Scylla, Charybdis, and the Vagaries of Christmas

 Remember Scylla and Charybdis? No? Don't worry, our memory is also shaky. Let us together make an attempt at appeasing Mnemosyne, mother of the muses, with a brief refresher. Scylla, according to a pub acquaintance of ours, was "a supernatural female creature, with 12 feet and six heads on long snaky necks, each head having a triple row of sharklike teeth, while her loins were girdled by the heads of baying dogs". Phew. Not someone you'd want to meet when staggering to the shop to get Diet Coke on a hungover Sunday, right? Well, exactly. Scylla probably had many admirable traits, if one were prepared to overlook her penchant for brutally ingesting everyone who came within her reach. She may well have had valuable insights, for instance, on foreign policy, or 15th-century pottery. It's important not to judge. Still, we're pretty sure we're not alone in hoping she stays away from the corner shop this particular morning.

But Charybdis was a chill person, right? Someone who enjoyed gardening, and cataloguing Cliff Richards LPs? Unfortunately, according to our source, Charybdis "lurked under a fig tree a bowshot away on the opposite shore, drank down and belched forth the waters thrice a day and was fatal to shipping". Oof. While one tries not to be guilty of unreasonable prejudice, this is starting to sound like an unpleasant pair, Scylla's purported expertise on Aachen stoneware notwithstanding. This, we're sure you agree, is all very worrying. But what you are no doubt wondering is why we're even bringing up these obnoxious characters, particularly on a day which we'd like to devote to contemplation, for instance on the value of stopping after the fourth beer. The practice of stopping after the fourth beer is contested in some circles, particularly when contrasted with alternative methods, like staying in the pub, gesticulating, until it closes. Both approaches, we're sure you agree, have their merits but one is more conducive to nausea. Whatever stance one takes, it is a classical problem well worth perusing on a Sunday.

We do actually have a reason for evoking the dilemma, faced by Odysseus - who, although undoubtedly a bit of a twat, was an acknowledged navigator - of trying to steer along a perilous route, edged on two sides by mythological monsters. You see, we have an impossible choice before us. Jonny, that trail-blazing avant-gardist of the photography of sanitational milieus, has sent us such a richness of bog pictures that we are at risk of being either devoured by Scylla or drunk down and then belched forth by Charybdis. 

We have in our possession pictures of some rampantly festive red hand-dryers which just scream "CHRISTMAS BOG BLOG POST!". Thus we could make these photos the basis of our Christmas post, based on the reasonable assumption that we will absolutely not be in possession of enough brio and pizzazz to produce another intriguing bog blog post before Christmas. Or we could blissfully assume that the joys of the season will inspire in us a glowing zeal to publish Jonny's toilet photos, powerful enough to overcome our constitutional lethargy and, to borrow a word from Jane Eyre, inanition, and write another post, later, which can be nominated this year's Christmas post. In that case, we'd do better to publish, today, the pictures of the wet toilets in the park, which Jonny advocates "hosing down" (in a manner psychologically reminiscent of the monstrous Charybdis?), and keep the red hand-dryers for a potential future bout of inspiration, which however must not consume us so far into the future that Christmas is over. You see the dilemma?

You're right of course. It wasn't really a dilemma. Here are the festive red hand-dryers! Jonny says:

Not sure why but 'Seasons Treatings' made me really angry. Also got a new jumper and thought I looked cute.

 

We agree that this is heinous and ought - in a fair and just world - to result in punishment along medieval lines.

A very unholy trinity. Or a sign of things to come? Who knows what miracles the future holds.

If memory serves us (and empirical data suggests not), we remarked to Jonny, upon receiving this picture, something along the lines of, "Might just be because we've just seen the Caravaggio film, with wine, but we love the aesthetics!".

Does Jonny look cute in this jumper? Does the plot of Caravaggio's Shadow involve a very worrying horse?

Merry Christmas.

Festive Video: Kitty, Daisy and Lewis - Silent Night

Related Reading

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 Our opinion on air dryers:
AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH AIR DRYERS 

Things That Work. Works of Art. Also Weak Hearts.

Are you sitting there expecting things to work? Trains, the postal service, your mum's lawnmower? Your memory? The basic functions of the nation state? No, us neither. This is why we're extra grateful for stuff that works, and people who send us weird pictures. These, for instance, are from Hafjell in Norway. Ah! Norway! High of mountain, clean of air, hygienic of toilet! The artist formerly known as Logoped Friend, though that is absolutely not her name*, notes that the taps, perhaps having been inspired by those lofty peaks, are high enough to enable the intrepid tourist to fill her water bottle without losing her mind. That would of course be delightful even without the stupendous views of the fells and this well-stocked bog-roll holder.

