Lofty Airs

Shewee Fiend Friend sent us photos from an airport toilet, intriguingly omitting to tell us which airport. At first we were vastly curious, but then we thought, what does it matter? Let these toilets be anonymous! Let them represent a higher plane of being than the mere physical shell that encumbers our would-be-soaring souls. Let them epitomise the ur-toilet, the Platonic ideal of a Really Great Bog! Let them, with their cleanliness, disability-friendliness, mixer taps, and general high standard, be a beacon of hope to plumbing despairers the world over.

If our first thought was "Where the flying fuck is this, then?", our second thought was "That is like the level of niceness that the airport in Istanbul aspired, yet so dismally failed, to reach", and our third "Also it falls under the label 'Almost seeing people', which is one of our favourite labels". In short, we took this toilet to our hearts. 

The failure of the toilet seat to go all the way round tells us that this toilet is most likely located in the US, or at least in North America. The disability friendliness is rampant: there are bars to grip, and the flush mechanism looks easy to operate, not requiring mechanical strength.
It looks like the floor has been recently cleaned, which is of course a good thing, but rather reminds us, unfortunately, of the Horror of the British Workplace. Should this blog employ trigger warnings?
Luckily, the sign also reminds us of something happier: Australian Friend's report from the Pirate's Tavern in Melbourne.

Enjoy Almost Seeing Shewee Fiend Friend! Woof! Also, that is a motion-sensor tap! Hubba!

Now then, now then, what's all this? No coat hook from which to hang one's rucksack? In an airport? Perhaps this is not the ideal toilet after all.

We shall stay in the realm of the fabulous (in the original sense), making a metaphorical journey with Meandering Friend to the legendary Höga Kusten. Meandering Friend's message, which we received not long ago, read:

[The Privy Counsellor]!!! Jag har varit på toa (utedass) men utsikt över högakusten-bron idag

([The Privy Counsellor]!!! I have been to a toilet (outdoor privy) with a view of the Höga Kusten bridge today)

What a friendly, welcoming sight! This reminds us, naturally, of the Swiss toilet Dragon-Hunting Friend sent us pictures of many years ago!

This also reminds us of German Friend's Alpine delight

One questions the need for a Wunderbaum in this naturally forest-fresh environment, but since this is our favourite type of coat hook, we won't rant needlessly.

Hello! You can almost see Meandering Friend! What a delightful picture!

Cleaning facilities AND ventilation! Does the heart race just a little...?

What a marvellous view!

Meandering Friend's message continued:

God ventilation (se 2*vent-system), goda rengöringsmöjlighteter och övrig konventionell doftprevention

(Good ventilation (see 2-vent system), good cleaning facilities and other conventional smell prevention)

 Do you feel refreshed and invigorated? We certainly do!

Before we move on to the Festive Video, let us remind you that you - yes, you! - have the chance to win a signed photograph of Jonny. (In case you're struggling to remember, Jonny counts as a Privy Counsel Friend for administrative reasons, and we once wrote him a lonely hearts ad which, by the way, worked. (Well, we're assuming it did - it was a great ad.)) A signed! Photograph! Of Jonny! All you have to do is send in your best photos of toilet graffiti. Good luck!

Since Shewee Fiend Friend and Meandering Friend are both people with whom we are prone to end up discussing the gender wage gap (yesterday was (Un)equal pay day in the UK, by the way - women now work for free for the rest of the year), let's have a Festive Video about the considerable levels of HTFU that are required just to get through the day, if you happen to be a woman (a calamity affecting roughly 50 percent of the world's population).

Festive Video: Sister C, Faint of Heart
(Or listen to the audio version here)



Related Reading: 

Rosy-Fingered Dawn (But No Bloody Lock on the Door) in Istanbul

All posts featuring Almost Seeing People

All posts featuring airports

All posts featuring toilets in mountains:
Norwegian Wood
Alpine Escapism
Remembering to Breathe

A rather splendid post about the massive fucked-up-ness of being a woman:
If You Can Meet with Triumph and Disaster

All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend

All posts featuring Meandering Friend

All posts featuring Australian Friend

All posts featuring German Friend 

All posts featuring Intellectual Friend

All posts featuring Dragon-Hunting Friend

All posts featuring Jonny

Lithuania, Land of Luscious Loos

Woof! Welcome back to your favourite intellectual bog blog! We have some rather exciting pictures for you, from our recent sojourn to Lithuania, land of luscious loos. Our whirlwind tour of Vilnius took us to some of the city's best bars, and also a spiffing museum with - wait for it - 16th-century sewage pipes!

