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.
In terms of literary devices we're big, as all regular readers are aware, on themes here at the Privy Counsel. One of our main themes, after plumbing-horror-induced handwringing and unstructured ranting, is friendship. (Please note however that Jonny counts as a friend for administrative reasons only.) We have had occasion to note recently that true friends are those who make it a point of honour to take the piss out of one whatever one happens to be doing, whether one is of sound mind or not, and indeed irrespective of whether one happens to be suffering from acute gastric distress due to ingesting too many weird pink shots in a godforsaken prairie bar.
The concept of constructive criticism gets a bad press in these times of cancel culture and groupthink. However, telling people when they're wrong is crucial to maintaining public order and a civilised society. Ponder this very bog blog, for instance. How many plumbing heathens have we converted to the true faith by gently yet inexorably pointing out the horrors of separated taps, doors with large scary gaps, and sticky spots on the floor? Well, we haven't strictly counted them, but there are quite a few people by now who send us weird photos.
Constructive criticism, however, presupposes the ability to hold unusual or unpopular beliefs. If one were, for instance, to repress all mention of hanging bog rolls arse-backwards, one would never, if one is to believe John Stuart Mill, have the pleasure of insufferable smugness in a heated debate about toilet roll orientation. Now obviously, on this subject, there is only one possible position, morally as well as intellectually. However, it is only when heterodox views are tolerated that one gets to hear ideas which, though ludicrous, may be challenging and inspirational. Moreover, it is only when dissent is encouraged that one gets to hear valid critique of one's own delusional notions - which, however smug one may be feeling in the moment, may be constructive in the long run. If, for instance, one happens to have spent - to pick an example at random - all of 2015, 2016 and 2017, most of 2018, and possibly even parts of 2019, perving on Justin Trudeau, it does feel better, when he goes full-on tin-pot dictator in 2022, to know that Shewee Fiend Friend spent all those years regularly informing one that one was being an arse.
As Aristotle probably said, we disapprove of your awful non-mixer taps
but would suffer mild burn injuries for your right to keep
constructing them. Thus, when people whose judgement we for some reason still trust insist on hanging toilet rolls back to front, we resist the urge to call for their heads to be cut off. Instead we graciously tolerate their aberrations, taking great pleasure in our own magnanimity, and encourage them to send us toilet photos, in the hope that they will one day see the light.
On the subject of toilet photos, we received these from Shewee Fiend Friend, who wrote:
I was in a prize winning public loo tonight
I was in this restaurant for a [information redacted for the sake of public decency]
So that was weird. I only have very broken stressed memories of that night
I think it checks all the boxes
Resting being one of our favourite activities, we heartily approve of this piece of furniture, so charmingly named, by those quaint North Americans, a fainting couch.
Behold! The reassuring sight of spare loo rolls! Rejoice, for there may be some hope, however small, for mankind after all.
These toilets can be found at the Sauce Italian Kitchen & Market in Calgary - queen of Canadian cities - and made the top five list in the Canada's Best Restroom competition in 2016, as reported by CBC.
I couldn’t hear anyone else peeing though two other ladies were while I was in there
It has everything you could want. Floor to ceiling doors, solid hooks, pompous art and a fainting couch
I guess they were just nominated. Still, top 5!
The gas station won that year
Speaking of gas stations, Jonny - everyone's favourite Toilet Babe - has also been in touch with some photos. "I hope you're ready for this," he wrote.
Reader, we were not ready!
Is Jonny the Marlon Brando of toilet selfies?
This is supposed to be a hygienic seat. We keep getting distracted by the sticky spot on the floor, however, and find ourselves unable to concentrate on the alleged hygiene. Does one hear echoes of Edgar Allan Poe?
Panta, as someone in our near vicinity is fond of saying, rei. Everything flows; sometimes in the direction of the sewer, sometimes in the direction of your favourite intellectual toilet blog. Some rather exciting photos flowed our way recently from Tudor Friend, who says:
Hark! A creative urinal! Apparently in a Ford garage in Florida (friends are wintering there)
How delightful to a) be wintering in Florida and b) come across this amusing and innovative urinal!
Tudor Friend continues:
The sinks that go with the keg/barrel urinal.
We've made our views on airdryers clear and that view is not a vista of mountains on a sunny day with goats frolicking in the valley, but rather a postmodernist industrial hellscape with machines that can tell when you're feeling sad and report you to the authorities. However, these sinks and also taps - which we assume are mixer-taps - are to be applauded. At length. With a da capo.
We would also like to take this opportunity of alerting our readers to the existence of this article from CNN about a 2,700-year-old luxury toilet in Israel which Tudor Friend sent us with her usual intellectually stimulating kindness.
In an effort to expand our horizons we recently went to a Thai restaurant and, in an effort to save time while there, used the gents' toilet. Did we regret this decision? Reader, we did.
