 

Notera att tanken sitter högt ovanför toaletten och inte har något lock (precis som alla andra toalett-tankar i det där jävla landet). Detta gjorde att det porlade som en förbannad bäck när den satans tingesten fylldes på. Under denna tid (ca 10 min) kunde man inte spola alls. Plus att det fucking stänkte vatten från den. Jävla skit. Notera också att man inte kunde luta toalettlocket helt tillbaka eftersom någon synnerligen obegåvad person hade beslutat att placera toalettrulle-hållaren precis bakom toaletten. Så locket nuddade vid ens rygg konstant. Kallt och hårt. Jätteskönt. 

Det fanns också en bidé för att ytterligare ge badrummet den där retro-känslan. Handfatet var ok, men tvålen alldeles för små. Men det fanns ju en blandare. Det verkar de i alla fall ha lärt sig använda i Italien. Gud vare tack och lov.

(The first one is from our hotel room, and it was the world's most uncomfortable toilet to sit on. The seat was too small (and made of porcelain), so that one basically sat on one's sitting bones, instead of on one's arse fat. It hurt.
Note that the tank is situated high above the toilet and doesn't have a lock (like every other toilet tank in that sodding country). This meant that it gurgled like a fucking stream everytime the bloody thing was filled up. During this time (about ten minutes) one couldn't flush at all. Also, it fucking splashed water on one. Fucking hell. Also note that one couldn't lean the toilet lid back completely since some singularly witless person had decided to place the toilet roll hollder just behind the toilet. So the lid touched against one's back constantly. Cold and hard. Lovely.
There was also a bidet, to give the bathroom even more of that retro feel. The sink was ok, but the soaps were too small. However, there was a mixer tap. They seem to have learned to use those in Italy. God be praised.)

We are not impressed.

A bidet, for that retro feeling!

One doesn't exactly leap with joy, despite the mixer tap.
It could just be the hangover, but it could also be the distressing marble-impression plastic.

A most regrettable state of affairs!

Nästa är från Nationalmuseum. DE HADE OCKSÅ RÅD MED RINGAR PÅ SINA TOALETTER!!! Min lycka var total. Denna toalett spolade medelst vattenfall. Det var otroligt. Kaskader av vatten som sköljde bort precis allt. Bajsborstar göre sig icke besvär. Tvålet luktade också gott. Men här hade de inte fattat det där med blandare. Kanske hade alla pengar gått till toalettringsbudgeten, vad vet jag.


Det kommer mera.

(The next set is from the National Museum. THEY COULD ALSO AFFORD SEATS ON THEIR TOILETS!!! [This refers to the Tre Scalini café near the Piazza Navona, where the toilets had seats, unlike those in the Capitoline Museums. Read all about it in There Is Too Much Going On. This Post Will Probably Give You a Migraine.] My happiness was complete. This toilet flushed using a waterfall approach. It was incredible. Cascades of water flushing away absolutely everything. No need for a toilet brush. The soap was also nice. But they hadn't quite got the hang of this mixer tap thing. Perhaps they blew all the money on the toilet seat budget, I don't know.
There is more coming.)

Hurrah! A toilet seat! And does our eye spy a toilet seat sanitizer thing as well?
We love those things, despite not believing that they contribute to hygiene.
There was a lovely one at Café Hollandia in Malmö, that we enjoyed using once.

Again, we're happy that we won't be around when the plumbing,
inevitably, needs fixing, and all the pipes are behind the wall.

We can't help but find it kind of festive when the pipes are too narrow to handle toilet paper, and you have to put everything in the bin. Then again, it is also distressing, especially if one should happen to be sober.

Technically, this counts as a mixer tap.
One does, however, appreciate a good lever, for reasons of hygiene and disability friendliness.