Let us start without further ado, as there is a fuckload of photos to get through, and also a rather exciting message from Jonny, that dapper young scallywag!

Here, for your delight and edification, is a virtual tour of the bogs of Vilnius:

Meandering Friend gets the credit for finding a guesthouse in the centre of town with functioning plumbing and friendly staff. As you can see, the toilet is clean and cosy, with bright, positively festive, colours.

Lithuania manages with ease and elegance what so many countries don't manage at all - to install electric sockets in bathrooms! However, we found that most Lithuanian light switches are placed, illogically, outside the bathroom. As Meandering Friend discovered, much to her dismay, even the Air Baltic planes have light switches outside the toilet, making it impossible to, as she so eloquently put it, maintain control over one's sanitary visibility.

After dropping off our luggage and wandering round the local cemetery, imbibing the atmosphere, Lithuanian Friend took us to a restaurant where we indulged in some truly excellent Lithuanian ale, then to a bar where we were sexually harassed. Distressed and annoyed, we headed out in search of a safe space, and found one, in the shape of a brand new bar called Kitsch! The staff were super friendly, there was music and art, and the toilet, tucked under the stairs, was both hygienic and charming. We cannot recommend Kitsch enough, and urge you to make your way there at your earliest convenience.

One feels safe and warm, both inside and out, in the presence of the boiler.

 

Literally everything you want in a toilet: mixer tap, soap, Smart One toilet roll dispenser, and not one but two sockets!

 The day after our exploratory bar round, we conducted a more thorough reconnoitre of the city, starting with the Palace of the Grand Dukes. This is a wonderful museum - not only does it have fascinating artefacts ranging from 15th-century stove tiles, locks, shoes and ceremonial rods, it also boasts some truly amazing wooden water- and sewage pipes!

The toilets, as evidenced below, are also of the highest standard. We were very near bursting with happiness when ensconced in the rarefied, intellectually stimulating and utterly hygienic air in this beautiful former palace!

Truly a scene of beauty!

We don't think a toilet can get better than this, and dare you to prove the opposite!

Just looking at the picture of this pair of sturdy coat hooks (a feature throughout the museum toilets) gives us a shiver of pleasure.

Here's where the real fun starts: 16th- to 17th-century sewage pipes! From the mid-16th century the palace also had, one of the many informative signs in the museum informed us, an underground brick sewage canal.

There were indoor latrines, indoor collectors for sewage, rain water, and a water supply system. The first water pipeline to the palace was completed around 1530.

After all the intellectualism we felt the need for a refreshing beverage or two, and headed to a most festive shots bar called Shots & Shprots. The toilets were cheery and, we think, clean; however, the dark rock'n'roll décor made it hard to see.

A helpful and informative sign

Yes! The soap dispenser is a skull!

Another friendly and festive place to visit in Lithuania is the famed Alaus Biblioteka, or beer library. There is an endless supply of beer, and the toilets are both clean and humorous! Woof!

One feels safe knowing that the risk of the toilet roll running out is extremely low

A super excellent combination of mixer tap, nice soap, and paper towels.

The day after our exuberant city tour we recovered from our various hangovers in a restaurant called Leičiai Aline, where we unfortunately did not indulge in any of the many types of home-brewed beer, being in a rather delicate state, but instead enthusiastically ingested a vast amount of food.

We cannot fault this toilet, but unfortunately one of the guests exited without washing his hands in this beautiful basin. The horror! The copper detail reminded us of Mora Hotell.

After an excursion to the historic town of Trakai and a wander round the castle - as Meandering Friend so wisely asked herself, "why go inside when I can circle it?" - we headed to yet another excellent Lithuanian restaurant, which featured, in addition to rustic wooden walls, this festive and friendly sign and an intellectually satisfying artisanal coat hook.

