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.
It's a funny thing, running an intellectual bog blog. Most people quite rightly don't give a crap and would rather chew off their own arm than read a single word of an obscure and ranty site about toilets, but every now and then one receives feedback from unlikely quarters. It turns out, for instance, that Our Mum has turned quite evangelical, and spends her time, when she isn't pissing off to Perugia on a whim to take photos of al fresco dining areas, informing people of the existence of our blog and exhorting them to read it. Consequently, we received a tip about an intriguing TV programme chronicling the history of toilets from a friend of Our Mum called Elena, which you can view below, as we have made it this post's Festive Video. We would like to extend our most gracious thanks to Elena; it was a spiffing and most invigorating video!
Since the programme in question starts off with a review of toilets in the classical world, we were reminded of some rather exciting bogs that we encountered in Greece last summer. Ergo:
Strolling around the Roman Agora in Athens with Our Mum, enjoying the unidentified pieces of marble (here is a question for everyone but especially Medievalist (With a Side Interest in Roman Archaeology) Friend: We have an app that can identify plants from just a photo. Where is the app that will identify random bits of Roman marble? How hard can it be to create a database of images of cornices, sarcophagi and columns and make it into an app so that lazy people on holiday can pronounce expert opinions on bits of marble rubble without having to learn anything or do any work?) and trying not to dwell on the sensation of sweat running down literally every crevice of our body, we stumbled across a Roman latrine! We happened to note the seat in the picture below and, eagerly scanning the horizon for an informative sign (we really do love clear signage), had our hunch confirmed! We had sauntered into the Vespasian latrines without even trying! As world-archaeology.com so eloquently puts it,
Entering from the marketplace through an antechamber, the lucky Athenians discovered elegantly raised seats over a deep channel lined with marble. Athens surely touched Vespasian in a way that cold Britain failed to, judging from this simple yet endearing monument to his largesse.
You may imagine our happiness when suddenly clapping eyes on this toilet seat
in a far corner of the Roman Agora! On a totally unrelated note, there is a terrific restaurant just on the other side of that fence, on the corner, with very friendly waiters and excellent coffee.
A clear and informative, if somewhat dull, sign
Next up, we have pictures of the public baths by the Temple of Zeus! We spent an unreasonable amount of time, as Our Mum will verify, rambling round this area and taking toilet selfies with the ruins. What can we say? We were on holiday, and that is our idea of fun. (If you enjoy this kind of activity, do get in touch. We are finding it increasingly challenging to find people willing to go on holiday with us. We can't think why this might be.)
We are not, as a rule, excited-jumpers-up-and-down at the Privy Counsel,
considering such behaviour to be annoying to the point of being morally wrong,
but we jumped up and down with excitement when spotting these hypocausts!
A soothing circular pool
A comfortable seat for chatting to a friend?
The remains of many, many pillars
A helpful and informative sign
We went, of course, to the Acropolis, where we marvelled at the view and admired the diligent Athenian workmen restoring the ancient ruins. We also came across this random structure, near the entrance. We have no idea what it is, but took a photo on the off-chance that it is anything to do with water or sanitation (is that some kind of duct in the centre?). If any of our readers - including, but not limited to, Medieval (With a Side Interest in Roman Archaeology) Friend - has information about what this might be, don't be shy, send us an email or carrier pigeon!
An unidentified Athenian structure. THERE WAS NO SIGN!!!
No bog blogger worthy of the name would fail to take a picture of the public toilets below the Acropolis. You're welcome.
The sewage pipes in Athens are somewhat delicate,
and quite often one is requested to put toilet paper into a bin, thus.
A helpful sign instructs one not to put paper anywhere near the pipes.
As you can see, everything looks exactly the same,
which we find hugely reassuring. Also, the korai were still magnificent.