 *Logoped Friend notes that what her name would be in a subjunctive, Platonic, ideal world, is Speech-Language Therapist Friend. Alas. We can only strew ashes in our hair, and long for what potentially might have been, inside the cave behind the flickering torch of some bearded Greek bloke, but which never was, and never, now, will be. Alas. Alas. Alas.

 Speaking of delightful things of doubtful ontological status, Jonny somehow manages to find the time to throw us a bog pic now and then, whether we're in a fit state to receive it or not.

 

 

How it happens exceeds our understanding but Jonny manages, at the same time as being a strapping young man and a delight to all and sundry, to not just entertain but educate us. Yes! educate! A rare feat, we agree. Look at this. Reader, just look. Yes, we're tired and have a weird itch as well, but bear with us. Have a shufti. We'll be finished soon. Yes, promise.

Oooh.

Aaah.

Gaaah! What the fuck?

We would argue that not only is this art, it approaches the dreamy hyper-realistic plains of post-post-modernism. Yes, we would go that far. Thanks for asking.

Things are about to get quite exciting and we would like to request, at this point, that nervous readers make sure they are sitting down. Perhaps with a drink at hand. Anyone with a weak heart or any kind of medical condition - up to and including having ever sat through an entire sports programme on TV - is encouraged to throw themselves off a cliff. Believe us, it will be quicker and less painful.

Jonny writes:

My friend Raj is in Switzerland
He didn't say much, just 'this is for your toilet blog.'
Hopefully people can decipher the diagram.

A challenge to adventurous readers: Try looking at Raj's enticing sandal without feeling your heart clunking like that bizarre train that time in Italy. We dare you.

Agreed. Definitely time for a drink.

Reader, are you with us? Are you, too, feeling the tingle in your toes, that feeling as if somewhere, out there, there is a world that isn't mind-boggling, bewildering and full of brutalist architecture, but friendly, filled with delicious cheese and with clear signage that's easy to follow? Reader, we dream of that world, too. Let's have a Festive Video and get this weekend started.

Festive Video: Korslagda Kukar, Dennis

Related Reading

That time when we found - to everyone's surprise - the dreamy, hyper-realistic plains of post-post modernism in Semi-Intellectual Friend's bathroom in Thailand (What the fuck were they doing there? we hear you ask. Yeah, it boggles us too):
Brownian Motion, or, Brownout, or, A Brown Study - Semi-Intellectual Friend's Shower 

Another time when contemplated some art:
What a Thing Is and What It Is Not Are Identical In Form. Or So We've Been Told.

Switzerland appears to be a popular tourist destination, with adventurous mountain toilets in more than one place

Norway, also

All posts featuring Jonny

All posts featuring Speech-Language Therapist Friend

All Flesh is Grass. Also, the Winner of the Toilet-Paper Origami Competition!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Erfurt latrine disaster is by far the topic that we receive the most messages about. Why this should be, we couldn't tell you, but one might of course speculate. Is it the thrilling combination of sewage and brutal, sudden death? Is it the reminder that life is fleeting, and all flesh is grass? Or is it that satisfying moment of realising that yes, for most people life is one long chain of really, really shitty moments, and it always has been, and it's not just you being paranoid and incompetent? Your guess is as good as ours - or, quite possibly, considering our track record of displaying an appalling lack of judgement, better.

If there is one person who, in stark contrast to us, has a long history of having excellent judgement, it is Our Favourite Aunt. She recently proved the excellence of said judgement by going to visit Monet's house and taking pictures of the toilets.

Enjoy the tulips while you can.

Do these beautiful Delft tiles remind us of something? Why, naturally! They remind us, firstly, of that time when we received a postcard from Tudor Friend, and secondly of Christian IV's toilet in Rosenborg.

Is Monet's abluvium better than Bach's bog? You tell us!

Many thanks to this gem of an aunt - the most splendid of aunts; indeed, the aunt to end all aunts! - for her benevolent toilet photography!

Remember that time when we announced a toilet-paper origami competition, which resulted in people sending in actual photos? No, we didn't either. For this grievous error, we can only offer our sincerest apologies. There is probably an explanation for why this estimable and important project was lost in the mists of time, and that explanation is most likely that said mists of time were mostly opioid mists. However, we have now bribed the judges of our jury to reach a verdict.