Our virtual journey through the toilets of Vilnius and its surroundings is nearly at an end. However, we have a treat for you before we finish - the facilities in a wine bar which serves excellent wine and cheese and displays a sense of humour throughout! We'd totally recommend it if we could remember the name. (Actually, thinking about it, it was probably this place.)

The toilets were organised according to size: there was XS, S, and M, and also "dicks only". Helpful.

A thoroughly satisfactory coat hook!

Unfortunately the plumbing of central Vilnius is not always as sturdy as one would like, and sometimes one has to discard toilet paper into a bin, thusly.

A helpful sign reminds one not to throw bog roll into the toilet, and warns of the dire consequences if one's memory should slip. We are reminded, of course, of the Mexican Toilet Horror.

A friendly and helpful sticker.

We summarise Vilnius thus:

Varieties of delicious beer: Endless
Number of bars: Countless
Friendliness of people: As far as we could tell in our largely inebriated state, massive
Instances of sexual harassment: Three


We have, finally, a festive, thrilling, and intellectually stimulating idea from Jonny. That enterprising young whippersnapper, brimming over with creative juices, writes:

I have another idea
As a New Years competition
From now until New Year people have to submit their ‘best toilet graffiti’
I don’t know if you get as much in the ladies as I’ve never been in there (well, once in high school) but it’s rife in the gents.
Prize is a signed photo of me?

We stopped doing competitions after we announced a New Year's event a few years back, where one could vote for one's favourite bog blog post, and were humiliated to find, on the day of the deadline, that there were only two votes, both from Australian Friend. However, this idea from Jonny is the kind that makes us go HUBBA HUBBA! and we urge you to start sending us pictures of your best toilet graffiti INSTANTLY!


We are of course not going to leave you without a Festive Video - we know that this is one of few highlights of a dreary existence for many people. We found ourselves reflecting recently on the ability to travel and visit friends, and get smashed on Lithuanian alcohol.

Festive Video - Nashville, A Life That's Good


Related Reading
All posts featuring Meandering Friend
All posts featuring Lithuanian Friend
All posts featuring Jonny
Toilet roll holders - do they even matter?

Nothing Is Certain But Death, Taxes, and Knees

Knees. You don't notice them till they stop working. Believe us, though - they are there, and they're not going anywhere, either literally or metaphorically. We spent a rather festive twenty-five minutes in the company of a physiotherapist today, for the purposes of improving our for the moment only semi-functioning left knee, and induce it to go somewhere, see the sights, and maybe strike up an interesting conversation with a stranger.

We have spent rather a lot of time with physios at the Privy Counsel, for various reasons. One time was when we had torn a ligament to bloody shreds while skiing, and tended to hang out at the physiotherapy department at York hospital quite often. (If you would like a full account of this dramatic injury, including a description of how we, after falling and feeling the actual ligament in the knee snap and, despite the excruciating pain, resolutely got up and bloody well skied down the mountain and proceeded, heroically, to use an allaturca toilet while wearing ski boots and navigating a wet floor; the lissom Swiss mountain guards who came to our aid; and the rather less lissom and rather more leering Italian mountain guards who gave us a snowmobile ride over the Italian border, we are happy to tell the tale over a beer or three any day.)

Skiing injuries are not to be sniffed at. Here is a still from the classic 1980s movie Sällskapsresan II, which, it has been universally agreed, is possibly the best film of all time.

Have we ever mentioned the fact that we love physiotherapists? We simply adore them! We are always urging our friends to go see a physiotherapist, whether they need to or not. This amazing breed of ligament-whisperers have the power to reduce pain and persuade one's joints and soft tissues to (metaphorically) knock back a stiff whisky and bloody well harden the fuck up! Woof!

Time whizzes past at an alarming rate, and age and decrepitude advance on us with firm, muscular strides. It's been five years since our injury, but we remember the excellence of the physiotherapists who treated us in York. Their patience was endless and their grip was firm, and they had our rattling bones fastened and our weakened muscles firmed in roughly the time it takes to write a BA thesis - a matter of mere months! The physio we saw today told us that she had seldom had the pleasure of coming across such a well-rehabilitated knee!