One of our favourite pastimes when in Athens, apart from staring dreamily at objects in museums, deciphering Greek signage, using the relatively-free-of-sexual-harassment public transport (we were on the tram one day, marvelling at the fact that we hadn't been sexually harassed yet, when some dude decided to harass us, showing yet again that patriarchy never sleeps), drinking Greek coffee, and buying cheap wine in the supermarket, is wandering round Syntagma Square, imbibing the atmosphere and enjoying the shade cast by the lemon trees. Imagine our delight when we discovered that this historic place boasts public toilets! They are tucked away in a corner and are very hard to find, but they are bona fide public loos, staffed by very friendly toilet attendants.
We cannot fault this door, its lock, or its coat hook.
This is not an ideal toilet, considering the fact that there is no toilet roll
and the flush mechanism has been mended using duct tape. Still. Like the Greek economy,
this toilet just about works, and the staff were super friendly.
Is this, in fact, a metaphor for the Greek economy?
We're never sure how interesting our readers find random pictures of hotel room toilets. To be on the safe side, here are some potentially thrilling images from the Oasis hotel in the Glyfada area of Athens. It's a very nice hotel, with very friendly staff, and we enjoyed many splendid evenings drinking the local wine on the balcony of our hotel room, but wished there had been fewer children, and also fewer Italians, in the pool. (We adore Italians at the Privy Counsel, but for some reason Italians in swimming pools are considerably less charming than Italians who are not in swimming pools. No doubt science will one day find an explanation for this phenomenon.)
No problems with the plumbing here! You can shove virtually unlimited amounts of toilet paper down the bog with no repercussions whatsoever. Also, you will notice that the toilet roll has been folded into a neat point at the end, which is the golden standard of the Olivia Joules Hotel Critera, and which is bound to give you a positive toilet experience if you give a crap about such things (we don't).
We are rather fond of this seventies symphony of pastels.
Assuming that you have even read this far, we congratulate you on your stamina and vow to let everyone rest before we post this many photos in one go again. If you have an hour to spare, please enjoy the Festive Video below! We found the toilet humour deplorable, and advise you to skip that bit, but the rest was both informative and edifying.
Thinking about Caitlin Moran makes everything better. We cannot stress this enough. We don't know how much time you have had to spend lately on writing stupid and uninteresting essays, or exterminating fur beetles, or dealing with students who think that 200 words is a reasonable length for a discussion essay. But we've spent a large portion of our days recently doing just that, and it sucks an unreasonable amount.
Add to this a stop at a women's shelter flat to visit some lovely women fleeing domestic violence. Then spend some time reflecting on the fact that said lovely women are having to hide in a flat without being able to go out, while the men who have beaten, raped, and threatened to kill them are free to walk the streets, have coffee with friends, and generally do whatever the hell they like. Soon you start to feel the need for A LARGE DOSE OF CAITLIN MORAN.
So. Here is an emergency picture of Caitlin Moran:
CAITLIN MORAN MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER.
Then, to complete this exercise in staying reasonably sane, let's look at some lovely soothing toilet photos. We favour, today, the photos we took in the Archaeological Museum of Mykonos. We like museums. We especially like Greek museums. They are full of things we love - really old shit, dug up from the ground. Bits of marble, and vases with rude paintings, and ostraka, and hair pins, and bronze mirrors, and domestic appliances. Let's have some Greek museum awesomeness!
This was a beautifully clean and harmonious toilet.
We appear to have mislaid the picture of the sink (damn pheasant), but here is a coat-hook!
N.b. the soap was really good.
A glimpse of rampant culture, through the door of an unrestrainedly civilised toilet - heaven!!!
A beautiful juxtaposition of old and new, elegant and vulgar, stone and carton?
Or a heinous sacrilege? Tudor Friend got very upset by this picture, considering it a base and brutal use of a cultural artefact.
But the stele was right outside the bog!
Funeral amphora, 7th century, depicting the fall of Troy.
If we had a broken statue of Hercules that we needed to fit
into a random corner of a museum, we would also do this.
Today's festive video is super not-festive. Violence against women and girls is a real thing.
This is why we need Caitlin Moran, and rampant feminism. If you haven't read anything by Caitlin Moran recently, go to the nearest library AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. (We were going to say IMMEDIATELY, but really, aren't we all stressed enough already without adding more demands?)
