The Privy Counsel (A Bog Blog): Frame of Mind

If you'd asked us, just yesterday, if there is any hope for, point to, or reason behind, anything, our answer would have been an expression of pessimism, articulated with our characteristic wit and espièglerie. However, that was before we received the following message from Lithuanian Friend:

It arrived!!!

Did Jonny put the photo in a gold frame ("more bronze", according to Lithuanian Friend, but we're definitely not going to be splitting any hairs on this issue) and include a message written on a piece of toilet roll? Reader, he did.

This message, and our reaction to it, will of course only make sense if one remembers the events of the 2017 era, when we advertised a toilet graffiti competition, announcing that the prize for the lucky winner was a signed photograph of Jonny, wearing his rampantly attractive trench-coat. The winner was announced, in due course, and waited, and waited, and waited, for her prize. She then waited some more. Then forgot all about it. Then briefly waited a bit more maybe two years ago when Jonny had a fleeting stint of remembering and attempted to send the photo, then forgot again, then waited some more, then forgot again - until yesterday! When this treasure of treasures finally arrived! We don't know if Lithuanian Friend is actually clasping this photographic record of the hunka-hunka-hotness of Jonny (who we count as a friend for administrative reasons) to her heart at this very moment, but since it's the only reasonable course of action, considering the circumstances, were going to assume it.

This just proves that you literally never know what's waiting behind the U-bend! Usually, of course, it's a work meeting set in a muddy field strewn with landmines, bear traps and horror clowns and peopled entirely by self-aggrandising half-wits spouting inane business-speak clichés at each other in grating voices while you fantasise about jumping in front of a train; or a letter from the tax office. BUT. But, but, but. Sometimes it's a picture of Jonny, wearing a trench coat, in a gold frame! (Feel free to read any meaning you like into this delightful metaphor.)

In order to make up for all the self-aggrandising half-wits and horror clowns, the Fates have filled our world with kind people who send us exciting toilet pictures which we have, for eleven years, consistently failed to find a good way of organising. (There was a period when we had what we optimistically referred to as an archive. It ended with us imagining this would-be organised collection of files as a medieval crypt, bursting with dead nuns, randy monks and, no doubt for good reasons, pheasants.) So thanks, everyone, for all the photos, but we're fucked if we know where any of them are. In an attempt to fill your hearts with a modicum of joy this Christmastime, here are instead some photos we've taken ourselves.

First up, from Kyrkogatanfem in Lund, which calls itself, excitingly, Negroni- and wine bar:

We seem to remember discussing the concept of the Apérol Spritz once with an educational friend of ours from Italy, and also drinking Apérol Spritz in conjunction with Our Favourite Aunt and Australian Friend, one sunny day in Copenhagen.

This toilet has it all: It's clean, it's stylish, it's disability friendly, it's got a mixer tap, it's got pleasant soap, it's got paper towels, it's got a festive poster. This one, friends, goes up to eleven. (We could apply our long-forgotten toilet-marking scale to this toilet, but believe us, you really, really don't want us to. (Let us know if you'd like us to start using the long-forgotten toilet-marking scale again.))

If memory serves we went to this delightful Negroni- and wine bar with Our Favourite Aunt some time ago, in order to enjoy, believe it or not, a Negroni, and wine.

As a special treat because we're nearing Christmas (celebrated, as all right-thinking people (ie basically the populations of Scandiwegia, and Colombia) know, on the 24th of December), here are pictures of the toilets in another place in Lund called Klostergatans Vin och Delikatess where, believe it or not, you can get served both wine and delicious food, and where we enjoyed the festive environs with Our Favourite Aunt. As delightful as the food and drink in this place is, however, the highlight is clearly the toilet. We seem to remember there being a queue, but said queue was peopled, as far as we can recall, entirely by delightful people bursting with wit and (probably; it's hard to give expression to the higher reaches of human virtues in a toilet queue) sophistication.

Is this, basically, a gold toilet with a mixer tap and a wholly inoffensive bin? Reader, it is!

What a door! What a night! (As Elvis would no doubt have exclaimed, huskily, had he ever seen this door.)

A disability friendly bog, a friendly chair for resting, and a hygienic toilet-roll holder. Come what may, we have experienced this.

We're going to leave you now, but not before blessing your evening with a Festive Video. Here is a song to listen to on repeat while you wait for your metaphorical golden-framed photo of Jonny, and/or drink your liver to smithereens.