Losing, Then Finding, One's a) Shewee and b) Mind

It is after the second or third hipster beer, in our experience, that the really tough questions make themselves known and demand to be taken into consideration. For instance, portaloos with a flush are obviously a game-changer, but where do they place on the grand scale of human endeavour? Are they on a par with fire and penicillin, or further down, more towards the level of Billy the Bass and duct tape? What would Abraham Maslow say? We predict that philosophers will be spending centuries hashing this one out.

We have many habits here at the Privy Counsel, some of which are healthy and many of which are downright deplorable. One habit of which we are not only particularly fond but which we like to think is positively edifying, is having beers with the friend we like to call Nerdy Beer-Obsessive Friend. We happened to be having beer and bewilderingly complex pizza with Nerdy Beer-Obsessive Friend the other day at a place called Benchwarmers, in Helsingborg, and were very pleased to come across this festive and also clean and coat-hook-enriched toilet, especially in light of the inevitable fatigue following upon a) a hard-hitting debate regarding the human condition in relation to portaloos, and b) pizza that requires an inordinate amount of cognitive effort just to figure out what the hell is on it, and why.

We're assuming that the flamingoes are ironic, but the thing about the modern age is that one can't tell the difference between even a joke and a bona fide news item. What chance do the flamingoes stand, in this climate, to signal the presence of irony, or lack thereof?

For those who enjoy almost seeing people, there is a special label just for you.

If you find this picture soothing, there may well be something wrong with you, but at least you're not the only one.

Attentive readers may remember our last post, even though it was published several days ago and nobody among our acquaintance has any memory left of anything occurring this side of 1994. Be that as it may, Shewee Fiend Friend, coming across the illuminative and edifying picture we were sent by Feisty French Friend, was moved to inform us of the changes that have recently occurred in her private life. She reported:

I sent [Male person in Shewee Fiend Friend's life] the beard/mullet toilet roll hanging model from your recent blog and he loved it

In the past year he has converted to full time beard-style hanging and his criticism of my hanging is so intense that I’ve now mostly given up and submit to your and his joint pressure

The funny part is, he believes he has always hung it this way. He has no memory of a time when chaos ruled his life and he did it differently every time, and when I tell him about that time, he claims I am lying

(Read more about this man's incomprehensible approach to bog roll here.)

Reader, this left us reeling. In a frightening and ever-changing universe, Shewee Fiend Friend's misguided stance on toilet paper is one of the few certainties keeping us grounded. What even happens, we asked ourselves, if she has started hanging her bog roll the right way round? As in, cosmically? Will the stars come loose from their sockets and wander about willy-nilly, will the oceans roil and roar to the rhythm of low-quality rockabilly, will the earth quake and maybe even spontaneously combust? Thankfully, Shewee Fiend Friend assured us that: 

[This] doesn’t mean my beliefs have changed. I just now deliberately hang the roll wrong.

After this emotional roller-coaster, we naturally needed a drink. Thus we let ourselves be persuaded to visit a beer festival in Malmö, against our better judgement. You may imagine our relief when we discovered that the hygiene facilities, despite the high concentration of hipsters at this event, were neither portaloos nor ironic toilets reminiscent of a cattle shed, but perfectly civilised facilities offering soap, coat-hooks and spare bog roll. (There was however a sink for filling one's water bottle which was, inevitably, constructed in the likeness of a cattle trough.)

There are actually two different kinds of soap here but as Nerdy Beer-Obsessed Friend pointed out, at least one of them smells terrible.

Normally we'd quibble with the placement of the hook (too near the toilet), but on this occasion we were just so grateful, among the onslaught of various hipster horrors, that there was one.

You can just about spot the spare bog roll, unhygienically placed on the floor. Again, we were just so grateful that there was one.

