Remember when, two years ago, we ran a toilet paper origami competition, where we encouraged people to send in pictures of folded bog roll? And where the winner was supposed to receive a signed photograph of Jonny wearing a pirate costume? No, we didn't, either. No winner was ever selected, and nobody ever received a photo of Jonny, signed or otherwise. Nostra culpa! We shall do our utmost to rectify this dire mistake.
Speaking of Jonny, we occasionally get asked who Jonny is, and we never know what to answer, although we seem to remember, vaguely, possibly having made an attempt, at some point, to explain the existence of Jonny on this blog, on this blog. Usually, we resort to giving our standard definition, which is that Jonny counts as a friend for administrative reasons. There.
Other friends are neither more easily explained nor have ever featured on the Privy Counsel, which in some cases possibly counts as a loss for humanity. Luckily, in the case of a friend who we have decided to call Rampant Rat-Hunting Friend (we could tell you the story of the rats but you wouldn't want us to - trust us on this), this sad state is about to be remedied! Rampant Rat-Hunting Friend has been to Spain, and has consequently sent us a photo of below toilet, remarking:
Prison toilet. In use until 2017.
We have seen worse toilets, and we have never been to prison.
The delight does not end there. Rampant Rat-Hunting Friend continues her epistolary fireworks with this message:
Is the lid supposed to be up and the seat down when you use the toilet, or all the time?
We ourselves have been out travelling since we last wrote - not as far as Spain, but to the fair city of Malmö, where we encountered this charming toilet, which possessed many delightful traits such as, to name but a few, coat-hooks, fragrant soap, hand sanitiser, and towels which you could fling dramatically into a basket while exclaiming, "Begone, foul fiend! I wash my hands of you!". Or words to that effect.
Why is it trendy to put the cistern on the wall? And, more to the point, when will it stop being trendy to put the cistern on the wall?
Jonny, meanwhile, has been to Greece, from where he reported that:
There's a phone in my bathroom.
Our response, naturally, was to write back immediately, urging Jonny to pose with the toilet phone in the manner of an eighties movie villain. Reader, Jonny did not disappoint!
"Me calling reception to let them know their grilled cheese is delicious."
Since Rampant Rat-Hunting Friend absolutely will not approve of any music we might choose, ever - being, on this point, as rabid as Shewee Fiend Friend - it is utterly irrelevant which Festive Video we choose for this post.
Festive Video - Rocky Burnette, Tired of Toein' the Line
Also, we know for a fact that this blog is read by a total of seven people, one of whom is Our Mum, and none of whom ever watch the Festive Videos. Thus it matters not one jot whether we also link to this version of this Festive Video, and also this fantastic version.
You know the feeling when you'd really like to play the ukulele for a bit; not only because you are about to perform in public and some practice would benefit everyone involved, not least the audience having to endure the performance, but because that is your heart's desire; however the Fates are not smiling (and why should they? They have enough to deal with - rude people on trains, incorrect grammar on food packaging, the inevitable apocalypse that will annihilate hot baths, dentistry and espresso - without going about smiling at strangers) and you are hindered in your endeavour by the fact that the weather is literally sweltering and necessitates a dramatic, privacy-killing, and potentially highly neighbour-irritating flinging open of doors? What better way to profit by your enforced inaction than by writing a blog post, to delight and edify your readers!
Here, at any rate, is photographic evidence - delightful and edifying or not - of us leaving off worrying about the causal link between the zombie apocalypse and poor potato harvests for a few hours while enjoying the craft beers at Beer Ditch, in Malmö!
A toilet after our own heart! We are reasonably confident that Shewee Fiend Friend barked with happiness at the evidence of craft beer-brewing happening around the world visible here.
A hygienic mixer tap.
Our intrepid correspondent, showing off a highly beloved t-shirt and trying very hard to live up to its message. If you like the look of it, you can order it at the sheshirtshop.
A friendly sign telling one where to find more paper towels, should these ones run out. We do love clear signage!
Our only complaint about this toilet was the hopelessly feeble coat-hook. Look at it. We're not even sure it's a coat-hook. It might just be a random hook left from where a painting used to hang but, quite conceivably considering the minuscule size of the hook, fell off.