The Privy Counsel HQ is no longer situated in York (though we seem to be spending rather a lot of time drinking there lately, for instance on this occasion, and also this one), and we can unfortunately not remember the names of the physios who treated us. However, we are immensely grateful for their truly expert treatment. If any of our readers should happen to come across a physiotherapist who works at York Hospital, please give them our warmest regards!

Thinking of York Hospital, of course, makes us think of the NHS, which, with the gruesome inevitability of death, taxes, and knee problems, reminds us of the bleary bastardliness of Brexit. If you enjoy this blog, please be aware that it is a direct result of the EU. Without the EU, we wouldn't have been able to go and study, once upon a time when our cheeks were still rosy and our hair shiny, in the UK. Without the EU, we wouldn't have stayed in Britain, and paid taxes there, for ten years. Without the EU, we would never have met the majority of the amazing Friends who send us weird toilet pictures, cheer us up on dark winter evenings, and get us roaringly drunk on prosecco, rum, and weird Canadian liqueurs.

Most of our Privy Counsel Friends are from outside the UK; many from outside the EU, but we have met nearly all of them while studying or working in the misty, mixer-tap-deprived British Isles. Only a few are still living there. Some have had their work visas bungled by a xenophobic government; many are yet facing the stark reality of being kicked out of the country for being foreign; several have been exposed to racist abuse. The idiocy of it all threatens to engulf one's sanity in a vortex of searing flame. It's like the Tory government wants to take the country back to the year 1930, when tweed was still widely worn, there was no cure for syphilis, and the gold standard kept everyone warm at night. But what do we know? We're just a woman.

We do know that the Brexit promise of more money for the NHS was a lie. We know that NHS staff are really struggling due to Tory cuts to the national health service. We know that brave battles are fought under impossible circumstances in hospitals across Britain every day. As far as we can tell, most health services have basically been sold off to Richard Branson. The mean-spirited, ham-fisted and mind-bogglingly short-sighted privatisation of the NHS is deplorable and shameful, and there is fuck-all that we personally can do about it. Let us just express our deep admiration for the heroic NHS staff, and then swiftly take our minds off the Tories and move on. Let's have some toilet pictures.

Conceptually, our archive is, as regular readers are aware, basically the crypt from The Monk, with pheasants. In actual, humdrum reality, however, it consists of a) a folder on an aged computer, backed up to the gills, b) unsorted photos on the Privy Counsel phone (henceforth to be known as the Bog Phone?), and c) a proliferation of messages and comments from the arse ends of social media.

An accurate representation of our archive. Gif from Readingtheend.com

We decided, in a moment of despair at the vast amount of photos and the minuscule amount of storage left on the Bog Phone, to try to use old pictures for blog posts. Hence here is, for your delight and edification, a couple of photos from what is highly likely to be the Eagle pub in Hoxton! We had, if memory serves, some delicious mulled cider in this excellent establishment with a very dear friend, round about the time of the legendary New Year's Shewee party in the year of our Lord 2013.

How lush and lovely is this! Woof!

The combination of mixer taps, cool square sinks and magnificent tiled floor boggles our mind and is at great risk of addling our brain!

Remember when we expressed a hope that there would be a frenzied battle between Jonny and Shewee Fiend Friend, based on increasingly forced photos of cannons? Well, believe it or not, but when, the other day, we were dragging the putrid swamp that is one of the arse ends of the internet that we occasionally frequent, this photo came floating up to the surface! It is Shewee Fiend Friend! With a cannon! Jonny, consider yourself challenged! (Also, don't forget the fruit.)

We don't know about you, but we're scared.

Before moving on to the Festive Video, let us contemplate this pair of happy, hygienic knees, thoughtfully contemplating R. W. Connell's Gender and Power.

For some reason, pictures of privy counsellors in the bath is a thing. See more pictures for instance here, here, here, and here.

We ranted the other day, rather splendidly we thought, about Theresa May's proto-fascist government. Fascism is, it seems, everywhere these days. It behoves us to resist, resist, resist, and again resist! One excellent way of puncturing the pneumatic boasts of would-be or actual fascists is, of course, the age-old method of pisstaking.