There is another heartwarming story we've been meaning to tell you about a thing that happened outside some portaloos in Helsingborg in probably 2017, but God only knows where the photos are and we can only promise to bring the subject up again in the unlikely event that - no, we can't even imagine what improbable occurrence might cause that story to be told. Let us swiftly move on to these lovely photos from Jonny, containing the message referenced in a previous post, regarding the Twelve Days of Cistern. The thought of this future event is the only thing currently enabling us to view the darkening days and approaching winter, with its attendant emotional carnage and horror clowns, with anything resembling equanimity.

What can one even do, except maybe sigh and possibly clutch one's throat? Well, quite.

In a clear parallel to Margaret Mitchell writing the last chapter of Gone with the Wind first, we constructed the title of this bog blog post before composing the actual post, and are now left with an obligation, however imaginary, to write something about the trauma we experienced the other day when we could find neither a) our Shewee nor b) our back-up Shewee. Reader, it was rough.

Festive Video: Tré Burt, Know Your Demons

 

Related reading

On the Nature of Academic Friendships

All posts featuring duct tape

All posts featuring Nerdy Beer-Obsessive Friend

All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend

Moving Heaven and Earth: Polarisation and Proto-Indo-Europeans

That time when Shewee Fiend Friend went about the countryside reclaiming her womanhood and urinating all over everything: SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES

All posts featuring Jonny 

All posts featuring pheasants 

Why do hipsters require sinks shaped like cattle troughs?

All posts featuring Shewees

Partygoing Undergrads Must Die!, or, Dear Santa, I Want a Sexist Pulverizer

The inexorable juggernaut of Christmas draws ever closer. Today, all reputable news outlets assure us, is the second of Advent. We are, to be honest, not greatly in favour of Christmas at the Privy Counsel, what with our headquarters being already overflowing with paraphernalia, trinkets, and nuts. Also we find religion a creepy concept, though we don't have a problem with the more pagan aspects of Christmas, like unrestrained gluttony, and drinking.

We have received lots of fan mail over the past year, but due to our frantic procrastination, drinking, and - believe it or not - occasional engagement in actual work, we have not been able to display all the missives we have received. Consequently, all correspondence has been shoved into the Privy Counsel archive which, as all regular readers know, is a dark and dreary place, spookily reminiscent of a crypt out of The Monk, and containing mentally unhinged pheasants. (Or are they actually peasants? Nobody has ever dared stay long enough to check properly.)

However, in consequence of us remarking, last Sunday, that the Privy Counsel is "rather more fragrant and attractively lit than usual, being resplendent with various lights and varieties of pine needles", an attentive reader wrote to us to ask,

How fragrant, exactly? 

What a good question! Unfortunately we cannot convey to you the scent of pine needles and gingerbread currently permeating our headquarters, but let us at least demonstrate what said pine needles look like.

A nauseatingly decorative and cosiness-inducing arrangement

Another missive reads:

Dear Privy Counsellor,

This morning I had a rather unsettling experience. In the ladies' room, in the stall next to me, a mobile phone went off - and then it was answered! They had an entire conversation, including the information that the woman was on the toilet! Is this proper bathroom etiquette - answering the phone mid-pee? Said woman also left without washing her hands, so I'm inclined to think all her behaviour a bit suspect, and I'd like your opinion to make sure I'm not being prejudiced!

Thanks,

Don't Flush While Dialling

Dear Don't Flush While Dialling, our response is to note that perhaps religion has a useful function after all. Observing that theocratic societies often implement  punishments like the cutting off of body parts corresponding to the crime committed, we think that perhaps lopping off the hands of people who don't wash them after going to the toilet would be a suitable consequence of that atrocity.

The first known law code advocating retributive justice is that of Hammurabi, written around 1754 BC. Funny, how often this dude has cropped up in our correspondence lately.

Another missive reads,

Dear Privy Counsellors,

When my family takes road trips, my parents don't like to stop much. If we get out to go to the bathroom it takes too much time. Mom, my sister and I carry old mayonnaise jars to pee in while we drive. This was always a bit awkward, until the Counsellors told me about shewees! Now I can totally aim into my mayo jar! And our car smells a lot better, too! Please let me know the best way to get old wee smells out of an old car. I turn 16 soon and Mom says I can have our old pre-Shewee station waggon!