Video - Hurray for the Riff Raff, The Body Electric
Related Reading
Last time we felt a desperate need to cheer ourselves up by looking at pictures of Caitlin Moran:
Well, tally-ho and a rollicking good evening to you, dear readers! We've got some stupendously festive pictures from Jonny and Welsh Gangster Friend (what is it about strapping young men and toilet-picture productivity? Hmm?) to delight and edify you with in the near future. However, the season of mists and mellow fruitlessness is upon us, and we're in the mood for something more wistful just now. Let us therefore lock up our gentlemen friends' contributions for the moment (taking great care, of course, to avoid having our eyes gouged out by the pheasant living in our archive), and make a mental odyssey. To Greece!
We like Greece. The people are friendly, the toilets intellectually stimulating, and the archaeological artefacts really, really fucking old. We have some pictures from the Archaeological Museum on Mykonos which are very exciting indeed, but we'll save them for another day, when we are feeling less listless. The below pictures are from some café or bar or other on the same island, where we enjoyed some extremely invigorating and delicious Greek coffee.
Take a moment to appreciate the clarity of the colours, the rudimentary hygiene, and the fact that one is not allowed to flush bog roll down the toilet. This caused our hygienically-minded travelling companion (the same person, incidentally, who encouraged us to drink so much whisky that we ended up vomiting behind a bus stop that time) to erupt into pretty little cascades of angry snarls.
Believe it or not, but there is soap in this scenario.
And a very pleasant, soothing turquoise colour.
'
Every single toilet we encountered on Mykonos had one of these festive cisterns. Just like on an old-fashioned Crapper toilet, but with a festive button instead of a pull-handle! Woof!
STRICTLY NO TOILET PAPER TO BE FLUSHED DOWN THIS TOILET.
HOWEVER, YOU MAY SIT HERE AND GAZE MEDITATIVELY AT THE TILES FOR AS LONG AS YOU LIKE.
The tiles are the same dreamy turquoise colour as the Mediterranean sea, gently rocking the plastic carrier bags and loud Italian children on a sunny afternoon. Let's crack open a bottle of rum and pretend that we are on a Greek island and not in the middle of a situation involving the passive voice, a bunch of angry pheasants, and inappropriate pictures of Colin Firth. And let us, for the sake of everything that is holy, have a festive video!
Just like one cannot legitimately use the words "too much" in conjunction with "garlic", it is impossible to get too much girl country.
Festive Video - Pistol Annies; Blues, You're a Buzzkill
So here it is again, merry Christmas, and everybody's getting ding-dong merrily on high. Or we are, anyway, every chance we get. (If you find that all those irritating songs about snowmen, sleigh bells, and virgin (what?) mothers (you're kidding, right?) correspond poorly with reality as you know it, then do check out our cynical festive video from the other day.) For Christmas - despite what assorted misguided Anglo-Americans, and others, may believe - emphatically happens today, on the twenty-fourth. This is well known, and attested by Scandiwegians and Colombians the world over. And also, allegedly, Loretta Lynn.
Though not being, as previously mentioned, huge fans (or indeed fans at all) of the dude commonly known as Jebus, preferring to highlight the pagan roots of most of the Christmas shebang (and if one should dispense with the whole "Christ" part of Christmas and go for a rampantly unapologetic jul/jol/jól (hell, even Weihnachten is cool in our book) -based terminology, then all the better), we still believe in spreading peace and goodwill the year round, and perhaps especially so at this time of year, when extended exposure to insane family members, in worryingly confined spaces, renders good vibrations extra necessary in order to avoid painful social situations, and bloodshed.
In furtherance of feelings of joy and good cheer, therefore, we've got some extra juicy toilet photos for you! From the Acropolis Museum in Athens! But first, an important issue needs to be addressed. Before we do even that, however, let's have a calming picture. Christmas is a very stressful time - to be avoided completely, if possible, or spent shitfaced, if not. (At the Privy Counsel we have found a combination of avoidance and shitfacedness to be singularly successful. (The less said about our mulled-wine session with Exuberant Archaeologist Friend the other day, the better (let us content ourselves with stating that the words Ish kakhfê ai'd dur rugnu are not unimportant in the context).))