Today's Festive Video is a clip from the simply spiffing 1990s ITV dramatisation of the Jeeves and Wooster series by P.G. Wodehouse. It features Roderick Spode ranting about the "bony, angular knee of the so-called intellectual". (The horror!) The character of Roderick Spode, first Earl of Sidcup, is famously based on Oswald Mosley, leader of a fascist group called the Blackshorts. We won't endlessly eulogise P. G. Wodehouse and his comic genius, even though we would quite like to, as we fear boring our readers (we are aware, believe it or not, that not everyone shares our foibles and passions), but will content ourselves with reproducing Bertie Wooster's frank appraisal of Spode:

The trouble with you, Spode, is that just because you have succeeded in inducing a handful of half-wits to disfigure the London scene by going about in black shorts, you think you're someone. You hear them shouting "Heil, Spode!" and you imagine it is the Voice of the People. That is where you make your bloomer. What the Voice of the People is saying is: "Look at that frightful ass Spode swanking about in footer bags! Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?"

- P. G. Wodehouse, The Code of the Woosters

Festive Video - Roderick Spode's knee obsession

Related Reading

Another time when we were grateful:
Of Mixer-Taps and Spiritual Solace

That time when we asked deep, philosophical questions about the nature of our archive, and also enjoyed clearly signposted toilets in Italy:  
A Blog Post of Astonishing Clarity

The original account of our knee injury:
Italian Toilets: Mi Piace Servizi Igienici 

Another reference to our grievous knee injury, bravely born, can be found in
Shewees Are a Girl's Best Friend

Our review of 
The Disabled Toilet in the Physiotherapy Department at York Hospital

That time when we, in a brave feat of investigative journalism, pointed out that although the handwashing videos from the NHS feature mixer taps, their actual facilities - gasp! - don't: 

A Touch of OCD: NHS Toilets

For information on how to help save the NHS: the Keep Our NHS Public site

A post about the absinthe soap that gave us tremendous comfort when we were in great pain

Rough and Tumble Escapism

Sometimes reality is so grim that one spends unreasonable time and energy constructing elaborate fantasies. This can be a productive strategy for many days or even weeks, but eventually, the whole thing will come tumbling down and one will have no choice but to get very drunk very quickly. We spent the other night imbibing fermented juices with enthusiasm, which turned out to be highly profitable, as evidenced by the following picture of a tumble dryer, taken by Audiologist Friend after we rather abruptly left the party:

Audiologist Friend sent us a message this morning, saying (a translation follows, for those too hungover to be able to read colloquial Swedish):

"Varför har jag bilder av torktumlare i min telefon? Ah det måste vara till [The Privy Counsellor]". Minns vårt telefonsamtal! Tydligen tog [vår andra kompis] typ samma bild (!) senare under kvällen, för att skicka till en annan kompis.

("Why do I have pictures of a tumble dryer on my phone? Ah, it must be for [The Privy Counsellor]". Remember our phone conversation! Apparently [our other friend] took basically the same picture (!) later in the evening, to send to another friend.)

We replied, soulfully, while gracefully clutching our head:

Haha, det var det du ringde om, va? Jag mindes samtalet, men inte vad det handlade om.

(Haha, that's what you rang us about, right? We remember the call, but not what it was about.)

Various members of the Privy Counsel enthusiastically escaping reality

Audiologist Friend retorted:

Hehe, jag ville ringa och kolla att du kommit hem OK. Berättade att jag hittat en tyst plats nämligen en toalett. Då sa du "Du tar väl bilder?" så då gjorde jag det.
När du gick vände sig [snubben vi pratade med] till mig och sa "Var det något jag sa?" varpå jag och [Meandering Friend] unisont förklarade "Nä, hon var bara trött, hon är lärare"

(Hehe, I wanted to check that you had got home ok. I told you that I had found a quiet place, namely the toilet. You then said, "You're taking pictures, right?", so I did.
When you left [the dude we were talking to] turned to me and said, "Was it something I said?" at which I and [Meandering Friend] explained in unison, "No, she's just tired; she's a teacher".

 As a last piece of escapism, let us share this picture of Jonny:

Jonny as a knight errant. WOOF!

As just one more piece of escapism, let's have this Festive Video featuring a band we listened to with enthusiasm in our youth. Now we're off to clutch our head some more, and maybe find some cheese.