[heart symbol], Teenybopper Shewee Fan

Suspecting that we know who this message is from, we contacted a fellow counsellor, who confirmed that,

[A certain man] was a total dick and would not let them out of the car on road trips [...] He was an asshole of the first order [...] Of course, she went all Southern Republican, so in the end maybe they deserved one another [...]That was a classic case of "if you marry for money you earn every penny". I don't even know HOW you'd pee in a mayo jar. In a moving vehicle.

We don't, either, and we hope we never find out.

This shit literally has to be seen to be believed.

A third epistle is more philosophical/political in nature, and leads us towards our Festive Video.

Dear [Privy Counsellor], 

Today's theme is Partygoing Undergrads Must Die! I was wringing out my hair after a shower when a gaggle of girls getting ready for a night out came barrelling in, which was, well, loud and obnoxious, but survivable - I was young once too! It was when I heard one say, "Oh my god, is my eyeliner right? I just have to have the right eyeliner to even have a hope of looking acceptable!"*  

Now, I'm sure it was hyperbole, and you know I love me some eyeliner, but it just hit every feminist fibre of my being and I wanted to run out and start shrieking, even as my own eyeliner was running down my face (waterproof my ass**).  Thank gods I'm not 21 anymore...but I do wonder who they'll grow up to be, and what sort of lessons they'll impart to future girls. On the up side, you'll approve of the fact that the public library [in Edinburgh] has one of Caitlin Moran's books displayed for their book club!

*may we dare suggest that the girl in question didn't actually express herself in those exact words, but that our correspondent's extensive and Austenesque literary habits coloured this sentence? But no matter.

**Hear, hear.

We believe it was Helen Fielding who coined the term "Alice Cooper eyes". This is what happens when one's eyeliner fraudulently purports to be waterproof, but isn't. Image from caratulas.

In possibly related news, we suspect there may be a Counsel-wide outbreak of tertiary syphilis. We haven't noticed anyone displaying the symptoms of either primary or secondary syphilis (the one Privy Counsel member - who shall remain anonymous - who did suffer from a sudden onset of distressing symptoms turned out to have herpes [incidentally, the internet informs us that, in order to avoid spreading herpes to others, it is important to wash your hands after going to the bog], not syphilis), but it seems the indications of tertiary syphilis are widespread. Symptoms include:

Fatigue; headaches; insomnia; dizziness; social inhibitions; asocial behaviour; gradual impairment of judgement, concentration and short-term memory; euphoria; mania; depression; apathy; and delusions of grandeur.

We don't know about you, baby, but we tick every single one of those boxes. Better get on with the Festive Video.

Festive Video - The Doubleclicks, Sexist Bullshit (Christmas Song)

All parts of this song's lyrics are awesome: check them out.

Related Reading
All posts featuring advent
All posts featuring epistolary action
All posts featuring handwashing
All posts featuring shewees
All posts featuring poor aim
All posts featuring Caitlin Moran

A Pub Near the British Library

Back in roughly August we hit a productive streak which led Semi-Intellectual Friend to suggest, rudely (and unwisely - we will most likely never cease giving him shit about this), that we were writing too many blog posts. (Right? Preposterous!) We performed some simple statistical calculations, pointing out to Semi-Intellectual Friend, in an insufferably pompous manner, that we were nowhere near reaching the same number of posts as in for instance that prolific toilet-blogging year 2012, or even 2010, our first year of Counselling, when we produced a staggering 46 posts in three short months.

Considering that we published a post only yesterday, we imagine that Semi-Intellectual Friend might be feeling a little nervous right now, and not only due to his upcoming viva. However, dear Semi-Intellectual Friend, there is really no need to worry about this. If you knew how much rum-drinking dissipation we've got planned for 2015, you would be reassured that we will be far too fragile both mentally and physically to generate a staggering abundance of bog blog posts.