Now for an update from New York! Shewee Fiend Friend, feeling intellectual, ventured forth to a museum. She sent us the following commentary:
The museum was modern art Mostly rock sculpture I liked the coat hook
It certainly looks robust and functional
This, too, looks functional and hygienic. We appreciate that there is a sturdy rail that one could clutch, should one be feeling frail for any reason.
We don't often get sentimental here at the Privy Counsel. Except we do,
actually, much more often than we would admit to in public, or anywhere else for that matter, including the most privy recesses of the Privy Counsel and its environs.
A song that
we've been listening to a lot lately is the one featured below in today's Festive Video, that we reckon
contains good advice to young people. It so easily happens, when one is young, that one caves in to what Caitlin Moran calls "the anxiety of other, ultimately less satisfying things like ‘being cool’, ‘being more successful than everyone else’ and ‘being very thin’". Even people who are not quite so
young any more and may in fact be medievalists in their mid-to-late thirties, may profit from its message; we've been reflecting lately
on the need to remain humble and kind even when things are changing, or
confusing, or you're super annoyed and would like nothing better than to walk off in a huff and sodding well let everyone else drink the champagne - which you have, by the way, out of the kindness of your heart, carriedfor four hours - BY THEIR SODDING SELVES. (Everyone was doing their best to ensure a restful moment of champagne consumption, they just weren't communicating efficiently. Could we add a subclause to the refrain? "Always be humble and kind AND REMEMBER TO COMMUNICATE YOUR THOUGHTS AND INTENTIONS BECAUSE PEOPLE CAN'T READ YOUR MIND AND ALSO ANSWER YOUR PHONE", perhaps?)
We would argue that most of us, however competent and organised we would like to appear in the eyes of the world, spend most of our lives lurching mindlessly in whatever direction we happen to be pushed by circumstances, eagerly grasping whatever alcoholic beverage is available come Friday night. However, even though we're happy, at the Privy Counsel, to take each day as it comes and live and let live, we appreciate the importance of some kind of guidelines to steer us straight. As regular readers will be aware, we defined two mottoes to live by a couple of years ago: PEOPLE SHOULD FUCK OFF MORE and FEMINISM NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT. These have stood us in good stead.
Last night, the beverage available happened to be the good kind of champagne, which was pleasant to a high degree, but more importantly, we formulated a new Privy Counsel rule of life! The third rule, now added to the canon, is ALWAYS GO TO THE TOILET TWICE.
"Hang on, hang on," you may be saying to yourself now, sitting up on your chaise-longue and agitatedly waving your tweed-clad arms about. "I'm perfectly happy going to the toilet just once. Why would I go twice just because some random toilet blogger with a record of showing poor judgement tells me to?" Your concerns, if this is you, are legitimate, and your logic infallible. However, hear us out - there is reason to our madness!
Say you're in a fancy seafood restaurant. For instance, to just grab an example at random, at Johan P in Malmö. Let's say you're throwing the good kind of champagne down your throat with chutzpah, and enjoying the feeling of it being Friday night and you not having to get up at the arse end of dawn the next day. Say you go to the toilet, and enjoy the fancy décor and well-appointed handwashing facilities. Say you snap a couple of pictures, feel pleased with your efforts, and go back to the table to continue guzzling champagne. Say someone with more life experience and less impaired reasoning skills points out that the toilet is, when you think about it, a unisex one. Say you laugh this statement off, arguing that you had a perfectly pleasant time during your visit to the toilet, entirely unharassed by bearded hipsters.
However, let's say that you, being trained in scientific methodology and critical thinking - even if your judgement has been temporarily clouded by vast amounts of the good kind of champagne - go back in some time later, for the sake of scientific enquiry and journalistic integrity. Let's say that, while washing your hands, no fewer than three persons of the male sex squeeze awkwardly past you.
THE HORROR!
We have always argued, and will continue to argue, that A SHIT TOILET IS ONE IN WHICH ONE IS FORCED TO WASH ONE'S HANDS IN THE COMPANY OF BEARDED HIPSTERS AGAINST ONE'S WILL.
In this case, the males in question were not so much bearded hipsters as bloated middle-aged men in unflattering trousers, but the tenet still stands. Only someone with very poor imagination would design a venue where a woman has to wash her hands in an enclosed space with random men twice her size, and not expect her to feel nervous and uncomfortable. We say this not because we dislike men, but because the statistics speak for themselves.