We should probably pause, here, to review the entries. And before doing that, we should possibly attempt to explain what the toilet paper origami competition was, when it was, and why. There was a virtual, online event, this being the trend in 2020 for reasons we can't remember, and it was described thusly:

A further description inside the event read as follows:

Scrolling through the archive, we learn that the idea came from Tudor Friend and was thus, in keeping with that friend's personality, funny, creative and devilishly cunning!

The response to this clarion call of bog-related creativity was staggering. Staggering, we tell you! Here are all the entries, in chronological order. (We're not saying that some of the jurors submitted entries but we're also not saying that they didn't. The fact that Jonny entered a photo in a photo competition where the prize was a photo of Jonny dressed as a pirate no doubt says something about the modern era's lack of standards and post-post-modernist or perhaps even post-post-post-modernist atomisation and lack of coherence.)

 

Words cannot adequately express our gratitude to everyone who bravely entered this bizarre competition with such grace and stamina.

Before we tell you who the winner is, let us share the most elucidating comments from our international jury of experts. In no wise must the efforts of both ourselves and the jury be underestimated. This has been a long process, and has involved us insisting on motivations and writing anxious messages saying things like:

I'm going to ask you to motivate your answer, please. (Please. I've been doing this with students wanting a higher grade all afternoon. *it says clearly in the question that you have to motivate your answer, for instance by illustrating it with examples *)

On being told that this particular juror preferred a particular entry, we had to push - yes, even after the heart-rending plea above, we had to keep pushing - for a motivation:

What's good about [this entry]? Is it, for instance, the quality of the origami, or the description and puns?

The reply arrived, without hesitation:

I must admit I let myself be overly influenced by puns. That totally affected my judgement.

Another juror said, about the same entry:

I wonder how long it took to make the rose. I would have developed haemorrhoids. [...] Still, I vote for the rose. Both for creativity and sheer bravado.

And the rose is, indeed, the winner! Here it is again, for your enjoyment:

We shall be contacting the winner and arranging for Jonny to send them a signed photo of him dressed as a pirate. Be warned, however, that last time we arranged a photo competition, the prize was a signed photo of Jonny wearing a trench coat, and it took him four years to send it. 

We would be remiss if we, after this bog-related onslaught, didn't also share the latest toilet photo that Jonny shared with us. Please note that it comes with a trigger warning for royalist sentiments, sartorial genius and unbridled pizzazz:

Since we have established that a) seven people read this blog and b) none of those seven ever listens to any of the Festive Videos, it matters not one whit which video we select to be this post's Festive Video and thus you have only yourselves to blame for us selecting this one:

 

Festive Video: Hailey Whitters, Plain Jane

Related Reading

All posts featuring Our Aunt

All posts featuring Tudor Friend

All posts featuring Jonny 

All posts featuring toilet paper origami 

Last time we arranged a competition: Frame of Mind 

The post in which we remembered we'd forgotten the toilet paper origami competition: Spanish Missteps, Also Other Missteps

Johann Sebastian Bach's Bog 

Our classic post on the correct way to hang your bog roll: Rocking, Rolling, Ranting 

Our classic post on post-post-post-modernism, illustrated using Semi-Intellectual Friend's shower 

Our timeless rant about how everything is terrible, and getting worse, illustrated by little carts rolling down an incline

This one is also quite good 

That time when we had a really terrible experience in a bar

 

Toeing No Lines Whatsoever - Rather, Really Letting Ourselves Go

After being exposed to some gentle ribbing, in our last post, on the subject of her atrocious taste in music, Shewee Fiend Friend had many things to say. To refresh our possibly collective memory, here's what we said:

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.

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.

The things Shewee Fiend Friend had to say in response were, in chronological order:

Just to spite you I listened to the first twenty seconds of the second version of that festive video

It was interesting to watch the spandex aerobics dancers until the singing started, then I couldn’t take it anymore

But I’m really glad to hear I’m not the only one who lets you know your taste in music is abysmal

Really just abysmal

[...]

Also I’ve just watched the third version of that video

Well I listened to around twenty seconds again. I had forgotten how bad it was so I had to turn it off pretty soon

It was also awful

Where do you even find these things? How have you heard of this terrible person

 These are interesting questions which will, we are certain, spark further research and lead to many fruitful debates!

Jonny, meanwhile, has been devastatingly handsome in several toilets. Let's go through them systematically, in a scientific fashion.

 

Jonny writes:

Went into the office today and I was the only one there

Which is a shame because I look really fit today

Here's a pic of me by our unisex toilets

(We have 3 men's and 1 unisex)

 Indeed, why should the women have their own toilet? It's not like they're people. However that may be, however, we absolutely agree that Jonny looks fit in front of this unisex toilet, and congratulate his employer on hiring such a dishy toilet enthusiast!