On that note, let's have some photos that Shewee Fiend Friend sent us recently! The message accompanying the pictures said, cryptically:

Purple and pink. The whole bathroom was these crazily aggressive pastel colours

Yuck

Our reply went along the lines of, "But the graffiti - YES! YES! YES!", to which Shewee Fiend Friend replied, in a less exuberant vein, "In a pink bathroom! So incongruous!". On us asking where the photos are from, we were told they were "by the British Library".

We conjectured - correctly, as it turns out - that the photographs were from a pub. However, we like to have a bit more information to give our readers, so we asked if she might remember the name of the pub. Shewee Fiend Friend is a helpful, caring person, and accommodatingly sent us the following information:

Rising Sun
http://goo.gl/maps/QxMJY


Might be that pub


Definitely a pub


I hoped the pictures would have GPS data


I was too drunk to know where we were


*am

We reckon that's as much sense as we're going to get out of Shewee Fiend Friend for the moment.

These colours are emphatically not approved by Shewee Fiend Friend.

At Privy Counsel HQ, however, we find these colours agreeable, though the non-mixer taps, of course,
make us froth at the mouth and shout obscenities.

FUCK THE PATRIARCHY!
We couldn't have said it better ourselves.

Actually, we find this quite sweet - someone has actually made an effort with the décor,
even if it doesn't incorporate crazy dolls' eyes glued to the ceiling.

In other news, more than one person has alerted us to the fact that Bill Gates recently drank water extracted from human waste. (Impressive - but we will restrain our applause until the technology produces rum.) One of our informants chose to phrase the news thus: "Here is a droll story about a programmer who's gone all funny from sitting in front of a computer all day." Couldn't have put it better ourselves!

Let's have a festive video! We're pretty sure this one incorporates a lady using a Shewee:

Festive video - Toby Keith, I Love this Bar

Related Reading

This is what happened last time we went to the pub with Shewee Fiend Friend: An Annoyingly Long, But Brilliantly Clever, Post, Including Shewees, Beer, and Some Other Stuff

In light of the British Museum's laudable initiative to host an exhibition centred on Greek nudity, we find this a good moment to revisit this post, about when we had a long discussion with Shewee Fiend Friend about how there should totally be more male nudity everywhere: Stark Raving Nudity

Last year's festschrift to Shewee Fiend Friend, on the occasion of her gaining her PhD title: Kicking Anglo-Saxon Arse: Festschrift to Shewee Fiend Friend

Benefit from Shewee Fiend Friend's advice on how (not) to drink rum: Exuberant Archaeologist Friend Is Not Impressed with Italian Toilets Again

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

Having read yesterday's post on the mind-boggling incontinence of our acquaintance, you are naturally eager for more. Well, you're in luck, because we seem to spend all our time talking about urination these days! For instance, we had a conversation with Tudor Friend about whether shewees are feminist or not. Shewee claim that shewees are not "an act of feminism", but we would argue that they are! (We're not having a go at Shewee - we adore them! It's just that we personally view the shewee device as liberating in a way that we define as feminist!)

We acquired our first shewee after going for a stupidly long run with Quasi-Intellectual Friend, who is prone to beard growth and exaggerated athleticism. Having been annoyed by not being able to heed the call of nature with the same ease as Quasi-Intellectual Friend, we were very pleased with our plastic funnel. Quasi-Intellectual Friend, of course, mocked it, claiming to be happy with his "hewee". While we are not of the opinion that a woman must be "like a man" in order to achieve equality, we do nonetheless acknowledge that being female has certain physiological setbacks, and not being able to take a piss comfortably when in the outdoors is one of them. (Read Shewee Fiend Friend's account of reclaiming her womanhood and pissing all over the countryside here.)

Viewing the pictures of members of the Privy Counsel trying the public urinal in Hoxton square with their shewees, Tudor Friend remarked:

The latest Privy Counsel post is amazing! Wow, your friends have wet themselves a LOT!!! But I 100% agree that squatting is impossible, my knees and quads are not up to it, and even hovering is really, really not on. It's good to hear someone else agree! I always have people look at me like I'm a total pussy for not having perfected the out of door squat piss. So, have to ask... there's a picture of people using Shewees at a public urinal in London? Do they have anything comparative set up for the ladies to take a free wee? Those without Shewees, that is.

