Where East Meets West

When did you last find yourself explaining the concept of fermented herring to a steel slide player from North Carolina?

We had never, before last Saturday, attempted such a thing either metaphorically or literally, but would like to think that we did rather well, with a little help from a) friends and b) beer. Free speech rights may also have insinuated themselves, as they are wont to do, the wiley devils, into the conversation, but then again that may be pure wishful thinking on our part. Either way, we will surely soon receive a  medal from the Swedish tourist board, in recognition of our efforts to describe the many delights of Swedish culture to said worthy North Carolingian musician - not, we suspect, your typical demographic in terms of Swedish tourism.

Whether freedom of speech was a central part of the evening's conversation, however, or played a more discreet role, confined mainly to the inside of our head, may be a moot point. The important thing as far as we're concerned is that we enjoyed ourselves hugely, from the sneaky can of wine on the train to the last rant over the last beer in the last pub. Since the amount of beer that drives out the toilet obsession from the aforementioned inside of our head has not as yet been determined, despite dedicated empirical research, we took some photos. Here, for your delight and edification, is an illustration of one of the toilets at the Biljardkompaniet sports bar in, of all places, Kristianstad.

Under normal circumstances we would naturally be having some kind of fit at this point, gesticulating wildly while pointing out the manifold horrors of leaving toilet paper about in this cavalier manner, without a proper toilet roll holder. On the other hand, check out the crafty spare-bog-roll-holder in the corner! Then ponder the fact that there was not just one of those, but two! This makes up for many, many, many sins.

We are aware that we have readers who enjoy almost seeing people. (Weirdos!)

This is not good.

Let us move on from the murky world of southern Swedish sports bars, to what Shewee Fiend Friend describes as a "lovely loo in a hicktown bakery".

These taps look like the perverted Danish variety of subjunctive taps. On the other hand, it looks like there might be both soap and hand lotion? As Semi-Intellectual Friend so wisely remarked once: "Real men have hands that are as cracked and tough as the floor of the Gobi if it was made from leather." However, the rest of us rather enjoy a spot of lotion.

We have no idea what's happening here and have no desire to find out.

Clear signage is always, always enjoyable!

We have become accustomed to relaying the less messy and more amusing parts of our conversations with Shewee Fiend Friend, but lately they have centred mostly round a) the inexplicable Spanish inability to find 500 huge stones, and b) the hot priest in Fleabag. Reader, this is not of public interest.

Feisty French Friend sends us a greeting from her travels:

Do not wash feet in toilets!!!

At Vientiane Airport

Does this rampant discrimination against feet remind us of anything? Friends, it reminds us of the car park toilet in Goathland.

Jonny proves, once again, that he is not only devastatingly handsome  but has an uncanny knack for saying what we're all thinking, which is: 

 

Too hot!

So hot.

What our favourite band was doing in a weird sports bar in the southeastern corner of Sweden we will never understand. But we will be forever grateful! Many thanks also to the friend who shall henceforth be known as Waycool Maths Teacher Friend, who not only bravely ventured into a wild and uncharted territory, but who showed unparalleled presence of mind by bringing wine.



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The car park toilet in Goathland

The perverted Danish subjunctive taps