We lack the skills to read this sign, but are assuming that it is informative and helpful. We are also intrigued by what is either a mini radiator or a radiator cunningly hidden behind a wall. Unfortunately we were too horrified by the sticky spot on the floor to want to touch or explore anything in this loo, or we would most likely have investigated this for the benefit of our regular, and also less regular, readers.
Perhaps we were not in an ideal place, physically, intellectually, or alcoholically, to take useful and productive toilet pictures at this point, but it seems that we thought the hand-washing and -drying arrangements at least satisfactory.
It is, a reliable source informs us, that time of year again. The fourth dimension of the universe is currently getting its customary seasonal media attention, which causes us to feel our habitual ennui, though it is fascinatingly intermingled, this year, by an energising strand of panic related to certain duties we need to perform as a consequence of having been elected, by a party of lunatics, treasurer of a committee. Never mind that, however. As we stated, last year, we're averse to joining in the general jollification of recollections and memories of the year gone by:
Being bored to the point of taking actual car sickness tablets - in the
hope of being knocked out for twelve to fifteen hours - by the
retrospectives and accounts of "highlights" that plague media as the
calendar year approaches its end, we're not going to indulge in anything
resembling either a) nostalgia or b) hand-wringing over the horrors of [the past year].
We haven't changed our mind on this - indeed, belligerently sticking to unpopular views seems to have become our forte - and continue being eager for escapism. The one thing that has changed, perhaps, is that rather than attempting to knock ourselves out with car sickness tablets, as we did in 2020, we've spent most of 2021 either being sedated by morphine, or wishing we were sedated by morphine. The fact that we still managed four bog blog posts before our traditional New Year's Eve post (which we somehow continue to churn out despite our much-publicised ennui) speaks, we like to think, to the strength of our character and remarkable fortitude under unreasonable circumstances.
We present some old photos we happened to find, using much irrelevant guff and too many sub-clauses
If we could blame our lack of organisation and failure to intelligently catalogue the various photos that kind people send us of exciting toilets from the world over on our aforementioned dependency on analgesics, we would. Unfortunately, however, our addle-brainedness in this area is well documented. Thus, on this subject, we have nothing more to say, and no other apology to offer. However, when stumbling, the other night, barefoot, bedraggled and benumbed by [the modern equivalent of] laudanum, wearing a linen nightshirt with lace cuffs, through one of the dark, dreary crypts peopled by randy monks, dead nuns and nervous pheasants that constitute our archive, we found some rather festive photos! They are of a sink in a pub in Goodramgate in York - possibly, according to some notes we apparently made, at some point in the past, which had been hidden in an intricately carved wooden chest, and which we just managed to get a glimpse of before a gust of wind dramatically blew out our candle, the King's Arms! However, research indicates that the pictures are most likely from the Royal Oak pub, which we reviewed, without much enthusiasm (indeed, we went so far as to claim to have been "bludgeoned by the baseball bat of disappointment"), in 2011. This, we don't need to tell you, is a neat decade ago, and displaying these images now seems rather apt, n'est ce pas?
To be fair to this atrocious arrangement, there is a helpful sign informing one that one, if one attempts to wash one's hands in hot water, is about to be scalded.
To add one tiny grain of fairness to the desert of disappointment and despair that is the world as we know it, hand moisturiser is always welcome, and a friendly sign even more so.
Here is a screenshot of our dank-dreary-crypt-slash-archive. Are you rather impressed with this attempt to catalogue pictures of a pub sink in Goodramgate? We are.
Now we really do have nothing more to say and no other apology to offer. We are, as we are prone to exclaim, in an affected, Fry-esque manner, mongrel-bitch tired and our fist cannot form letters any more. Thus we request that you fuck off, darlings, and leave us alone. But not before we indulge in a festive retrospective of the posts of 2021! Yes! Here we go!
A festive retrospective of the posts of 2021
In February, we reached new - indeed, perhaps unprecedented - heights of pretentious academese bollocks, lamenting the increasing lack of literacy and arguing that we are all hurtling, in a little cart, towards a pre-modern state of not having a standardised written language (much as we abhor post-modernism, not to mention post-post-modernism, we would appreciate being allowed to stay in a sane and predictable state of not modernism (the horror!) but perhaps, if we were allowed a portion of presumptuousness, modernity):
The next time we drew breath to rant was in July, when we railed against the proposed energetic predisposition of the proto-Indo-Europeans, which we argued was related to the horrifying tendency of Indo-European verbs to indicate motion, when everyone knows that what one really wants is to be still, with a gin and tonic:
We then piped up again in August, when we ranted, arguably cleverly foreshadowing this post, about ennui, the properties of time, and the correct orientation of toilet rolls:
Finally, in December, we felt briefly enthusiastic about life, the universe, and everything, largely thanks to a photo of Jonny, wearing a beige trenchcoat, in a gold frame:
There are more links to other festive posts from your favourite intellectual bog blog at the bottom, under the Festive Video, but for now we think we really will fuck off - after having linked to last year's new year's post (a masterpiece of pessimism and misanthropy), and also all posts with the label New Year's Eve, which for some reason continue to litter the universe.