The majority of all reported sex crimes are committed by men, against women. When we say "the majority", we don't mean "something like two thirds", or even "something like three quarters", but "something like 98 %". Let that sink in. Now ponder the fact that sexual predators are opportunists, who harass, grope, and assault women when circumstances allow, and you will see that unisex toilets are a TERRIBLE IDEA.
To all restaurateurs out there who are considering putting in new toilets, we implore you: HARDEN THE FUCK UP AND GIVE THE WOMEN THEIR OWN FUCKING TOILET. Women-only spaces exist not because women are irrational creatures who insist on having several expensive square metres to themselves, but because toilets and changing rooms are not neutral spaces, and because the world is not safe for women.
Let us summarise our argument: Sex is biological reality. Gender is a social construct. No matter how dedicated we are to the struggle of crushing the patriarchy and pulverising gender norms, pretending that gender doesn't exist doesn't solve the problem of sexist abuse. Hence, until we're equal, and one sex isn't constantly subjected to sexual violence by the other sex, let there be segregated toilets.
PEOPLE SHOULD FUCK OFF MORE.
FEMINISM NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT.
Also, when writing a toilet review, ALWAYS GO TO THE TOILET TWICE. The first time may not show you every facet or even faucet (especially if you're off your head on the good kind of champagne).
Having ranted for a suitable amount of time, let us enjoy some photos from the well-equipped, but uncomfortable and potentially dangerous, toilets at Johan P:
We have no complaints about the toilet except that it has no coat hook. Could it be any more obvious that a man designed these toilets? The equivalent of Marie Antoinette's "Let them eat cake" is the male toilet designer's "Let them put their handbags on the floor". No person in their right mind wants to put their handbag on a toilet floor - BLOODY WELL GIVE WOMEN COAT HOOKS!
This is all very well, but we still don't understand why sinks must look like cattle troughs.
The soap and hand lotion was very nice, and smelled of lavender and thyme!
Another aspect of Johan P is the acoustics in the restaurant are terrible. There are times
when you would give your right arm not to be forced to listen to the
person next to you, but there are also times when you would quite like
to hear what your company is saying, and Johan P is not a good place for
hearing whatever conversational pyrotechnics may be going off around you. The question of acoustics technically falls outside the range of
our blog, but we thought it worth mentioning. (Let us also note, however, in the interest of fairness, that the champagne at Johan P is excellent and the moules frites are to die for.) Speaking of acoustics, we have some exciting toilets from Audiologist Friend, and also from Australian Friend and Jonny (who counts as a friend for administrative reasons), in our vast cavern of an archive - something for you all to look forward to!
Now, for a Festive Video. This one appeals to us for several reasons.
Festive Video - Shannon McNally, Lonesome, Ornery and Mean
The latest person among our acquaintance to pass her viva with flying colours is Tudor Friend! Our sincerest contrafibularities to that ragingly intellectual cheese aficionado! Tudor Friend is the kind of person who always understands exactly what you mean, and we can honestly say that we would have gone properly batshit crazy on at least four separate occasions without her support, counsel and wisdom. We like to think of ourselves as fiercely logical, well-balanced people here at the Privy Counsel, but right now we are feeling positively emotional. Let us quickly move on before we say anything soppy.
What better way to celebrate Tudor Friend's achievement than by feasting our eyes on pictures of some charming toilets we came across in an old cinema in Malmö, Sweden! We accompanied some young persons to Amnesty Day in this location one wet day in October. It was a most illuminating event, and taught everyone present something about the importance of never ceasing the fight for human rights. If you happen to be feeling combative at the moment, by the way, we heartily recommend the Amnesty Write For Rights campaign, in which one writes letters or Christmas cards to political prisoners to express one's solidarity.
We actually found ourselves wondering, when using this toilet, what Tudor Friend would make of the retro chain and general air of British-people-with-bristling-moustaches-keeping-their-lips-stiff-and-upper-while-using-greaseproof-paper-as-bog-roll.
Do we recognise this sign from anywhere? Why, HELLZ YES!
Rather charming, if cumbersome, taps.
When we asked Tudor Friend what theme she wanted for her Festschrift, she replied:
All I can really say is "I like mixer taps as much as
the next girl... Pemberley more than most bitches... and I REALLY love
me some cheese!" (A friend once asked me for "Mr Darcy carved out of
cheese" for Christmas. But I think a cheese Pemberley would win.)
