Frame of Mind

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

It arrived!!!

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Festive Video: Pistol Annies, Make You Blue

Related Reading

All posts featuring Lithuanian Friend

All posts featuring Jonny

Lithuania, Land of Luscious Loos

Our Heart's Desire: For Nazis to Fuck Off, and for There to Be More Signed Pictures of Jonny

All posts featuring Our Favourite Aunt

All posts featuring Australian Friend 

A summary of all the dead nuns and pheasants: Ten-Year Jubilee Extravaganza: A Decade of Enlightenment!

A list of all right-thinking countries: Balls! It's Christmas

All posts featuring Christmas 

A Special Christmas Bonus: Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Toilet-Roll Holders (But Were Afraid to Ask)

In Which We Express Our Gratitude to Electricians Springing Into Action

YES! That is right - that is indeed the scent of bird cherry in full bloom!

As regular readers are aware, we have a thing about bird cherry. We would even go so far as to claim that the brief period when the delightful Prunus padus is in bloom is the best time of the year!

All the signs that summer might return and that we might - at least on a philosophical plane - not be completely fucked, have been making themselves manifest in a joyfully unrestrained manner! After many days of rain (of both the physical and the metaphorical kind) the sun has been making up for all the bullshit by burning our skin until it really hurts, blackbirds have been tooting and doing rude things to each other in the shrubberies in order to ensure the continuation of the species, and the big creepy wasps have started worming their way in through the ventilation system and buzzing angrily around while we have been trying to work. (As anyone who knows us is aware, we are only too happy to get an excuse to procrastinate, even if it means running the risk of getting a wasp sting in the neck and slowly suffocating to death.)

In short, spring is definitely here! Let us celebrate by pondering some light-hearted pictures!

First out is a hope-inspiring message from Shewee Fiend Friend, who writes:

Public message on New York subway.

The message reads:

• Cover your nose and mouth with a tissue when you cough or sneeze
• Cough or sneeze into the bend of your arm if you don't have a tissue
• Wash your hands often with soap and water, or use an alcohol-based hand sanitizer
• If you think you have the flu, stay home until your fever is gone at least 24 hours without a fever reducer 

We of course have some criticism to offer here, the main thrust of which is this:
As demonstrated by Mythbusters, sneezing into a tissue is basically no better than sneezing directly into your hand. (Please, for the love of God, don't sneeze into your hand. Thank you.) SNEEZE INTO YOUR GODDAMN ELBOW.

That ended up not being very light-hearted. Let's try these delightful pictures from Bogsley Hansson Friend.

WE WHOLEHEARTEDLY AGREE WITH THIS MESSAGE.

Is this a sign pointing out where the spare loo roll is kept? If so, we approve!

For anyone who finds the intersection between toilet-related matters and feminism as fascinating as we do, there is this article on the 1970s fight against pay toilets, sent to us by Tudor Friend, to ponder in a haze of happiness this weekend.

We also received a link to a fantastic article from Australian Friend called Fantastic invention stops men weeing in the streets. It's a toilet. Really, the title says it all.

Speaking of feminism, we had a situation recently which set us thinking. We have been pondering fuse boxes, and wondering why we have never been forced to take a crash course in fuse box management. We like to think that we are reasonably competent, at the Privy Counsel, when it comes to practical things - changing a blown fuse, reversing accidental use of Caps Lock, persuading a reluctant horse to take the bit into its mouth - things like that. However, nobody ever told us how to identify a circuit breaker in a really old building. And, though we like to think that we are experts at finding things on the internet, this is rather challenging when your computer is slowly dying of old age and can only handle 20 minutes without electricity, and your phone is also caving in to dementia, and refuses to show you pictures of fuse boxes or in any other way communicate with you. We won't bore you with the details, but we would like to thank the friendly electrician who drove 40 kilometres on his night off just to flick our circuit breaker (not a euphemism).

We would also like to thank the friends who reassured us that just because you don't know something about a traditional male field doesn't make you a bad woman/feminist. On that note, let us have a festive video! Today's festive video comes to us courtesy of Tudor Friend, and we have no idea if it is ironic or not. What do you think?

Tudor Friend says:

TOILET PAPER and MOCKING OF HIPSTERS.
This is hilarious, brilliant, and I bet at least ten eejits out there fall for it and go out to find this product. May they experience all the joy of bum-splinters!

Festive video - Quilted Northern Rustic Weave, Artisanal Toilet Paper


Related Reading

Previous posts featuring bird cherry:
In Which We Indulge in Poetry and Out-of-Context French Expressions
Cracking Some Suds in Kreuzberg

Jezebel pictorial on the 1970s feminist fight against pay toilets:
The 1970s Feminist Fight Against Pay Toilets

An excellent article on the fantastic invention that stops men weeing in the streets:
Fantastic invention stops men weeing in the streets. It's a toilet.

Another message that started with an enthusiastic "yes"

All posts featuring Shewee Fiend Friend
All posts featuring Bogsley Hansson Friend
All posts featuring Tudor Friend
All posts featuring Australian Friend

Don't miss our most popular Friend Quote ever, Semi-Intellectual Friend's take on the concept of irony - available in the post Foul Play, also Fowl Issues.

Also, everyone keeps telling us to Get Yer Bags Together, Channing Tatum Has Announced a Live Magic Mike Show in Vegas, so we might as well share it here, too.

Five Fabulous (And Frightening) Years: The Story of the Privy Counsel

Our sincerest contrafibularities! We have no memory of what we were doing on the day (ranting, no doubt, and perhaps drinking rum - possibly at the same time), but the Privy Counsel turned five on 18 October!

Five years! If we had had cake to celebrate with, it would most likely have looked like this.

Things have been grim of late. So grim, in fact, that we have repeatedly felt the need to google pictures of syphilis symptoms, just to remind ourselves that there are things we don't suffer from (although one Privy Counsel member does in fact harbour a case of bona fide genital herpes - however, we intend to stay true to our promise to keep the identity of this person a secret to our dying day (said promise does not, obviously, prevent us from dropping tantalising hints solely for our own amusement)). There are some good ones, for instance, here (do a page search for "syphilis", then click on the links).

The marvellous thing, though, about having access to a loose collective of intellectuals, connected by social media, is that something wonderful is bound to turn up sooner or later.

This cake would also not be incongruous at the Privy Counsel.

Last night, for instance, we learned that Kick-Arse Suffragette Friend has an exciting new project on the go.

Also Australian Friend surpassed herself in rampant intellectualism and invented a new word! Quizzlement - you heard it here first! The definition of the adjective is as follows: "Quizzled. adj. The state of perplexed beguilement imposed by a person on her admirer, through an act of mischievous ambiguity."

Then we suddenly remembered that BLOODY HELL WE HAVE BEEN GOING FOR FIVE YEARS. Let us tell you the story of the origins of the Privy Counsel!

This totally appropriate cake just screams "THIS ONE! YES! LET'S HAVE IT!"

Once upon a time, there was a country full of crap plumbing. Let's call it "Britain". Said crap plumbing was the cause of a pretty much constant stream of grumbling, mumbling, and outright ranting. One night, in the pub, Enlightened Friend suggested that we stop ranting and start a blog, if only to spare our friends from having to constantly listen to us moaning and bitching. We thought the notion was an excellent one, and set to enthusiastically, publishing no less than three posts on the first day.

The first post was called, bravely, Mixer Taps - the Controversy, and was short but loquacious. It said, simply:

Most British people see no need for mixer taps, as when they do exist, they don't work anyway. The rest of the world disagrees. The controversy continues.

Huzzah - our very first image!

Blog post number two, sporting the witty title Toilet Paper - Puppy Love (setting the tone for our happy habit of punning in an unrestrained manner), discussed the insane British obsession with quilted toilet paper. This groundbreaking essay posed the question:

Where does the British obsession with soft toilet paper come from? Why does bog roll have to be quilted? (Of all things, why quilted?) Is it due to the humiliations suffered during the Second World War, when millions of Britons were forced to keep a stiff upper lip while wiping their bottoms with newspaper?

FUCK OFF, PUPPIES.

The third blog post on this auspicious date, The Victorians - An Edifying History Lesson, described the Victorians as "a barbaric people who delighted in such unhygienic and downright dangerous practices as sideburn cultivation, wall-to-wall carpet installation, and lace-curtain twitching". Needless to say, this is now the standard view of the Victorians in all respectable academic circles.

Victorian toilets - pretty, but violently unsound.

After these initial - one could even say probing - posts, we moved swiftly on to reviews of museum toilets, starting with the Yorkshire Museum. We remember lurking nervously with the huge, clunky and LOUD camera we used to carry around in those days, on a wet October day. 

Mission accomplished without us being reported to the police or even, surprisingly, being openly accused of being perverts, we continued with the Castle Museum, where we spotted what is possibly the most amusing sign in the entire universe; a sign that perfectly summarises the unbridled lunacy of British plumbing:  

This sign unfortunately doesn't exist anymore.
Believe us, we have been back to check.

Pretty soon we were reviewing places like the disabled toilet at the Centre for Medieval Studies in York, and it didn't take long before we achieved legendary status among the depraved, the socially awkward, and the intellectual (i.e. our friends, and maybe five other people who clearly need to get off the internet and get a life).

We noted happily that this was "a toilet fit for Medievalists".

And now we've been at it for five years!

When we started this blog, it was specifically to rant about crap plumbing, because Privy Counsel HQ was situated in the UK, where people seem have a hard time realising that the 19th century like, ENDED. Now that we are more Scandiwegian-oriented, we have very little to complain about, plumbing-wise, and have taken to rant more about other things, like feminism. It appears that human rights is another area where people have a hard time realising that the 19th century ended and that we are, in fact, living in the 21st century now. It would be nice, we think, if everyone could at least step into the 20th century, both in terms of plumbing, and human rights.