We replied that no, as far as we know there is no equivalent for ladies; presumably we are all supposed to be wearing crinolines. (Tudor Friend had mentioned earlier that "hoopskirts are like portable privacy-toilets... fond memories of roadside weeing in hoopskirts".) Tudor Friend retorted:

Crinolines *are* great for private-public pissing, but only if you're not wearing knickers. How can you not see [Shewee] as feminist? It's a WAY FOR WOMEN TO PEE OUTSIDE. It's giving women options, and freedom to camp!!!

We took this as licence to quote Caitlin Moran. We do love her so! Ladies and gentlemen, let's have some Caitlin Moran quotes! Caitlin says, on feminism:

We need to reclaim the word “feminism.” We need the word “feminism” back real bad. When statistics come in saying that only 29% of American women would describe themselves as feminist — and only 42% of British women — I used to think, “What do you think feminism IS, ladies? What part of ‘liberation for women’ is not for you? Is it freedom to vote? The right not to be owned by the man you marry? The campaign for equal pay? ‘Vogue’ by Madonna? Jeans? Did all that good shit GET ON YOUR NERVES? Or were you just DRUNK AT THE TIME OF THE SURVEY?”

We just fucking love this woman. Image from Tumblr.

God, that was great, wasn't it? Let's have some more CatMo:

These days, however, I am much calmer — since I realised that it’s technically impossible for a woman to argue against feminism. Without feminism, you wouldn’t be allowed to have a debate on women’s place in society. You’d be too busy giving birth on the kitchen floor – biting down on a wooden spoon, so as not to disturb the men’s card game – before going back to quick-liming the dunny. This is why those female columnists in the Daily Mail — giving daily wail against feminism — amuse me. They paid you £1,600 for that, dear, I think. And I bet it’s going in your bank account, and not your husband’s. The more women argue loudly, against feminism, the more they both prove it exists and that they enjoy its hard-won privileges.

Since we mentioned yesterday that some dude named David was once fined €30 for urinating in public, we can't argue that women are being fined for heeding the call of nature and men aren't. But men still have a free urinal in Hoxton square (and other places), while women are left with the choice of either holding it in or wearing giant hoop skirts. CatMo says:

You can tell whether some misogynistic societal pressure is being exerted on women by calmly enquiring, “And are the men doing this, as well?” If they aren’t, chances are you’re dealing with what we strident feminists refer to as “some total fucking bullshit”.

How lucky, then, that Danish designers have thought of an alternative! (If you're a regular reader you will know that we have designated Denmark "Everyone's favourite toilet country"! Basically everything we hear about this fantastic country reinforces our view!) Voilà: the female urinal!

We just adore Denmark! Image from Fastcodesign.

The Pollee female urinal from Peebetter comes in three models: Shy, Topless, and Naked (those bold Danes!). We still love our shewee and couldn't live without it, but wouldn't it be great if there were more urinals for women?

Apparently this is the "Naked" version. Image from Fastcodesign.

Having "delighted" (this being our term of choice for describing the act of lecturing our friends on stuff we like till we're blue in the face) Tudor Friend with Caitlin Moran quotes for quite some time, she said, "And I'm loving the Caitlin Moran quotes. I should look for her writing". To which we replied, wittily (our term of choice for describing our attempts at levity): "Yes! How to Be a Woman is rocket-up-the-arse illuminating!"


Related Reading

A post about our new year's party, incorporating shewees and stories of mindboggling incontinence:
Shewees Are a Girl's Best Friend!

Our very first account of shewees: 
Far from the Madding Crowd: A Walkers' Dilemma
Shewee Fiend Friend's legendary shewee review: 
SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES
Our post about CatMo in Denmark, everyone's favourite toilet country: 
Caitlin Moran: Our Favourite Non-Toilet-Related Person!
Our post about CatMo in a bathroom:
Joy in the Morning, Afternoon, and Well into the Night: Caitlin Moran in a Bathroom
More info on crinolines and public urination:
The Historic Toilet Tour of York

Shewees Are a Girl's Best Friend!