Thus today's Festive Video, in Tudor Friend's Honour, is of the ragingly intelligent Elizabeth Bennet singing an aria from The Marriage of Figaro, possibly our favourite opera, to a handsome man in a cravat. Unfortunately the video cuts off just as Mr Darcy is about to stride manfully up and down the gallery at Pemberley, thinking of Miss Bennet, while his dogs pad along behind him. Woof!
Festive Video - Elizabeth Bennet singing an English version of Voi che sapete, from Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro, in the 1995 BBC dramatisation of Pride and Prejudice.
It happens that one, on obtaining new information, changes one's opinion on things. This has happened to us. Events that took place in 2016 and 2017 caused us to seek information on gender ideology, leading to a complete turnaround on the issue of toilets. We've expounded our views on this in several posts, for instance these ones:
However, the bigoted bathroom laws in the US have highlighted the fact that transgender people, as well as cis women, are at risk of suffering violence at the hands of men. For this reason we feel it is important to clarify our stance on gender-neutral bathrooms.
We are mentally cheering this bearded hipster dude on, waving balloons and blowing those festive rolled-up paper things that go "toot". Image from Transadvocate.
Transgender people are vulnerable to hate crimes and violence, and need to be protected from the bigotry of the uneducated. Let us, therefore, collectively embrace unisex toilets!
Here are some unisex toilets so cleverly designed that one doesn't even reflect upon the fact that they are unisex!
First up are the toilets in the shopping centre in Burlöv, outside Malmö. We don't spend a lot of time in shopping centres, whether in Burlöv or anywhere else, due to them being vile. However, we actually needed to buy something once, and consequently trekked to Burlöv. The staff were nice, and we suffered no unreasonable trauma. Moreover, the toilets were really cool!
The toilet sign! Quite friendly, isn't it? It has a binary gender approach which one could criticise if one were so inclined, but on the other hand it is enriched with Braille, and thus disability-friendly.
(To be honest, we have no idea how helpful this sign is, if at all, to a partially sighted person. Sometimes it is the thought that counts!)
How swish is this! Unfortunately we don't seem to have photographed the inside of these toilets,
but look how fancy the outside is!
Here is a similar set-up to the one above - many doors, all with the binary toilet sign, and a disability toilet at the end.
We enjoyed this set-up hugely: a good mixer tap, plenty of soap, and paper towels.
Not one but TWO sturdy coat hooks!
At this point in the photography proceedings, we died a little from happiness.
The student union's toilet-based newsletter is called Skitviktigt.
The English-language version is called The Toilet Paper.
We have been to Malmö University many times, and have never even reflected on the fact that these toilets are unisex. Malmö University is rather prone to be crawling with bearded hipster dudes, but we have never felt threatened or uncomfortable here, and the toilets have always been clean and well maintained. Well done, Malmö University!
Let us finish with a festive video, to celebrate the arrival of the weekend! We went to see the Dixie Chicks the other day, and they were just as fabulous as you would expect. Let's have their supremely festive video about how to combat domestic violence. We are rather inclined to agree with the Dixie Chicks' statement that they "do not advocate premeditated murder, but love getting even".
We are prone to vaguebooking at the Privy Counsel. We admit it. More than once (for instance here, here, and here), we have been guilty of unleashing a full-on vague-whinge, mournfully hinting that things are "a bit grim right now" but refusing to specify what ails us.
Well, guess what. Things really have been grim - so, so, so, so grim - lately. We would actually quite like to tell you just how grim. But, this being a blog devoted to a) toilets and b) rampant intellectualism, we make a point of not boring our readers with tedious details about our personal life (except of course in the case of Jonny, who is, by the way, still single). So instead, we are going to forget our troubles by enjoying a rant related to a toilet which one of our correspondents experienced at a feminist conference not too long ago.
Said feminist conference took place at a place called Malmö Live. For readers who don't regularly keep up with the goss from southern Scandiwegia, Malmö Live is an incredibly ugly conference centre in Malmö, Sweden, which cost staggering amounts of the taxpayers' money, and now constitutes a daily blot or haemorrhage on the Malmö skyline.