Enjoy this soothing picture of a beach outside Athens, for a calming few minutes.
[...]
...Aaaand - breathe. There. Better?
Tudor Friend wrote to us post-haste after we published the post on upright toilet rolls the other day, pointing out an important issue that we had, in our eagerness to promote the previously mentioned good cheer and merriment, carelessly skated over, namely the difficulty of combining hygiene with upright toilet rolls. Tudor Friend said:
My dear Privy Counsellor,
While I applaud your championing of the proper way to hang loo roll (one does wonder at the perversity of those who hang it backward) I must take issue with the usefulness of upright roll spindles. I frequently encounter one of these at a friend's abode, and in my experience it has the most unfortunate habit of unwinding, leaving a pile of fallen paper trailing towards the ground (a place of dubious hygiene, obviously). Theoretically the upright spindle satisfies the difference between those who are adamant in their wrongheadedness and those right-thinking people who understand the importance of hanging a roll forward, but gravity is a harsh mistress, and I remain uncertain that domestic tranquility should be purchased at the potential expense of getting floor germs on one's backside whilst in the pursuit of cleanliness.
Does the learned Counsellor have any suggestions on how, if one is to install such a spindle, this difficulty might be overcome?
Sincerely,
A Forward-Thinking and Upright Citizen
[In the interest of saving space and preserving everyone's sanity, we omit our own replies, making for a fragmentary correspondence with a highly enjoyable staccato rhythm. Like a literary calypso band! Tudor Friend continues:]
*snerk* The funny thing about this post is that it hearkens back to a fight [Other Friend] and her ex-boyfriend Wanker had - he was quite fussed about the issue [regarding which way to hang the toilet roll] and she thought he was, well, a wanker for caring.
[...]
It's the one thing where Wanker was, in retrospect, correct. He was in most other respects what his name suggests. (I don't even remember the guy's name; we've been calling him Wanker for fifteen years now!)
[...]
[Original Friend]'s landlady has a giant spindle in their bathroom - the kind you'd normally put spare rolls on - but they use it for the "active" roll as well - and so of course it's constantly trailing on the floor. Their solution seems to be to stuff the trailing end into the hole, but I think that makes it look messy, and there's that weird thought that *someone else has touched what's about to touch my ass*. I've actually meant to write to you about this situation and keep forgetting!
[There is more, but we'll break here before things get beyond the point where no toilet blog should go.]
Then again we were actually in the Siesta pub, whose vertical toilet roll occasioned this multitude of correspondence, this very afternoon, and it was totally fine. There was no bog roll on the floor. Everything was fine. We examined the holder from every angle, literally and figuratively, and pondered the matter at length and in depth, but couldn't think of a single argument against the vertical toilet roll. (Apart, obviously from the DANGEROUS FLYING TOILET BACTERIA - but we have decided to let that one go, in the interest of preserving the tattered remains of our mental health.) Perhaps, Tudor Friend, you should stop bitching and get your arse over to Scandiwegia?
Anyway. For our special Christmas FUCK NOjul/jol/jól/Weihnachten extravaganza, we've got some kick-arse photos from the Acropolis Museum in Athens for you! The toilets were all sleek and black and clean and functioning and awesome!
This, ladies and gentlemen, is an excellent toilet with (probably) a motion-sensor flush
- we are ordinarily too distrait, and temporarily too pissed, to remember if it was a motion sensor,
but it does rather look like it, doesn't it?
We approve of this bin and these bog-roll holders.
TOTALLY FUCKING GREAT COAT-HOOK
And, voilà - a fascinating glimpse of our Athens correspondent! We are thoroughly overjoyed by these sinks, the soap, and the paper towels!
If you like almost looking at people, enjoy an almost-glimpse of our secret celebrity here, Uncle Sean's handsome almost-there face here, and Australian Friend's exquisite and pretty damn visible, actually, form here.
If you ever go to the Acropolis Museum, do take a few moments to enjoy their highly soothing and intellectually pleasing reading room, rich in free wifi and a splendid view of the Erechteion caryatids. (While we're at it, we apologise unreservedly, if that is the word we are looking for, to everyone who was forced to wait outside the toilets while we took photos.)
We must now find some cheese. Here, have a festive video!
Festive video - Mojo Nixon, Christmas, Christmas
Merry Christmas, dear readers! Or, rather, god jul/glædelig jul/gleðileg jól/frohe Weihnachten! And Καλά Χριστούγεννα to our Greek friends!
Having suffered various traumas* recently, it is with unbridled joy that we sit down to compose a post for our beloved bog blog. What's more, we sit down to compose a post for our beloved bog blog in the smug confidence of having been informed that Halloween is nearly upon us, thereby eliminating the risk of us suddenly waking up, panicked and hungover, and realising that we need to produce a Halloween special THIS MINUTE OR IT WILL BE TOO LATE TO JUMP ON THE COMMERCIALISED CULTURAL BANDWAGON. (Like happened last year, for instance, and the year before that, and... You get the gist.) Rest assured, dear readers, that we have the Halloween special post thing totally in hand! It is not, however, today's post.
Today is all about Greek nudity. We have discussed, on several occasions, with Shewee Fiend Friend, what a rampant shame it is that male nudity is almost obsolete in popular culture. The female body is sexualised and displayed in all sorts of contexts, but when does one get to perv over a tasteful male nude? Despicably seldom, that's when! The Victorians were all over the male nude, erecting statues left, right, and centre, but the taste for that sort of thing seems regrettably to have gone the way of the lace doily, the aspidistra, and macassar oil.
Contemplating, one fine afternoon, a statue of the Dying Gaul, we and Shewee Fiend Friend agreed that there should totally be more male nudity everywhere! Greece is a good place for enjoying statues of people being comfortably minimalist in their approach to clothing, although there are museums around the world that cater to the nudity-inclined. Glyptoteket in Copenhagen is a favourite one of ours, though there is of course no pleasure like going to the original source - the National Archaeological Museum in Athens! This museum really is a wonderful, wonderful place, filled to bursting with so many, many of the kinds of things that we at the Counsel like to perv on most - Bronze Age swords, gold funeral masks, urns, loom weights and, above all, statues of naked Greeks!
The staff, also, are nothing short of heroic. We rolled up at the Archaeological Museum one afternoon in July, having spent the morning at the Ancient Agora Museum, and carrying the sweatiest rucksack in the whole history of mankind. Seriously. It looked like it had been for a swim in the Aegean Sea. It was heavy. It was dirty. It was, basically, the rucksack of someone who's been going round for several hours doing nothing but perving on Greek statues, and sweating. It was very unpleasant. The lady in charge of the cloakroom didn't even blink. She gave us the sweetest smile, and accepted the rucksack without grumbling! (For another example of kind and friendly Greeks in public service, see Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts, But Totally Trust the Toilet Attendant.) We were immensely grateful to not be thrown out for being sweaty, uncouth barbarians!
So, after this wordy and learned preamble, let's have some Greek nudity! (Again, some pictures may be slightly sideways. Remember, please, that looking at sideways pictures is a valuable lesson in creative thinking.)
*Traumas were, in no particular order, grammar-, earwig-, and misogyny-related.
Ha! This handsome and hygienically-minded dude is wielding a strigil!
Dogs, strigils and naked Greeks are some of our favourite things!
HUNKA HUNKA! Seriously. We can't get enough of this dude. (The camera is probably there for a reason. Wouldn't surprise us in the slightest if people tried to snog the delicious statues, if left unattended.)
The toilets in the National Archaeological Museum were considerably less fabulous than the rest of the museum, but considering the very high levels of fabulousness being maintained by said museum, perhaps we will forgive them.