Well, well, well, well, well. Due to academic commitments we have been unhygienically busy (ain't nobody got time for washing!) here at the Counsel lately, with the regrettable result that we have been unable to bring you the pictures from our debauched NEW YEAR'S PARTY WITH SHEWEES! Luckily, however, we have now managed not only to wash our hair, but to get our photos sorted!

For those of you who missed the announcement, Shewee very generously donated some female urination devices for our new year's party in London's trendy Shoreditch! As you can well imagine, the combination of booze and shewees basically cannot fail (see this example from Truly Madly Kids if you don't believe us), and a splendid shindig it was, too!

It didn't take very long for the party to deviate into a discussion of unfortunate and/or illegal instances of public urination (read about one of ours here). Some dude called David opined that "It is expensive if you get caught", adding, "The most I've spent is €30 urinating in public".

Australian Friend told us the fascinating story of a friend of hers (who shall remain anonymous), who not only regularly goes in her pants on the way home from the pub, but who chooses to inform her friends of when she is doing it. This, of course, is nothing compared to the antics of Very Brave Friend, who once pissed herself on the night bus when drunk.

Shewee Fiend Friend's sister, meanwhile, has a clever habit of sitting down a hill and pissing down the slope, which strategy Australian Friend has also used profitably.

When camping in Australia, it is apparently de rigeur to dig a latrine trench. If it's long enough, Australian Friend informed us, you don't have to worry about aim: you just straddle the trench. Australian Friend added that one definitely cannot aim after a Brazilian! "I defy anyone to try," she snorted feistily.

The subject of camping brought us to another tricky business: squatting when hiking! Awkward at the best of times, and completely objectionable in places where a lack of adequate vegetation renders one's arse exposed not only to inclement weather but to curious stares! Shewee Fiend Friend expressed the anguish of many women of our acquaintance when she said, "I can't squat so I used to have to not drink for six hours [when hiking]". This is why Shewee is truly a girl's best friend!
Australian Friend also touched on a related issue: squatting over dirty public toilets. "Hovering! Massive quad burn! Like Austin Powers!" this athletic woman ranted, vehemently, regarding the agony of lengthy urination when hovering over a less-than-clean loo. Australian Friend once suffered the trauma of accidentally pissing on her jeans when hover-pissing in a pub. She then had to wash her jeans in the sink, and dry them under the air dryer. This also happened to Australian Friend on another occasion, in a cinema.

As a most relevant aside, the Head Counsellor's mother is currently in Italy, enjoying the wine and complaining about the alla turca toilets. They are apparently tricky to use when one is veering in the direction of 70 and not comfortable with squatting. The Counsellor reminded her mother about the time when she used one on a wet, slippery floor, wearing ski boots, just after having torn an anterior cruciate ligament to bloody shreds. The Head Counsellor's mother thought about it then said, "you win".
Well, quite.

Could all of these uncomfortable situations have been avoided if the ladies in question had been equipped with shewees? They could.

Members of our party proudly displaying their brand-spanking-new shewees, kindly supplied by Shewee!

The urinal in Hoxton square, new year's eve.

At the Imperial War Museum! Because the green shewees are the same colour as this massive gun!

As a very non-relevant aside, Shewee Fiend Friend informs us that the Royal Tyrrell museum in Drumheller, Alberta, is the best museum ever. Shewee Fiend Friend even goes so far as to claim that this museum is the best part of Canada! Apparently, the dinosaurs are to die for, and you can confidently skip the rest of the country!

We may add, as a postscript, that once you've got into the habit of using your shewee while drunk, you can never go back.

Related Reading
Our personal public urination débacle:
A Morally Improving Story for World Toilet Day
Shewee Fiend Friend's rampantly entertaining Shewee review:
SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES
Our original Shewee review:
Far from the Madding Crowd - A Walkers' Dilemma
Using an alla turca toilet with a torn knee ligament - how to conquer the pain and get on with your business:
Italian Toilets: Mi Piace Servizi Igienici
More alla turca toilets:
On Her Majesty's Privy Service
Also, don't miss the Italian Trains!

So Much Fabulousness We Hardly Know Where to Begin

Tally-ho! Life is pretty fabulous at Privy Counsel HQ right now, so we're making the most of it while it lasts. One of many fabulous things that have happened is that Shewee have generously sent us a selection of shewees to make our New Year's party extra festive!  We anticipate this being a legendary occasion, considering it's going to involve Australian Friend, Shewee Fiend Friend, a fuckload of drink and a BARRAGE OF SHEWEES! There will obviously be a blog post recording the results, once the hangover clears. (So most likely the second week in March or thereabouts.)

New Year's is still some way away, though, and there is plenty of work to be done before then, so let us get back to business and, for instance, do a Privy Counsel Book Club post! It's been a long time, but a dear friend of ours recommended a fabulous book called The Crimson Petal and the White! As a consequence, we have some Doulton-related joy to share with you! Enjoy this fabulous description of a Victorian toilet:

The employees' latrine has a much more modern and streamlined appearance, in Sophie's and Sugar's eyes, than the rest of the soapworks. A row of identical white glazed stoneware pedestals, each attached to a brilliant metal cistern bracketed under the ceiling, exhibit themselves like a phalanx of futuristic mechanisms, all proudly engraved with the name of their maker. The seats are a rich brown, glossy with lacquer, brand new it seems; but then, according to the address inscribed on all the cisterns, the Doulton factory is only a few hundred yards down the road. 

(Faber, Michel. The Crimson Petal and the White. Edinburgh: Canon Books, 2002, p. 781.)

You will, obviously, be elated to learn that, following on last week's retro Twyfords nostalgia, we have some amazing pictures of some damn well fabulous Doulton porcelain! Yes, yes, we understand your impatience - let's get on with it!

This spectacular bathroom, dear readers,
can be found at Kronovall Castle,
which we have mentioned once or twice before.

Grand, eh? Handy with a chair, too.
 One can invite a friend to entertain one while one is in the bath.

Woof! Bog-standard, but still. Woof!

This is where it gets exciting:
IT'S A DOULTON SINK!!
Ain't it a beauty!

Posh soap. It smelled delicious!

The pièce de résistance:
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SUCH A FABULOUS BATH?

Does one get all teary-eyed from contemplating such beauty? One does.

We simply can't recommend Kronovall enough - go forth and drink their wine and enjoy their sumptuous bathroom!

Related Reading
More Doulton fabulousness: A Toilet Mystery
A lovely old-fashioned toilet: Right Up Our Alley
More Victorian toilets: The Mysterious Forbidden Lavatories of Manchester
More retro porcelain beauty: Porcelain Porn and Historical Plumbing - We've Found a Soul-Mate
More Kronovall fabulousness: Kronovall - More Castle Shenanigans
For an example of Shewee Fiend Friend's fabulous antics: SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES
More Victorians

SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES

Phew. Here we were, feeling a bit sorry for ourselves for suffering from the vicious combination of a) being academically challenged and b) feeling shagged-out and sleep-deprived after the weekend's debauched shenanigans, when we received a most invigorating missive from a very dear friend of ours! Our most charming and intelligent female friend says (regular readers will be aware that we have mentioned the Shewee once or twice before):

I would like you to know that on the basis of your Shewee review on the bog blog, I have purchased a Shewee. It is awesome. I am so happy. I didn't even know these existed until I read about it on your site. You have changed my life for the better. [...] I was talking to a friend about it from Germany, and we decided to take control of our womanhood together. After a preliminary shower period, we purchased wet wipes, men's underwear (this was not effective) and 6 litres of water each and went on a road trip, the main purpose of which was to pee everywhere.
And that's what we did. It was fantastic. We peed on buildings, in a stream, into grates, on a monument, and off of a cliff. We did it standing beside each other, and circumspectly checked each other's Shewees out when the other wasn't looking.
Unfortunately, it was not 100% successful, but we were expecting that there be some problems at the beginning, and it improved. I guess it's not so good when you are drinking alcohol as well, we discovered later that evening.
Next time I go climbing, I'm taking it with me, and I will drink as much water as I like and not be nervous about finding a hidden corner anymore.