 

Jonny: Dishier than ever, in front of a unisex toilet.

The following photos arrived without any comments, which is a fantastic chance, we believe, to let our creative juices really flow, imagining where they might be from and what might have happened in these toilets to result in such clear signage. We encourage our readers to let go of all restraints and embrace some really fervent speculation.

 

Really let yourself go, now.

 

A tantalising door!

If a picture says more than a thousand words, here we have the equivalent of a bestselling mystery trilogy, popular in airports the world over.

A note of caution to sensitive readers: the following picture is highly suggestive and might make impressionable individuals over-excited. Be very, very careful.

Careful, now!

Finally, is this the fainting couch to end all fainting couches? Does one feel the urge to lie down sensuously, while sipping a gin-enriched glass of champagne and feeling really fabulous? Reader, one does.

Since we have established that it is irrelevant which Festive Video we choose, here is a random one that we have put no thought into whatsoever.

 

Festive Video: Sam Outlaw, Jesus Take the Wheel (And Drive Me to a Bar)

 

Related Reading

Shewee Fiend Friend 

Jonny

Spanish Missteps, Also Other Missteps

Sex Matters

Fair Play for Women 

Filia

Spanish Missteps, Also Other Missteps

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?

A question for the ages. (Incidentally, this sign reminds us of German Friend's photo of admirably clear signage in Bologna.)

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.

 

We have expressed our views on wannabe ye olden toilet flush systems before, and haven't changed our mind on this, or any other, point since.

 

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.

Related Reading

View the photos in the toilet paper origami competition here

That time when Lituanian Friend won a signed photo of Jonny wearing a trench coat, in a gold (well, arguably) frame: Frame of Mind 

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Admirably clear signage in Bologna: A Bog Post of Astonishing Clarity

Incidentally, remember that time when Australian Friend visited Beechworth Gaol? 

All posts featuring Jonny

Halloween Horror 2022: Can You Believe Your Lyon Eyes?

What can one say, about a city that has not one but two Roman amphitheatres, except that it clearly knows what it is doing? It turns out that Lyon is highly competent when it comes to Roman remains. On the subject of rivers, also, the city displays an almost disdainful proficiency, not settling for just the one river but insisting on two.

One area where the former Roman colony of Lugdunum shows simply breathtaking incompetence, however, is public toilets. We managed to find two, having possibly identified a penchant on the part of the city for pairs, but one of them was so appalling that we have decided to categorise it as a rampant Halloween horror. (The other one was also appalling, but not at a "rampant Halloween horror" level. We didn't even bother taking photos of that one.)

If one should peradventure google the phrase "public toilets Lyon", one finds useful advice from helpful people. One guide to the city's pubic conveniences claims that there is a "Turkish" public toilet by the Place Sathonay. Being rather a fan of the allaturca toilet, we ventured forth to explore this delight, and were not disappointed. This Sanitaire Public does indeed exist in the place stated.

Reader, we went here, so you don't have to.

A picture says more than a thousand words. This one says: "Stay away."

Having once come across some excellent public toilets in the southern French city of Sète, however, we remain hopeful that producing proper public toilets is within the zone of proximal development of Lyon. After all, there has been a city here for two thousand years, and presumably, if its learning curve continues rising, maybe one day the city will be as proficient at public conveniences as it is at small charming bistros in picturesque side streets. Like this one, known to its friends as Les Belles Volailles, in the Rue Cuvier.

A reassuring richness of a) toilet roll and b) coat-hooks.

A somewhat surprising aspect of the toilet of a French bistro.

Jonny has been to what we understand was a horror-themed birthday party.

Terrifying.

Mmm, that's better.

This febrile display of candles could be romantic, or creepy, depending on one's predilections. Either way, there appears to be a fainting chair.

Today's Festive Video is about the approaching winter and impending doom. Incidentally, it causes us a certain feeling of déja vu, to use a French expression.

Now, if you'll excuse us, we've got an urgent appointment with an excellent bar called Les Fleurs du Malt.

Festive Video: Margo Cilker, That River

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All of the allaturca toilets we have ever had the joy of coming across.

That time when we reflected on art, in a semi-existentialist, rather French, manner: What A Thing Is and What It Is Not Are Identical In Form. Or So We've Been Told.

That time when we experienced winter, and impending doom, on a Canadian prairie: The Girl Bartenders Hate