If memory serves, we started this bog blog post by describing our refusal to indulge in reminiscences and retrospectives. Well, we have never claimed to be lucid. Please bear this in mind if you have the misfortune of being affected, next year, by our book-keeping.
One of many occasions when we stuck, belligerently, to our opinion on hand-dryers, while breathlesslly showcasing Shewee Fiend Friend's photos from Vancouver Airport:
Since apparently this post is, despite our initial protestations and insistence on the contrary, about reminiscences, let us enjoy the memory of that time, in 2016, when an anonymous Friend made an honest effort to expand her mind by reading Jane Eyre (and hated every minute):
Time, allegedly, flies. We're not personally convinced that this is the correct verb to attach to the fourth dimension of the universe, but we really, really, really don't have the energy to argue with anyone over anything. (It seems, for instance, that we have entered an uneasy peace with Shewee Fiend Friend on the subject of toilet roll orientation.) Whatever means of transport you choose to ascribe to time, however, it is an inescapable fact that this bog blog has been a vehicle for ranting on the internet for ten years. Readers who are perhaps not as regular as they would like might appreciate an explanation of how this came about.
Once upon a time, in a pub far, far away (Micklegate, in York, arguably counts as pretty far away for most people), we were ranting. Memory is a fickle mistress and Yorkshire ale is a
potent brew, and thus details are hazy, but we’re reasonably certain that we
were gesticulating, possibly even raising our voice to a far from genteel
pitch. What were we ranting about? you wonder. World poverty? Slave labour in
sweatshops? The utter, unforgivable shitness of the Eurovision Song Contest?
No. We were ranting about British plumbing.
Scandinavia
has many advantages. The twentieth century played the part of fairy godmother
to this portion of the world, blessing it with democracy, universal healthcare,
and excellent sanitation. As a result, its inhabitants are prone to exhibiting exorbitant,
overwhelming smugness. Send an unsuspecting Scandi out in the world and they
are susceptible to criticise other nations’ sanitary arrangements in an
insufferably rude manner. Not because they wish to insult, you understand, but
because they are flabbergasted. When it is demonstrably possible to construct
toilets and pipes that work well, a Dane, Norwegian or Swede might reason, why
on earth would you deliberately choose to make a cackhanded job of your bogs?
Said Scandiwegians are perhaps particularly prone to ask this far-from-rhetorical
question when in the British Isles, which, though rich in culture and steeped
in history of the most exciting kind, are deplorably lacking in logical
plumbing. Friendship with such a Dane, Norwegian, or Swede can often be
challenging to a native of the misty isles in the West. Whatever laudable
qualities such persons may possess, they are prone to being overshadowed by the
Scandiwegian propensity to rant about mixer-taps. It is not what your average
Brit appreciates, when in the pub, trying to maintain an enjoyable
conversation. Such a Brit, who is likely to be a cultured, refined and
well-travelled person, is not to be blamed for exclaiming, in an exasperated
manner, for the love of God, why don’t you start a blog? (For this was
the year of our Lord 2010, and blogs were still a thing.)
Our
exasperated friend, whom we have referred to ever since as Enlightened Friend,
uttered this impassioned plea not due to his belief in our writing skills or
ability to turn an interesting tale, but due to his intense irritation with our
constant complaints about British plumbing. Enlightened Friend’s hope was that,
in writing down our criticisms of British taps on the internet and perhaps
striking up friendships with other weirdoes there, we would cease to complain
about them to him, and he would in future be able to drink his pint in peace.
Being easily influenced, we happily took Enlightened Friend at his word, and
started a toilet blog (or, as it soon became known, the intellectual bog blog).
Indeed, so excited were we by the prospect of pontificating to, if not the
world at large, then at least a certain small portion of our acquaintance, that
we wrote three posts on the same day. The very first one, published on 18 October 2010, said, simply and
perhaps ominously,
Most British people see no need for
mixer taps, as when they do exist, they don't work anyway. The rest of
the world disagrees. The controversy continues.