Funnily enough, Exuberant Archaeologist's mum has recently been to Macedonia, a land rich in potholes and statues, but sadly lacking in pipes of a sufficient circumference to be able to handle toilet paper. This practical woman and her friends obediently put their bog roll in the bin provided when there was a sign telling them to do so. When there was no sign, they flushed everything. This is exactly what we would have done. Kudos, Exuberant Archaeologist Friend's mum!

Exuberant Archaeologist Friend's mum posing with a festive Macedonian miniature toilet.

Today's festive video is Rum and Coca Cola. This is how we and Exuberant Archaeologist Friend envisage spending our retirement: drinking rum and Coca-Cola (needs must when the devil drives, of course, but coke is a much, much better mixer for most alcoholic drinks than mint tea) and, possibly, working for the Yankee dollar (because we don't imagine ever earning enough money to build up an actual pension).

Festive video - The Andrews Sisters, Rum and Coca-Cola


Related Reading
Exuberant Archaeologist Friend's previous contributions from the Eternal City:
Up in the Air - Introducing Exuberant Archaeologist Friend
There Is Too Much Going On. This Post Will Probably Give You a Migraine.
On toilet brushes, and the use of them:
Toilet Etiquette, or, Ominous Verbs, or, Shit Happens
All Italian Toilets

There Is Too Much Going On. This Blog Post Will Probably Give You a Migraine.

Following the dramatic reduction in mansplaining levels after our recent rant*, we had intended to spend some time indulging in the kind of hardcore intellectual pursuits which we complained the other day that we were prevented from getting down to, due to being permanently pissed off, because of all the mansplaining. But, as is often the way, we received word of a most exciting cleanliness campaign in India, the festiveness levels of which caused us to yearn, ache and long for tending to our beloved blog.

In a drive called Swachh Bharat Abhiyan, efforts are being made to improve sanitation in India. As anyone who has ever inhaled the smell of sewage, coming from what is supposed to be a river, knows, this is a really, really, really good idea. According to one source,

A United Nations report in May said half of India's population still practises open defecation - putting them at risk of cholera, diarrhoea, dysentery, hepatitis A and typhoid. The resulting diseases and deaths cause major economic losses, and a World Bank report in 2006 estimated that India was losing 6.4 percent of GDP annually because of poor access to sanitation.

Another source tells us that "At least 30 lakh [Editor's comment: that is, if we remember rightly, three million] central government employees working across the country and hundreds of school and college students will take the pledge of cleanliness at different functions". If you've had a rough day and need cheering up, have a look at these pictures, from the Times of India, of said government employees doing just that! We're not sure what the brooms are supposed to accomplish, but you can't deny that any effort to improve sanitation in "the subcontinent" (as India is always, irritatingly, called whenever a journalist needs a synonym for "India" and can't think of one) is worthy of a massive HURRAH!

One Indian administrative officer has reportedly cleaned his office every day since 1993. Every day. Since 1993. You can imagine how clean it must be! This sign, outside his office, purportedly provides information on how often the dude cleans his office, and how long he has been doing it for.

*Said reduction in mansplaining could also be due to the fact that we have been too busy to actually talk to anyone.

We could have ended this blog post here, but why should we?  Remember Exuberant Archaeologist Friend's spirited account from Rome? Let's have more of that! (Also, we know that several of our friends are eager to improve their Scandiwegian, and we reckon this is a golden opportunity for them to brush up on their colloquial Swedish.)

Här är nästa skörd:

De första är från de kapitolinska museerna. Det saknades toalettring på ALLA toaletter. Fanns inga krokar, så det var tur att [min man] var med och kunde hålla grejerna. Tvålet var bra, luktade supergott. Det verkar som att de lagt alla pengar på väldoftande tvål istället för på toalettringar. Skabbigt deluxe.

(Here is the next crop: 

The first ones are from the Capitoline Museums. There were no seats on ANY of the toilets. There were no coat hooks, so it was lucky that [my husband] was there and could hold all my stuff. The soap was good; it smelled really nice. It seems they spent the entire budget on fragrant soap instead of toilet seats. Minging deluxe.)