Festive Video - Special Needs, Francesca


Related Reading
Rampant Murderous Nazis Are Taking Over the World, But Here Is a Picture of Jonny In a Toilet, for Your Convenience and Comfort 

"My Friend Runs a Toilet Blog" - A Canoodling Kind of Christmas

As all regular readers are aware, Christmas is celebrated on the 24th in all civilised parts of the world*, including, but not limited to, Colombia. As everyone who reads this blog on at least a semi-regular basis is also aware, we would not ever want to foist our opinions on anyone, but it is a recognised fact that celebrating Christmas on any other day but the 24th is weird, incomprehensible, and indicating poor judgment.

Let us thus begin immediately, on this the 24th day of December, getting the season off to a healthy start by admiring this picture of Jonny in Santa hat, taking a toilet selfie!

*Counting, naturally, countries where Christmas is celebrated, only. We are in no way suggesting that parts of the world where Christmas is not celebrated are not civilised. Caveat over, who's for a drink?

WOOF! AMIRIGHT?

Is it ever hot in here? God knows if it's the roaring Yule logs or Jonny's noble physique that's the cause, but we are fanning ourselves rather vigorously!

Next, we have some heartwarming pictures from Meandering Friend, which were first shown to us on 13 December at the traditional Lucia celebration at Lunds Studentskegård, in Lund, Sweden. This special occasion was extremely festive and looked like this:

If you want something done with intelligence, humour, and pizzazz - like this - get academic women to do it!

Meandering Friend told us, on this screamingly celebrational day, that she'd seen the most amazing toilet where one could, if one wished, indulge in genial company and intellectual debate while heeding the call of nature, due to there being two toilets in the same bog! This seemed to us at the time, because it was very early in the morning and we were not in our right mind, like the cosiest, most Christmassy and potentially romantic concept ever! This is truly a place where you can turn the other cheek, in the spirit of Christmas!

HUNKA HUNKA! Can you imagine anything more conducive to romance? We certainly can't!

Meandering Friend, who took time out of a smokin' hot date to take these toilet pictures, writes:

Här kommer de festliga toa-bilderna från Pumphuset i Borås, granne med textilhögskolan och Textile Fashion Center. Använde även "min vän har en toablogg" som del av arsenalen i min dejtingvokabulär.

(Here are the festive toilet pictures from Pumphuset in Borås, next to the Swedish School of Textiles and the Textile Fashion Center. Also used the "my friend runs a toilet blog" gambit as part of the arsenal in my dating vocabulary.)

We are of course delighted to have facilitated the developement of tender feelings by providing bog-related conversation material!

Meandering Friend, who has an interest in materials, would like to point out the enticing blue hue imparted by some kind of wood impregnation.

If this excting knob, like something from a fire hydrant, doesn't make you burst into an excited "WOOF!!", we don't know what will.

Meandering Friend continues:

Fick tyvärr inte möjlighet att testa dubbeltoan då jag denna dag dejtade en person av motsatt kön. Lite besviken.

(Unfortunately didn't get the chance to test the double toilet as I was on this occasion dating a person of the opposite sex. Quite disappointed.)

On our enquiring whether the date was successful, this rampantly intelligent materials expert replied:

Och jodå, två öl och skulpturpromenad. Jag var helnöjd.

(Yeah, two beers and a walk in a sculpture park. I was more than happy.)

Let's give the love birds some space, by engaging in a Festive Video and looking the other way while they canoodle! As you know we are fond of our country music here at the Privy Counsel - the more vulgar the better! We do actually, believe it or not, have some even more vulgar country Christmas songs up our conniving sleeve, but for now, let's stomp our boots to this one:

Festive video - Suzy Bogguss, Two-Step 'Round the Christmas Tree

Tally-ho and merry Christmas!