Right up until the moment when some edgy young architect decided to outdo Hieronymous Bosch in nightmarish visions, and went and designed this, it was literally impossible to imagine an uglier building than Malmö Live. It seems that Malmö politicians like to pretend that they live in Sydney, or downtown Miami, and thus encourage the erection of gut-punchingly ugly wannabe skyscrapers, to help maintain this illusion. Thus, the historic harbour area of Malmö is rapidly being clogged up by hideous constructions of glass, steel and brick. The brutalisation of this culturally significant area will no doubt be regretted by future generations, nauseated by the sheer hideousness of Malmö Live and surrounding areas, but by then it will of course be too late.
Nonetheless, though the outside of Malmö Live is so ugly it makes you want to rip out your eyes and throw them in a vat of acid, the inside isn't bad. The conference areas are actually rather stylish and pleasant, with ear-friendly acoustics, and the toilets could be a lot worse.
This coat-hook passes our rigorous quality standards, being sturdy
and able to support a stuffed-to-bursting bag on a wet day.
The sinks are rather small, but the mixer taps are beyond reproach, and the soap smells nice.
Normally, the only colour we hate more than orange is brown, but we don't mind these orange doors. In fact, we find them rather festive.
This toilet-roll holder is also beyond reproach, though the toilet paper is bleached.
Our correspondent indulging in a fulsome toilet selfie.
When things get really bad, we at the Privy Counsel look at pictures of Caitlin Moran until things feel better. Today, we felt the need to watch actual videos. Here's one that we found really helpful. If you, too, are struggling, have a cup of tea and watch this soul-soothing interview.
Festive video - Caitlin Moran's Moranifesto Related Reading
Friends, Romans, countrymen and -women! We've got all sorts of important news and toilet pictures, but first, an announcement:
THERE IS A NEW CAT BLOG ON THE INTERNET.
We've been quite vocal about this on social media, but nonetheless*, let us revisit some of the conversations that took place yesterday.
A very dear and rampantly intelligent friend of ours sent us this message:
We received this intriguing message...
As our regular readers are aware, we love nothing more than promoting weird blogs on social media, so we took to this project with our usual chutzpah and oomph, and asked for the link, so that we could send it out into the ether.
...and it just kept getting better!
So, finally, the address of the new cat blog on this great place called the internet is: catstrophil.tumblr.com. It has many, many pictures of cats. If you like cats: congratulations!
*because we don't necessarily have that many followers on social media, and hardly anybody actually gives a stuff about what we write there. Just a few friends, and maybe five other people who clearly need to get off the internet and get a life.
We have some pictures which we are pretty sure are from a restaurant in Malmö called La Brasserie. As far as we remember, we stuffed our faces with mussels, together with some relatives, and also wrapped ourselves round a bottle of rosé, this being standard procedure in our family when we can't decide between white and red.
A most admirable coat-hook! Note the grace and elegance with which it supports a bag!
This mirror was quite stylish, if you overlook how uncomfortable it is to be able to observe yourself when on the bog.
Woof! Are you enjoying the symmetry as much as we are?
We cannot approve of this sink and mixer-tap enough! We seem to remember that the soap smelled extremely nice. Whether it was also monkey friendly is of course another matter entirely.
To see other examples of us photographing our feet on stylish floors, see for instance this post, and this one. Oh, and this one! There might be other examples, but these are the ones we can remember.
Another joyful thing that has happened recently is that a supermarket manager called Tom Svensson, in a place called Fjällbacka in Sweden, has introduced "monkey marking" to help customers choose monkey-friendly products! We have written several times about palm oil plantations, the havoc they wreak on the environment, and the devastating effect they have on populations of monkeys (for instance here, here, and here). We always do our utmost to choose products containing no palm oil, or certified palm oil, in order to maintain a monkey-friendly lifestyle!
This exemplary supermarket has a Facebook page, which one can like.
But first, a festive video! We chose this video because, well, we've all been there. (The fact that Meghan Trainor is wearing a sequinned cat top is a mere lucky coincidence.)
Festive video - Meghan Trainor, Lips are Movin' Related Reading
The weather is finally showing an inclination to stop being freakishly nice, and to behave in a way that causes us not to scowl suspiciously.
Nothing works our paranoia into a frothy, lathery sweat like an uninterrupted series of nice days. What's this in aid of, then, we ask ourselves, peering moodily at the blue skies. This feeling of ease and well-being is usually a sign that things are about to go tits-up, we mumble, giving the merry sunshine the evil eye. This will never end well, we whisper gloomily, and mentally throw rocks at the provokingly perky songbirds.