This coat hook is not the kind you rave over, dream of, and take home to meet your mother, perhaps,
but as coat hooks go, it is perfectly okay.
We really, really, really like this toilet-roll holder, the Tork Smart One. Read more about it here.
This is a wall-mounted flush mechanism - turns out the flush pedal on the floor was a fake! A FAKE!
Here is an unrelated picture of Exuberant Archaeologist Friendperving over enjoying looking at a bust of Socrates.
The picture is called ERMEHGERD SERCRATES.
Tudor Friend has helpfully provided today's festive video. It is pleasantly rich, we believe, in Eastern mystery and rampant festivity, although perhaps a little lacking in Greek nudity.
Festive video - Anonymous, Awesome Violin performance in Toilet
We know you enjoy the vague reports on our mental health which we have been rather prone to publishing in recent months. Rest assured, then, that there are possible signs that everything will be ok, but in return the speed at which things happen has been cranked up to "relentless", and also there has been an infestation of fur beetles at Privy Counsel HQ, which has been traumatising in ways previously not imagined by us. Take our word for it - fur beetles are much less fun than they sound.
The levels of culture, intellectual endeavour, and - for want of a better word - refinement, have been dangerously high at the Privy Counsel of late. Everywhere we turn there is diligence and intellectualism - whether we want it to be there or not. A close friend of ours is currently in Rome, not only to get shitfaced on cheap Italian wine, but actually to engage in academic pursuits! We have been promised pictures of antique sewers, to be accompanied by stories of what archaeologists get up to when they are in the Eternal City getting sloshed on the local vino. Debauchery ahead!
That's all very well, we hear you say. Imagining future delights is one of the perquisites of possessing a human [Editor's note:Or, in the case of some of our friends, near-human] intellect. But life's a bitch and the future is unpredictable - what is there to delight and edify us now?
Fear not, gentle readers! We are all in favour of panem, circenses et picturae latrinarum! Let us frolic in the intemperate joy that comes from perusing pictures from the Ancient Agora Museum in Athens!
You will recollect (unless your gin is the really cheap kind) that we visited the Greek capital some time ago. While there we spent most of our time taking smug pictures of the local beaches and chugging home-made limoncello. However, we did manage, even while on holiday, a certain amount of culture and refinement, although said culture and refinement were tempered somewhat by the inordinate amounts of perspiration caused us by the Mediterranean climate. Be that as it may, we enjoyed ourselves immensely, tramping round the Ancient Agora carrying a stupidly heavy rucksack and sweating all over the place!
We are all in favour of breaking the turgid restrictions of convention and bravely venturing outside the box, right? Yeah, that's what we thought - so obviously you will welcome this one sideways picture with open arms.
Very promising so far - the lack of a seat makes this toilet interesting and, possibly, more hygienic, and the flush pedal on the floor and the sticker forbidding in-toilet paper disposal make for high levels of festivity!
This bin is for putting used bog roll in, which is icky but also exotic. (Or so we thought at the time, but then we get very excited and high-spirited in museums.)
A closer look at the super-festive flush pedal! Woof!
A sturdy and secure coat hook - we would expect nothing less of the cradle of democracy!
As our regular readers know, we adore toilet signage!
This one is made extra thrilling by incorporating a non-Latin alphabet!
Guess what! THERE WAS A DRAIN IN THE AGORA!
(At this point we were definitely totally unable to restrain ourselves.)
Another exciting feature of the Agora: a fountain house!
Driven to extreme heights of excitement by the festive toilets, Hadrian lost his head completely.
These ostraka, displayed in the museum, nearly caused us to emit high-pitched excited noises, something we generally try to avoid.
The Head Privy Counsellor (note strap of hulking great heavy rucksack on shoulder) sweating
all over the Ancient Agora, in a relaxed horizontal position.
As Australian Friend said on one memorable occasion, "Although one would prefer to have Johnny from Grease, one may have to settle for a Johnny from Greece".
Festive video: Swedish Marines do Tribute to Greased Lightning in Afghanistan
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