Related Reading
All posts featuring Meandering Friend

 All posts featuring Jonny

Our classic Christmas mystery:
A Christmas Mystery: The Mysterious Case of the Curse at Crapper Castle; or; Put a Lid on It; or; No Shit, Sherlock  

A selection of our favourite Christmas posts:  

In which we rant about the right way to hang toilet rolls:  

Rocking, Rolling, Ranting

In which we discuss atheism and rant about the right way to hang toilet rolls:  

Christmas, the Acropolis Museum, and an Academic Debate (And Some Very Festive Calypso Music) 

In which we rant about having to write a boring essay on organisational theory:
Advent Musings: In Which We Rant and Ramble Aimlessly, and Don't Even Mention the Word "Toilet" 

IN WHICH WE POST A PICTURE OF JONNY AS HIPSTER SANTA: Balls! It's Christmas! 

In which we attempt to engage our readers in an interactive voting activity, and only get one single vote (we won't be doing that again, you wankers): A Very Wet Blog Post 

An undiscriminating pile of every single one of our posts featuring Christmas

Plus Ça Change - On Clutching One's Head and Crossing One's Fingers

Change. It happens all the time, whether we want it or not. Some changes are universal, like the ageing process. Inevitable and merciless, it keeps happening on the sly, slowly but inexorably, until one day one realises that actually, one is not 25 any more and can't drink that amount of wine without spending the next day clutching one's head and wishing for death, or quietly has a heart attack one morning when looking in the mirror and wondering who that rabid old hag with the beard is, only to conclude that it is the reflection of one's actual face.

Other changes are more specialised, like for instance realising that you are now the kind of person who takes pictures of toilets. Many of our contributors have commented on this phenomenon. The latest person to experience this very specific trauma is Meandering Friend, who sent us this invigorating stream-of-consciousness commentary on a picture of a urinal (as usual, in case you are too hungover to want to practise your colloquial Swedish, an English translation follows):

Vet inte om det är lite FÖR... Men är det något för bloggen? Svårt att veta
Vidare läsning gav att de små färgglada plupparna på gallret är någon slags doft-kompositer
Okänt för oss obehängda
Usch det är en förjävlig bild nu när jag kollar igen
Uuuu kanske skippa? Kommentaren var dock lite kul... "detta må vaere en nord-Trönder"
Ok anyhow... Cheerio på dig - hörs och ses! 

(Don't know if this is a bit TOO... But is it something for the blog? Hard to know
Further reading revealed that the small colourful blobs on the grid are some kind of scent composite
Unknown to the uninitiated
Urgh, it's a bloody awful picture now I look at it again
Ummm, maybe skip it? Though the comment was quite fun - "detta må vaere en nord-Trönder"*
Ok anyhow... Cheerio - see you soon!)

*The comment is in Norwegian

A Norwegian (?) urinal! What everyone is of course wondering,
is what kind of contacts Meandering Friend has on Facebook.

Many changes are taking place at the Privy Counsel at the moment. Two of our members started, for instance, a blog devoted solely to sexism. (Yes, we know. A blog without a single toilet picture - weird!)  The accompanying Twitter account indulges in their wildest pick-up-line-related fantasies, and is rather a hoot if you have the energy.

Feisty French Friend is embarking on a rather huge adventure, and we look forward to many exciting toilet pictures from her new abode!

Shewee Fiend Friend has a new cat. The cat, we are happy to say, enjoys huddling next to the toilet, just like we do after drinking too much wine. Actually, speaking of cats, and wine, a recent acquaintance of ours, a young lady who likes pretending that she is either a cat or a dog, asked us the other day if she could taste our wine. On us explaining that wine is only for grown-ups, and not suitable for three-year-olds, said lady launched forth the theory that cats have to drink wine, as otherwise they get sick and die. We look forward to spending a lot of time with this ragingly intelligent girl when she is old enough to drink.

A sympathetic cat, huddling behind the toilet.
Shewee Fiend Friend would like to clarify that
"That's not mold, just old crumbly paint. I checked. The apartment is old".

Other friends are launching into various new adventures. Adventures are exciting, obviously, but can lead to a lot of anxiety, hair-tugging, and accidental over-consumption of alcohol. Fear is a perfectly rational response to many human experiences, and quite often one finds oneself wishing that one was small enough to be able to huddle behind the toilet, not in plain sight next to it. However, here is a reminder that you can learn to fly on the way down. Go ahead, leap! (And remember that ultimately, everything you do is futile. The universe is a vast and terrifying void, containing a tiny, habitable speck of dust which we seem hell-bent on destroying. We are, essentially, short-sighted monkeys with computers. Now relax, and stop giving a fuck. Have a drink, maybe.)