We like these taps, but this kind of modern basin gives us the shivers:
surely it makes it really hard for the cleaners?

We usually reason, pragmatically, that a toilet that HAS NO FUCKING SEAT is actually more hygienic,
as the surface which can be dirtied is smaller.
It is still no pleasure having to use a toilet with NO FUCKING SEAT, though, obviously.

Oh, dear. A pipe disappearing into the wall?
We're stupendously glad that we won't be around when this set-up, inevitably, goes to shit and has to be repaired.

Nästa är från ett kafé vid Piazza Navona; Tre Scalini. Jämfört med alla andra toaletter i Rom så var detta ett högteknologiskt tempel. OCH DET FANNS EN RING!! Dessutom reste den sig automatiskt när man ställt sig upp och sprutade sedan ut sanitetsvätska på ringen**. Utmärkt. Tvålet luktade gott. Detta var den klart bästa toaletten.

Mer följer!

(The next set of pictures is from a café at the Piazza Navona, Tre Scalini. Compared to all the other toilets in Rome, this was a temple of high-tech. AND THERE WAS A SEAT!! Also, it was folded up automatically when you got up, and sanitiser was sprayed onto the seat**. Excellent. The soap smelled nice. This was totally the best toilet. 

There is more coming!)

**Because we weren't sure how this worked, we asked for clarification, and were given the following explanation:

Sanitetsvätskan sprutades lite snett uppåt så att det skulle typ falla ner på ringen när den rest sig. Vätskan kom från den delen av toaletten där spolknappen skulle ha suttit om det varit EN NORMAL TOALETT!

(The sanitiser was sprayed sideways upwards, in order to fall onto the seat when it had been folded up. The fluid came from the part of the toilet where the flush button would normally be, if it had been A NORMAL TOILET!)

The toilets in the Tre Scalini café in Rome: laudably hygienic!

WE LOVE TOILET SIGNAGE CLARITY

There is no hot water, but on the other hand there is no non-mixer tap insanity happening, either.

Another pipe in the wall.

These instructions are very, very clear.

We bloody love covered tissue!

Did the mention of the Piazza Navona set off a bell in our head? Did it ever? Bridget Jones is a label on this blog, after all, so here, for your reading pleasure, is an extract from The Edge of Reason (as in the book, obviously. The film, as every right-thinking person knows, doesn't count):

"Hello, Bridget, this is Colin Firth." We all jumped a foot backwards. It was Mr Darcy. The same posh, deep, can't-be-bothered voice that he proposed to Elizabeth Bennet in on the BBC. Bridget. Me. Mr Darcy said Bridget. On my answerphone.
"I gather you're coming to Rome to interview me on Monday," he went on. "I was calling to arrange somewhere to meet. There's a square called the Piazza Navona, sort of easy place to find in a taxi. I'll meet you about 4.30 by the fountain. Have a safe journey."
"1471, 1471," gabbled Jude, "1471, quick, quick. No, get the tape out, get the tape out!"
"Call him back," screamed Sharon like an SS torturer. "Call him back and ask him to meet you in the fountain. OhmyGod."
The phone had rung again, we stood there rigid, mouths open. Then Tom's voice boomed out, "Hello, you pretty little things, it's Mr Darcy here just calling to see if anyone could help me out of this wet shirt."

(Helen Fielding, The Edge of Reason. London: Picador, 1999, 159-160)

We reckon this is as good a time as any to revisit the wet-shirt-scene from Pride and Prejudice.

Festive video: Pride and Prejudice, wet-shirt-scene


Related Reading
A Mr Darcy Pin-Up: It Is Tolerable, We Suppose - A Privy Counsel Pick-Me-Up
And another one: Privy Counsel Pin-Up - Colin Firth
All previous Bridget Jones-related posts
All posts from India
All posts from Italy
Up in the Air - Introducing Exuberant Archaeologist Friend
More information on why sanitation is so important:
Good Deeds
Oxfam Build a Bog