Sistahs standing up! Taking control of their womanhood!
Image from Egotripland

There is only one response that adequately describes one's feelings on receiving such a communication, and that is "WOW!!!" Do you feel spiritually and intellectually rejuvenated? We do!
Interestingly, right when we thought our friend's e-mail couldn't get any more fabulous, IT WENT AND GOT EVEN MORE FABULOUS!

There was also some breaking of the law involved, unfortunately. We went up a Celtic hill fort for the first pee. It took a lot longer to get there than we thought, so we had to go pretty bad once we made it to the top. Then we heard gunshots. It was a private hunting ground. Interestingly, instead of running away, we just moved away from the wooded bit until we couldn't hear the shots anymore. That's where we peed off the first time. Then we saw the "private property no trespassing" sign.

Sisters, take control! (Please note, the Privy Counsel in no way endorses breaking the law.)
Image from Shewee

Then guess what happened? HOLY SHIT IT JUST KEPT GETTING FABULOUSER AND FABULOUSER!

Then we went to this 10th-century church in Nether Wallop. On the way we foolishly stopped at the village pub and met the whole village, they were all there. They gave us directions to the church. After we peed everywhere and signed the book, we noticed the CCTV. In the chuch we made it up into the belltower, unfortunately the bells started ringing about 5 seconds after we got up there. I think we nearly died twice that day. But we peed everywhere, so it was a big success.

Image from Humourflare

Well, that's about as much unbridled joy as a bitter, partied-out toilet blogger can take in one evening! Readers, join the revolution! Get yourself a Shewee device, stride confidently out and urinate, then tell us all about it!
Also, stay tuned for the sequel: The Privy Counsellor Encourages Widespread Use of the Sheewee in Combination with Alcohol Consumption.

A sister standing up.
Image from Broketheinterweb

Related Reading
Far from the Madding Crowd: A Walker's Dilemma
Ladies, Don't Take Life Sitting Down

Ladies, Don't Take Life Sitting Down

Happy news today! In addition to having found its spiritual home, as reported yesterday, the Privy Counsel has found a soul mate! The Norwegian site kk.no is at least as paranoid as we are when it comes to bacteria, if not more! We find this immensely encouraging and vow to redouble our efforts to develop the worst case of OCD since the dawn of psychoanalysis.
 However, that's not the main news. Norwegian Friend sent us a link describing this nifty gadget. Regular readers may recall our update about the Shewee, saviour of needy women everywhere, but especially in cold places with a biting wind. The Gogirl contraption, however, is made of flexible silicone with a splash guard, which makes us think that it's easier and more comfortable to use than the Shewee. On the other hand, the Shewee is made from polypropylene, which is recyclable and therefore potentially environmentally friendly, which we like.

The Gogirl female urination device. Image from Cleanseat UK

  The Gogirl, unlike the Shewee, does not appear to be machine washable. It is, however, washable with soap and water and can withstand boiling water.
Our friend at the Roman Bath Museum claims to have invented a similar contraption with "accordion plastic attachments [and] calligraphy heads for fancy snow writing, too". However, laments Roman Bath Friend, "No one wanted it. [...] I don't understand women, clearly". We sympathise.

Anyone who's used this gadget, with or without an accordion attachment for snow writing, please feel free to share your experience. Leave a comment or email us at theprivycounsellor@gmail.com.

Related Reading:
Toilet etiquette for ladies (in Norwegian)
SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES
Far From the Madding Crowd: A Walker's Dilemma
Roman Bath Museum - Crap on a Stick