Festive Video - Maddie & Tae, Fly

Related Reading

The new blog by two Privy Counsellors: Out of Lines

All posts featuring Meandering Friend

All posts featuring Feisty French Friend

All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend

Plus Ça Change - On Clutching One's Head and Crossing One's Fingers

Change. It happens all the time, whether we want it or not. Some changes are universal, like for instance the ageing process. Inevitable and merciless, it keeps happening on the sly, slowly but inexorably, until one day one realises that actually, one is not 25 any more and can't drink that amount of wine without spending the next day clutching one's head and wishing for death, or quietly has a heart attack one morning when looking in the mirror and wondering who that rabid old hag with the beard is, only to conclude that it is the reflection of one's actual face.

Other changes are more specialised, like realising that you are the kind of person who takes pictures of toilets. Many of our contributors have commented on this phenomenon. The latest person to experience this very specific trauma is Meandering Friend, who sent us this invigorating stream-of-consciousness commentary on a picture of a urinal (as usual, in case you are too hungover to want to practise your colloquial Swedish, an English translation follows):

Vet inte om det är lite FÖR... Men är det något för bloggen? Svårt att veta
Vidare läsning gav att de små färgglada plupparna på gallret är någon slags doft-kompositer
Okänt för oss obehängda
Usch det är en förjävlig bild nu när jag kollar igen
Uuuu kanske skippa? Kommentaren var dock lite kul... "detta må vaere en nord-Trönder"
Ok anyhow... Cheerio på dig - hörs och ses! 

(Don't know if this is a bit TOO... But is it something for the blog? Hard to know
Further reading revealed that the small colourful blobs on the grid are some kind of scent composite
Unknown to the uninitiated
Urgh, it's a bloody awful picture now I look at it again
Ummm, maybe skip it? Though the comment was quite fun - "detta må vaere en nord-Trönder"*
Ok anyhow... Cheerio - see you soon!)

*The comment is in Norwegian

A Norwegian (?) urinal! What everyone is of course wondering, is what kind of contacts Meandering Friends has on Facebook.

Many changes are taking place at the Privy Counsel at the moment. Two of our members started, for instance, a blog devoted solely to sexism. (Yes, we know. A blog without a single toilet picture - weird!)  The accompanying Twitter account indulges in their wildest pick-up-line-related fantasies, and is rather a hoot if you have the energy.

Feisty French Friend is embarking on a rather huge adventure, and we look forward to many exciting toilet pictures from her new abode!

Shewee Fiend Friend has a new cat. The cat, we are happy to say, enjoys huddling next to the toilet, just like we do after drinking too much wine. Actually, speaking of cats, and wine, a recent acquaintance of ours, a young lady who likes pretending that she is either a cat or a dog, recently asked us if she could taste our wine. On us explaining that wine is only for grown-ups, and not suitable for three-year-olds, said lady launched forth the theory that cats have to drink wine, as otherwise they get sick and die. We look forward to spending a lot of time with this ragingly intelligent girl when she is old enough to drink.

A sympathetic cat, huddling behind the toilet.
Shewee Fiend Friend would like to clarify that
"That's not mold, just old crumbly paint. I checked. The apartment is old".

Other friends are launching into various new adventures. Adventures are exciting, obviously, but can lead to a lot of anxiety, hair-tugging, and accidental over-consumption of alcohol. Fear is a perfectly rational response to many human experiences, and quite often one finds oneself wishing that one was small enough to be able to huddle behind the toilet, not in plain sight next to it. However, here is a reminder that you can learn to fly on the way down. Go ahead, leap! (And remember that ultimately, everything you do is futile. The universe is a vast and terrifying void, containing one tiny speck of dust to which we are clinging, and ultimately destroying. We are, essentially, short-sighted monkeys with computers. Now relax, and stop giving a fuck. Have a drink, maybe.)

Festive Video - Maddie & Tae, Fly

Related Reading

The new blog by two Privy Counsellors: Out of Lines

all posts featuring Meandering Friend

All posts featuring Feisty French Friend

All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend