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.
It seems improbable, at the arse end of February, that you will ever see sunlight again, or do anything more constructive than sit wrapped up in your duvet, rocking back and forth and eating cheese. The memories of last summer's carefree, open-air gin consumption seem like a dream at best, or at worst a cruel and sadistic joke by our robot overlords who may well be amusing themselves by implanting false memories into what passes for our brain these days - we can't prove that they're not. Still, the world keeps turning round the sun and soon enough the birds are tooting in the shrubberies and various species of wildlife are doing unspeakable things to each other in the grounds and messuages. Spring is here, and there are signs of life from various corners of the world. Semi-Intellectual Friend, for instance, sprang this stark and surprising message on us:
Holy shit. I assume the internet is all over sending you stuff like this but biiiiig feature on hand towels vs dryers in the Guardian today:
Is the Guardian trying to make a move on Privy Counsel? Maybe you could sell out and make your millions.
Regarding the hand-dryer-versus-paper-towels issue, there are good arguments on both sides. We reckon it's one of those things where you just have to pick a side, and stick to it, belligerently. We've made our views on air dryers known, and will most likely maintain our opinion, even if presented with evidence that we are wrong, until old age and senility make the matter moot. Be advised that we are prepared to defend our viewpoint in a bout of bare-knuckle fighting. Bring your own gin.
When it comes to bowel movements and the worry that sitting on a toilet is "unnatural" compared to the "natural" method of squatting on the ground, we think it's mostly Brits who agonise about this. Possibly also Germans. (More research is possibly needed on which nationalities, exactly, are afflicted by this particular anxiety.) Personally we are very fond of the allaturca or squat toilet, but we by no means feel the need to purchase the "wildly popular seven-inch-high plastic stool, designed by a devout Mormon and her son, which curves around the base of your loo".
Is the Guardian trying to make a move on the Privy Counsel? What a fascinating question. What do our readers think? Feel free to drop us a fan letter in the form of a five-paragraph essay, either arguing for or against, or discussing the different viewpoints. Don't forget to summarise your views in a neat conclusion.
On avance. We're sorry to inform you that we've had another disagreement with Shewee Fiend Friend. Though most of the time we are as two giant brains pulsating as one, sometimes we have different opinions about things. Last time we counted, we came to the conclusion that we disagree on a total of nine things. (We're fucked if we can remember what those nine things are, but remember our terror when we realised that the powerful magical number nine was involved. We're not free of superstition at the Privy Counsel, however intellectual we purport to be.) Our latest clash was regarding the toilet doors at Vancouver Airport. Shewee Fiend Friend thought they were great, we thought not. We shall present you with the evidence, so that you can form your own opinion and stick to it, belligerently.
Possibly an entirely inoffensive toilet. We can't quite tell from this photo. The tiles are nice, though.
We do like the fact that these doors look like they lead into a Wild West saloon, but why do people insist on designing toilet doors that don't go all the way down to the ground? Our guess is, a man did this.
We can't fault these hooks. They're fucking excellent hooks.
The conversation went as follows:
Shewee Fiend Friend: Vancouver airport loo is swank
Privy Counsellor: They are very good hooks I shall make a note of this. Thank you for sharing the picture of the excellent hooks
[...]
PC: Swanky, but don't go all the way up to the ceiling or all the way down to the floor #fail #YouHadOneJob Nice and bright, but why do they do that horrible material in the sinks that looks like grubby cement
SFF: It's sparkly [the Privy Counsellor] I love it Sigh So critical The doors were super nice They looked all woodsy/cabiny
PC: Yes but they're not noise-insulating
And that's the end of that fascinating academic debate, because at this point we went on to discuss something completely different.
Finally, we've got a build-up of enticing pictures of Jonny that we should publish before there's a blockage.
The first picture comes with this comment:
I did an art piece It’s dark tho Viewer discretion advised It’s called Beauty and the Beast The [non-] mixer taps are the beast and it think it’s obvious who the beauty is
We couldn't agree more! Woof!
The next set of pictures is summarised by these words:
Somewhere in London Too drunk to take note where There was a dog in the bar too so extra points
Feeling single, seeing double?
Well, this is a very nice sink, good tap, and unobjectionable hand soap. Why do people insist on making counters out of wood, though? There is a reason why the traditional materials are porcelain or stainless steel - they're easy to clean and FUCKING HYGIENIC. Wood absorbs water, making for a germ-friendly environment and has plenty of crevices for bacteria to fester in.
JONNY TOILET SELFIE WOOF!
We can't tell if we approve of this saloon-style door or not, as it lacks context.
The graffiti comment says, "We evolved to walk upright and use cutlery".
Actually, now we check our archive, we discover that there is a metric fuck-ton of toilet selfies from Jonny that we have forgotten about, due to the horror, trauma and gin consumption of recent times. We don't wish to overwhelm you with wonder and awe, so we'll save those ones for whenever we next find ourselves inspired by the gin fairy.
Let us finish with a festive video. We enjoyed, when in Budapest recently, a very nice and intellectual lunch with Lithuanian Friend and her intellectual colleagues. One of them sends his regards to the Privy Counsel's readers, and a video! It relates to our musings on the German toilet shelf, which is apparently rife in the Hungarian capital, and about which we poured forth appalled comments at some length in our post about that city. We're not sure we agree with any of the points made in the video, but it might potentially be considered an amusing political commentary. Apparently, the above-mentioned intellectual colleague says to keep in mind that the drawings are not correct.
Festive Video: Hermeneutics of toilets by Slavoj Žižek
According to this post, we described the horror of recent times "with plenty of poetic expression but not a whisper of a scintilla of an iota of hyperbole", in this post: Hungary: Dubious Shelf-Life
All posts featuring Jonny
For the benefit of all the hipsters out there whose aesthetic and hygienic ideal is a 19th-century farm yard, we hereby remind our readers of the existence of the CHOLERA BABE PARADE
Tally-ho and a jolly good International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women to you! In case you are currently scratching your armpits, wondering what the hell such a day is in aid of, ponder the fact that one in three women worldwide has been subjected to physical or sexual violence. We have lit a candle for the survivors of domestic violence - and those who have died.
Gender roles may make people fucked up beyond belief, but we continue our quest, at the Privy Counsel, to highlight how awesome people can be. Mr Smith, for instance, sent us a message that made us laugh so loud we worried the window panes might shatter! That estimable and ventilation-aware gentleman writes:
A selection of toilet facilities courtesy of the state of California's federal penitentiary: Alcatraz
Enjoy...!
Alcatraz! Toilets! Alcatraz toilets!!!
Dragon-Hunter Friend, also, has been busy on the epistolary front. She writes:
In Malaysia, I've discovered that you have to hope you end up with this...
Malaysian toilet
...and not this.
Malaysian squat toilet.
When I landed, the first toilet I found at the
airport was the latter kind...looked all new and shiny, but was hiding
the scary truth behind closed doors
Because we happened to be quite drunk when the missive arrived, we replied enthusiastically:
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Asian toilets are AWESOME!
So much more hygienic, when you think about it, than sitting on a seat
that thousands of people have sat on! And you get a free Pilates
workout!
Dragon-Hunter Friend replied:
Haha maybe so, but when you're carrying luggage
around, and there's just a hole in the ground....lets just say my aim is
not so true ;)
I think I've just got too many memories from French motorway stations when I was little, and getting my socks wet
Which is totally fair enough. NO TO WET SOCKS!
Just say no!
Finally, we have received a letter asking for advice. It says:
Dear Privy Counsel I have recently become a manager for the first time, and one of my
subordinates is spending an inordinate amount of time on the toilet.
How do I broach the subject? I mean, it could be anything from an
unputdownable novel, to Chrohn's disease! Then again, perhaps this
person has, at almost middle age, still not learnt to regulate his
bowels. Please help.
We're fucked if we know. Thoughts? Any advice from our estimable and intelligent readers?
We've got a special treat in honour of International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women - a kick-arse song from a kick-arse Australian metal band called The Amazons! This band doesn't exist any more, alas, but from what we've heard they took a lot of shit, while they were around, from men who felt threatened by their kick-arseness. So let's play this video, while snarling like the unapologetically awesome, lip-glossed drummer, and vow to SMASH THE PATRIARCHY YEAH.
This post is going to be all about retrospection. There's been a lot of reminiscence going on recently - a trip to York, where we misspent a portion of our youth; historical toilet-related ponderings; and happening upon some stuff we wrote years ago and which caused us to laugh heartily at long-forgotten memories of rickshaw-wallahs, goats, and Tiny Friendly Ladies.
The historical toilet-related ponderings were occasioned by a postcard we received at Privy Counsel HQ. It contained an appeal for enlightenment! We were, obviously, flattered to be appealed to as a source of wisdom and knowledge. We're highly susceptible to flattery, and prone, when exposed to it, to go off on a long, rambling tangent. Don't say you weren't warned:
We love beautifully written cards!
Dear Privy Counsellor,
As a frequent traveller, I've come across many, many public toilets but I continue to be disturbed by those which charge a fee for use. I understand that this helps with maintenance but I find it galling to have to pay for a service which is unavoidable in any socially acceptable manner. One cannot just choose to not have to "go". The fact that these bathrooms charge via a correct-change-only system, without any was to make or receive change, is an additional problem. Also, when one needs the loo desperately, one does not always have time to search about for coins or fiddle around with barriers. Does the learned counsellor have an opinion on this issue? Are there any movements afoot to make toilets an uncharged right for all?
Pissed-Off Traveller
We were thrilled to recieve this glorious picture of Cliffords Tower, in York!
Woof! Where to start? One is tempted, in these instances, to begin with historical precedence. Why not start in the Middle Ages?
Having reached that comfortable eminence where one can quote oneself without embarrassment, we are going to scatter modesty to the winds, and ponder these singularly well-written words, from our post The Historic Toilet Tour of York:
During the Middle Ages, it was fairly common to stipulate the building of a public privy in your will. Thus, people could sit, shit and pray for your immortal soul. With the Reformation, however, this laudable practice was flushed away, and it wasn't till the 19th century that public lavatories started becoming common again - for men, that is. The assumption was that respectable women didn't roam the streets anyway, and so had no need for public toilets. Also, fashions dictating large skirts may have made it possible for women to do their business without anybody noticing.
We're not usually in favour of historical regression, but surely the kind of mindset where the institution of public toilets is considered a charitable, admirable act is laudable? (Though we advise against the building of toilets on bridges, jutting out over the water, medieval-style.) Maybe if more people were to leave money to the founding of public toilets in their wills, the world would be a better place.
One can also pause here, for a moment, to relish one's rampant dislike of the Victorians, that colonialist, misogynist pack of antimacassar-crocheters and wall-to-wall-carpet-obsessives. As usual, one can blame everything on them. They couldn't even handle the thought of women going to the toilet without fetishising it and turning it into a social problem.
To dwell briefly on the Victorian era and its penchant for making a profit from people's bodily functions, let us ponder, again, that splendid entrepreneur and chancer, Mathias Weibull. To once more quote ourselves:
[In 1889, Weibull wrote to] Malmö City Council to seek permission to erect "simple but neat" "cleanliness kiosks", provided with "self-operating peat-dust machines". Mathias Weibull expressed concern with the dangerous evaporations of human waste products, and the epidemics they may give rise to if left untended. Weibull generously offered to arrange for the carting away of the waste and the peat, and explained that he intended to charge the public 5 öre for use of the peat closets, and 2 öre for the pissoirs. The author even got the professor we love to hate, Seved Ribbing (his opinions on peat toilets may be sound, but his views on syphilitic women were shocking), to write an endorsement of the hygienic suitability of the plan!
Basically, this dude wanted to induce people to pay for the privilege of producing manure for his farm. You can't help but admire his cheek!
Nor is the habit of charging money for public toilets limited to Europe; we spent a rupee to spend a penny on one memorable occasion in Bangalore. A useful tip, which we're giving away free, is to never, ever use the toilet marked "Western toilet" when in India. These loos are invariably filthy - using the ordinary squat toilet is infinitely more hygienic and enjoyable!
One final observation: When meeting up with Shewee Fiend Friend recently, we made the journey to our rendezvous by train, and found ourselves obliged to use a train station toilet in the Midlands. Exactly as described in the postcard above, we didn't have exact change, and were thus robbed of 20 p. Small change, perhaps, but an important moral and legal principle. However. We learned something!
A teenage girl, entering the stile before us, showed her friend how to avoid having to pay: you pull the stile gently towards you. The locking mechanism will then be released, and you can comfortably push the stile forward and enter the toilets without spending a single penny. Provided that there is no attendant of course - we wouldn't want our readers to get caught in criminal activities! (Speaking of attendants, read about our favourite toilet attendants ever here and here.)
We hope that answers your query, Pissed-Off Traveller!
Now. This post is FAR FROM OVER. You can all sit prettily down again, and continue paying attention.
Our rendezvous with Shewee Fiend Friend took place in what was, in the carefree days of our youth, our favourite pub - The Judge's Lodging! Many is the evening we have spent here, quaffing beer until the Gothic grammar, with which we chose to occupy our minds in those days, made sense! (It usually takes a couple of pints at least. Needless to say, it's when Matthew starts waxing lyrical on the subject of fornication that he finally becomes lucid.)
We posted a couple of pictures from this notorious academic-infested drinking hole recently, and were promptly informed, via social media, that the toilets have been redone and look pretty damn splendid these days. (Indeed, the whole pub has had a makeover.) We set out to investigate. Here's what we found:
Pretty damn fine!
We apologise for the blurriness of this picture - we can't even give drunkenness
as an excuse, for reasons we will explain below. Does this black cast-iron heater
remind us of something, however? You bet it does - check out this heater in Worcester Cathedral!
There's certainly plenty of bog roll!
These tiles are very attractive.
THIS IS WHERE THE COAT-HOOK SHOULD HAVE BEEN.
YES, THAT'S RIGHT. THERE WAS NO GODDAMN COAT-HOOK.
Also, the toilet-roll holder would have benefited from having an actual toilet roll in it.
These sinks are beautiful, and no mistake! Woof!
Mixer taps are a balm to the soul.
This beauty is a Doulton's Improved Foot Warmer when it's at home.
Remember that time when we went on a Doulton rampage?
And that other time, when we also went on a Doulton rampage?
All in all, we were very pleased with the new toilets in the Judge's Lodging! They were clean and beautiful, and the sinks were a joy to wash one's hands in! Though of course WE FIND THE LACK OF A COAT-HOOK A SERIOUS OMISSION. However, THE GLARING LACK OF A COAT-HOOK TO HANG ONE'S BAG FROM was our only complaint. Three cheers and a roaring huzzah for the Judge's Lodging toilets! Also the staff were very nice and helpful.
Due to a medical emergency, Shewee Fiend Friend was unable to drink alcohol during our visit to York. Apparently, however, you can get beer that doesn't contain any alcohol.
Yeah, we know.
We don't understand the whys and the wherefores, either, but the fact remains that we were able to purchase said alcohol-free drinks in the supermarket, and park ourselves in the very warm and joy-inducing sunshine, in the soft grass, with our backs to the sturdy and protective Cliffords Tower! (Built to subdue the populace - on a sunny day, one likes to forget the cruel and bloody history behind picturesque erections.) Once again, however, we have to warn our readers not to engage in unlawful behaviour - it turns out that actually, sitting with one's back to Clifford's Tower while drinking beer, even if alcohol-free, is illegal. So don't do that! But take our word for it - it was HIGHLY ENJOYABLE.
Engaging in a very enjoyable illegal activity.
This, ladies and gentlemen, brings us full circle - back to Cliffords Tower, were we started our journey! Indeed, after being turfed off the tower knoll, we and Shewee Fiend Friend betook ourselves and our strange, alcohol-free beverage to the waterside, and ended up sitting in the exact spot that you can see in the postcard.
Let's have a festive video and get Saturday night going!
Well, well, well, well, well. Due to academic commitments we have been unhygienically busy (ain't nobody got time for washing!) here at the Counsel lately, with the regrettable result that we have been unable to bring you the pictures from our debauched NEW YEAR'S PARTY WITH SHEWEES! Luckily, however, we have now managed not only to wash our hair, but to get our photos sorted!
For those of you who missed the announcement, Shewee very generously donated some female urination devices for our new year's party in London's trendy Shoreditch! As you can well imagine, the combination of booze and shewees basically cannot fail (see this example from Truly Madly Kids if you don't believe us), and a splendid shindig it was, too!
It didn't take very long for the party to deviate into a discussion of unfortunate and/or illegal instances of public urination (read about one of ours here). Some dude called David opined that "It is expensive if you get caught", adding, "The most I've spent is €30 urinating in public".
Australian Friend told us the fascinating story of a friend of hers (who shall remain anonymous), who not only regularly goes in her pants on the way home from the pub, but who chooses to inform her friends of when she is doing it. This, of course, is nothing compared to the antics of Very Brave Friend, who once pissed herself on the night bus when drunk.
Shewee Fiend Friend's sister, meanwhile, has a clever habit of sitting down a hill and pissing down the slope, which strategy Australian Friend has also used profitably.
When camping in Australia, it is apparently de rigeur to dig a latrine trench. If it's long enough, Australian Friend informed us, you don't have to worry about aim: you just straddle the trench. Australian Friend added that one definitely cannot aim after a Brazilian! "I defy anyone to try," she snorted feistily.
The subject of camping brought us to another tricky business: squatting when hiking! Awkward at the best of times, and completely objectionable in places where a lack of adequate vegetation renders one's arse exposed not only to inclement weather but to curious stares! Shewee Fiend Friend expressed the anguish of many women of our acquaintance when she said, "I can't squat so I used to have to not drink for six hours [when hiking]". This is why Shewee is truly a girl's best friend!
Australian Friend also touched on a related issue: squatting over dirty public toilets. "Hovering! Massive quad burn! Like Austin Powers!" this athletic woman ranted, vehemently, regarding the agony of lengthy urination when hovering over a less-than-clean loo. Australian Friend once suffered the trauma of accidentally pissing on her jeans when hover-pissing in a pub. She then had to wash her jeans in the sink, and dry them under the air dryer. This also happened to Australian Friend on another occasion, in a cinema.
As a most relevant aside, the Head Counsellor's mother is currently in Italy, enjoying the wine and complaining about the alla turca toilets. They are apparently tricky to use when one is veering in the direction of 70 and not comfortable with squatting. The Counsellor reminded her mother about the time when she used one on a wet, slippery floor, wearing ski boots, just after having torn an anterior cruciate ligament to bloody shreds. The Head Counsellor's mother thought about it then said, "you win".
Well, quite.
Could all of these uncomfortable situations have been avoided if the ladies in question had been equipped with shewees? They could.
Members of our party proudly displaying their brand-spanking-new shewees, kindly supplied by Shewee!
The urinal in Hoxton square, new year's eve.
At the Imperial War Museum! Because the green shewees are the same colour as this massive gun!
As a very non-relevant aside, Shewee Fiend Friend informs us that the Royal Tyrrell museum in Drumheller, Alberta, is the best museum ever. Shewee Fiend Friend even goes so far as to claim that this museum is the best part of Canada! Apparently, the dinosaurs are to die for, and you can confidently skip the rest of the country!
We may add, as a postscript, that once you've got into the habit of using your shewee while drunk, you can never go back.
We like to think that we have many friends and well-wishers here at the Privy Counsel. They tend to come thick and fast whenever we require elucidation, or solace. However, recently they've been, so to speak, thicker and faster than usual. One Privy Counsel fan, for instance, invited us to spend a week grappling a bottle of gin with James Bond in a hotel bar, and simultaneously check out the toilets of the Italian Alps. James Bond, of course, has a history of Alp-related lavatory shenanigans. We leave it to our undoubtedly brainy audience to find the interesting bits themselves, and content ourselves with an only mildly bog-related quote from On Her Majesty's Secret Service:
"His two battered suitcases came and he unpacked leisurely and then
ordered from Room Service a bottle of the Taittinger Blanc de Blancs
that he had made his traditional drink at Royale. When the bottle, in
its frosted silver bucket, came, he drank a quarter of it rather fast
and then went into the bathroom and had an ice-cold shower and washed
his hair with Pinaud Elixir, that prince among shampoos, to get the dust
of the roads out of it."
(from Jamesbondlifestyle.)
James Bond's style of travelling is, we suspect, quite different from our own: when we go to the Alps we concentrate rather less on drinking out of frosted silver buckets, and more on taking pictures of the varied and often baffling kinds of plumbing contraptions. For instance, we simply cannot get enough of the allaturca toilet, or gabinetto orvaso alla turca, as featured below. We still do our fair share of wild chases down mountain sides with bullets flying left, right, and centre, however.
A pretty accurate representation of our recent holiday.
Image from Betweentheseats
Mixer tap, lovely soap, and paper towels make for a very happy toilet blogger!
This middle-of-the-piste bar was called Orsa Maggiore,
and had an amusing bear pointing the way to the toilets.
This toilet gets, probably, undici or duodice points. Two eagerly gesticulating thumbs up! Stay tuned for more Italian toilets, including train toilets!
Oriental toilets have been rearing their heads a fair amount recently. A chance remark made by Insane Lunatic Friend gave us food for thought. After spending some time in eastern Europe to watch some species of sports event, Insane Lunatic Friend wrote to us.
Dear Privy Counsellor, our most awesome and intelligent friend, the missive read. I saw this and thought of you. I was overcome by the frequency of 'French' toilets in the Ukraine; this would have actually helped.
And a very interesting and amusing article it was, too - read it here.
How to use a squat toilet. Note name: "Japanese-style toilet". Image from this site.
As interesting as the subject of squat toilets is, however, are we the only ones to have sudden, alarming thoughts of syphilis? We weren't aware that squat toilets were known as "French toilets" - we have been accustomed to referring to them as "Oriental", "Italian" or indeed, in Italy, "Alaturka" (i.e. "Turkish") toilets. Wikipedia, further illustrating the international unwillingness to take responsibility for having invented the squat toilet, informs us that it is also known as "an Arabic, French, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Iranian, Indian, Turkish or Natural-Position toilet".
Returning to the topic of syphilis, a certain academic tract which we got our (rather dirty) hands on says, on the topic of naming unpleasant diseases imported from abroad,
[Syphilis] broke out in Naples in 1494, when Charles VIII, the King of France, entered the city with his army, and ever since, it has been referred to by the French as ‘the Neapolitan disease’, and by the Italians as ‘the French disease’. It was to be given many other names as it made its way through Europe and the rest of the world; to France, Germany and Denmark in 1496, to England and Scotland in 1497, to India in 1498, and to Japan in 1512.
See?
Bringing this back to Insane Lunatic Friend's unfortunate obsession with ball sports, our academic tract further tells us that,
Julian Barnes writes, ‘I recently discussed Daudet’s case with a friend who is a specialist in sexually transmitted diseases. “Syphilis has become boring since penicillin,” he told me. (Boring for the doctor, anyway.) Though the disease has been more or less eradicated domestically, mass air travel still brings him a few cases. A couple of years ago he treated a group of young men who all appeared to have something in common – apart from their infection, that is. They were, it turned out, England football supporters who had followed the national team to a friendly game in Moldova, and had been impressed by how much extra friendliness their money had bought. If any of them had read La Douleur, they might realize how great their historical luck had been.’
Let's hope Insane Lunatic Friend was very careful with the, er, French toilets.