As we have often had occasion to mention, we are grateful for all the friends (including Jonny, who counts as a friend for administrative reasons) and family who send us interesting toilet pictures from around the world. Due to our hectic lifestyle, commitment to watching Toby Stephens wearing pirate trousers, and unreasonably lengthy hangovers, these pictures tend to not be put to profitable use by means of toilet blogging, but congregate in weird corners of the internet, tucked away in a multitude of apps and accounts, where they languish due to lack of light. (We have, for years, envisaged our archive as a dark crypt peopled by ghosts, dead nuns, and pheasants, such as described in the 1796 horror classic The Monk. You may read increasingly incoherent references to said archive here, here, here, here, and here.) Our Mum reminded us recently of some photos she sent us two years ago, which we thought we'd publish in this, our ten-year-anniversay bog blog post. We've also got pictures from other favourite contributors, such as Our Favourite Aunt, Intellectual Friend, and, last but definitely not least, Jonny. The fact that we thusly have pictures from Sweden, Denmark, Norway and the UK is no doubt a coincidence.
We decided, in a moment of unrestrained nostalgia, to return to the points system. It took a while before we could even find it, but it turns out we'd preserved it and we have inserted it at the bottom of this post for the benefit of scientifically-minded readers. Below is a picture sent to us by Our Mum from the Martini restaurant in Kristianstad, Sweden. According to what you might call, for convenience, the logic of our points system, these facilities get 9 points. We couldn't tell from the photo whether the soap was pleasantly scented or whether there was a coat-hook sturdy enough for a rucksack, so we had to restrain ourselves somewhat in our scoring. Nonetheless, it looks like an excellent, comfortable and laudably hygienic toilet.
Martini, in Kristianstad: 9 points
Next up is an amusing photo, also from Our Mum, of a helpful sign at the airport in Bergen, Norway.
We hope, for the sake of humanity, that these are not unisex toilets. We have mentioned, on occasion, how much we loathe unisex toilets.
Our Favourite Aunt is a faithful correspondent and sent us, in 2016, the following photos from the porcelain museum in Gustavsberg, Sweden.
An exciting glimpse of hygienic porcelain from times past
This is a toilet quote by August Strindberg. Not being fans of Strindberg, we're not going to bother translating it. Nonetheless, we appreciate Our Favourite Aunt's contribution.
We mentioned earlier our conception of our toilet photo archive as a dark, dripping crypt. Perhaps in the light of that metaphor, these pictures, from Intellectual Friend, are rather apt. They depict the gents' toilets at the Peder Oxe tavern in Copenhagen, where we seem to remember brandishing a flagon of ale with Intellectual Friend in 2017. Are the toilets in the cellar? We can't remember, but it looks as though they are rich in old stone and some eccentricity - both things that we love.
Danes are depressingly apt to install what we call the subjunctive mixer tap, but here it seems they have actually hardened the fuck up and got it right.
We're fairly sure that we have, at one or more points during the past ten years, expressed an opinion about urinals. Potentially we approve.
Intellectual Friend referred to this as a "tapestried toilet pic". It is perhaps fitting in light of our history of drinking in medieval milieus.
Ahh. Nothing warms the cockles like correctly hung toilet paper!
We're reaching the end of this blast from the past. How about some hyper-modernity, for the sake of contrast? Here's a photo of Jonny, in 2020, adhering to corona regulations.
Our spontaneous reaction to this photo was:
Plus points for the clear, helpful and polite signage, not sure about the mask. On the one hand the Counsel is all in favour of hygiene and adequate protection, on the other hand it doesn't like restrictions on perving. We shall leave it to the fans to decide!
Jonny argued that the mask is in contrast to his top, calling the look "street thug's soft side". Ever striving for fairness, we promised to take his argument under consideration.
Reader, it is time for a Festive Video. What's more suitable than this favourite, which has given us intellectual solace on many an occasion! (Blogger have changed their layout and we have no idea how to intelligently insert videos any more, so to be on the safe side here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lv-Pi3RKY68)
Festive Video: Public Information Film - UK Separate Taps
We gave up all belief in the logic of our points system long ago. But
sometimes we use it just for kicks, and when we do, the points awarded
are as follows:
* Covered loo roll holder: +1 * Loo roll lying loose: -1 * Normal white loo roll: +1 * Unbleached: +2 * Quilted or coloured: -1
* Bin in stall covered: +1 *Bin not pushing unpleasantly against user: +2
* Easy-to-use flush, not requiring great mechanical strength: +1 * Water-saving: +2 * Hard to use: -1
* Toilets clean: +1 * Toilets dirty: -1
* Revolving towel: +1 * Air dryer: -1 * Hygienic air dryer: +1 * Normal towel (unless clean and displaying evidence of being frequently changed): -1
* Push lever or other easy-to-use tap: +1 * Photo-cell tap: +2 * Lack of hot water: -1 * Unpleasant, separated taps: -1
*Pleasant soap: +1 * Also handlotion: +2 * No soap: -1
*Coat hook: +1 * Coat hook sturdy enough for rucksack or other large bag: +2 * No coat hook: -1
* Possibility of opening door without touching handle on exit: +1 bonus point.
* Toilets with noise-insulating cubicles (or no cubicle): +1 bonus point.