The great thing about shit weather is that it gives one licence to drink obscene amounts of tea and huddle in a dark room, without having that irritating feeling that one should be doing something healthy and productive outdoors, like taking one's heart and arteries for a brisk walk, or declaiming Shakespeare sonnets to orphans in a wooded glade, or gawping at knuckle-bitingly ugly pieces of sculpture at the local park, while placing bits of wood in strategic places to provide shelter for a near-extinct species of beetle. (Read about a similar feeling of sunshine-related angst here.)
When the skies are grey and one can practically hear the werewolves howling on the moors, one can quite legitimately give the world outside the finger, sit down with a large whisky, and concentrate on looking at pictures of Caitlin Moran, and sending toilet photos to one's local bog blog. Here's one that Feisty French Friend took recently at the Musée du Quai Branly, in Paris:
Nobody does chic like those pesky Parisians! We find ourselves emitting a rugged Woof! In fact, a woof might not be enough to express the strength of our feelings about this stylish and pleasant bog - we might need to resort to a lusty HOWL!
Other things that can occupy one on dark autumn days is observing linguistic intricacies on signs inside toilets, and giving in to heedless, reckless, unrestrained language nerdery. (Our unrestrained-nerdery juices got flowing to a quite staggering extent at the weekend, when we engaged in an epic tour of medieval churches with Tudor Friend, which may or may not have included semi-perverse ogling of medieval wall paintings and church-wall graffiti.) This sign, for instance, observed in a staff toilet in a school in Malmö, says:
Hygglo! Vinterkräksjukan är på väg! Det enda och bästa sättet att skydda sig [mot] smitt[a] är enkel[t][:] Tvätta händerna noga efter varje toalettbesök.
(Be a brick! Winter vomiting disease is on its way! The only, and the best, way to protect yourself from infection is simple: Wash your hands carefully after you've been to the toilet.)
Hygglo! Wash your damn hands!
The word "hygglo" denotes a person who is decent, hygglig. It is unfortunately not listed in the Bible of Swedish-language nerds, SAOB, being presumably a recent creation; probably a 20th-century one. (Work began on SAOB in 1898, and the editors are currently at the letter T. The comparisons to Rowan Atkinson's frenzied attempts to rewrite Dr Johnson's dictionary in Blackadder, agonising over the word aardvark while going quietly insane, are naturally numerous.)
Hygglo, ending with an o, follows the same pattern as other descriptive nouns like fyllo (short for fyllerist, "drunk"), miffo (short for missfoster, "freak"), fetto ("fatso"), lyllo (short for lyckost, literally "lucky cheese", or, rather more prosaically, "lucky person"), favvo (short for favorit, "favourite") and - a favourite of ours - pretto (short for pretentiös, denoting a pretentious person). The state of being a hygglo is perhaps best translated as being a brick. Hygglo, in short, when spotted on a toilet sign, is the kind of word that causes your average language nerd to do a little handwashing jig and start whistling, then walk around in a suspiciously jaunty way for the rest of the afternoon.
Speaking of winter vomiting disease, we couldn't believe that all of the internet hadn't managed to come up with a winter vomiting disease meme, so we made one, just for you:
Someone had to.
You're welcome.
At the risk of changing the subject abruptly (no, no, it's ok - we mentioned Caitlin Moran at the beginning of the blog post, meaning this qualifies as a continuous theme, or leitmotif), we just wanted to share this picture of Caitlin Moran's column in last Saturday's Times Magazine.
As CatMo points out, the Times puts its writers' words behind a paywall in order to ensure that plebs like us can't read them without paying, with the rather marvellous result that journalists continue to get paid and are able to produce quality work without starving to death in the gutter, or being replaced by robots. The picture is therefore quite grainy, and the words are not available in an online form. But if you have the patience, enlarge it on your screen and enjoy the sheer holy joy that is a newspaper column by Caitlin Moran. (Or, if you don't have the patience, join your local library, like Jonny just did, and enjoy all of CatMo's columns for free, while vigorously appreciating the tax-funded miracle that is a public (or indeed pubic) library.)
What men need to know about women: 1) We're scared of you, and 2) Fuck off.
Oh hell, we need a festive video. Here's one incorporating a new word that we learned while playing Cards against humanity with Tudor Friend and some of her excellent and highly festive cronies last weekend. We'd say dogging is an admirable activity for rainy days, wouldn't you?