We would like to take this opportunity of getting embarrassingly sentimental, weepy, and vapid, and expressing our heartfelt thanks to all our friends and comrades! Some of you have been with us from the start, some have joined along the way. Without the Privy Counsel Friends (and assorted cronies, hangers-on, and passive bystanders) sending us toilet photos, ranting with us, and dispatching emergency pictures of Elvis when times get tough, this bog blog really would not be possible.

Now, let's have a festive video before we embarrass ourselves further. We've had this one in a previous post, but really, can you ever get enough rum? Well, quite.

Festive video - Brothers Osborne, Rum

Hasta la vista!

Failing to Be Disappointed: Tudor Friend's Tudor-Era House

The awesome thing about being a battle-hardened, misanthropic old pessimist is that every now and then, people will fail to disappoint you. The unexpected lack of disappointment will cause a cavalry regiment of champagne-swilling endorphins, unknown to the credulous optimist, to come charging into your brain, sabres waving, helmets askew. Tally-ho! they will roar, while riding round and round in triumph, waving standards and letting fly balloons. This is just the law of averages.

For instance, one might be overwhelmed by a lack of disappointment when the kind W H Smith employee at Birmingham airport offers to post one's postcards for one when one has realised one has forgotten and there is no postbox in the airport, meaning one's favourite 96-year-old will get one's missive after all.
One might be heartened when a dangerous-looking young man, who one is secretly praying won't stab one in the eye, makes an exquisitely polite after-you gesture at one when one is negotiating one's way through a doorway.
Or one might go visit Tudor Friend for a cheese-and-Jane-Austen-orgy and find that she really does live in a Tudor-era house, and it looks like this:

Inside Tudor Friend's bathroom!
Hooks! Wooden beams! Woof!

A somewhat blurry close-up (blame the 47 different kinds of booze in Tudor Friend's liquor cabinet)
of the delightful, old-fashioned door-lock.

This photo is taken from outside one toilet, looking towards the other.

Tudor Friend suspects that these are original 18th-century Dutch tiles.
Like these ones! Or these!

The tiles would appear to illustrate the life of that notorious cheese-loving saint, St Hoojar.

This is the view from the spare bedroom! Huzzah!

The outside of the house is alright, we suppose.

Do you feel soothed, consoled, and invigorated? We sure as hell do!

Now for a festive video - let's hear Dolly Parton describing the first time she used a flush toilet! (Many thanks to Jezebel.) Please pardon the vulgar illustrations - we didn't make them. 

Festive video - Dolly Parton Getting Dirty

Related Reading
If you, too adore beautiful tiles, more are found here:
Blogging Something Rotten
We Receive a Postcard
All posts about Tudor Friend
If you're into historical plumbing, we've got posts about medieval plumbing and Roman plumbing

Sober As a Judge

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. 

(If you want, by the way, tips on Victorian crinolines, and specifically how to turn a skirt spread over one into a private, one-woman discreet-urination-tent, then ask Tudor Friend. That woman possesses some serious life skills!)

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!

Festive video - Kitty, Daisy and Lewis, Going Up the Country

Related Reading
All posts about York
All posts about Shewee Fiend Friend
Our classic post on Mathias Weibull:
19th-Century Toilet Letter: A Delight from Start to Fin(n)ish!
Our classic post on the toilet history of York:
The Historic Toilet Tour of York
All posts about public toilets

Apparently There Was a "Best Norwegian Café" and "Best Latin Translation" Competition, and Here Are the Winners!

Woof! Once again we find ourselves absolutely overwhelmed by exuberantly wonderful photographs of toilets! The mood at Privy Counsel HQ is hazardously gleeful for a bog-standard Wednesday evening. Good things that have been happening this week are: festive hobnobbing with our favourite 96-year-old, ice-cream, and feminist t-shirts. Bad things include early mornings, and fire drills.

However, we have made a vow to try to include something heartening in every blog post. And actually, today we have not one but TWO heartening events to report! Surprisingly, both occurred at the supermarket, within minutes of each other.
First, an old lady gave us a tip-off about a secret free till further down, sparing us several minutes of mindless supermarket queueing, and, when we were collecting our shopping, a young boy picked up a valuable item, which we had dropped on the floor without noticing, and jolly well returned it to us! In a polite manner! Really, we sometimes have to restrain ourselves in order not to burst with surprised joy when people successfully act like civilised beings. (At this moment we are choosing to not start a rant about the way Scandiwegian people behave on trains.)

In order to celebrate the joy of life and the darling buds of spring bursting and sprouting forth from thickets and shrubberies throughout the length of the land or at least in the more clement-weathered parts, let's have a friendly picture from Scandiwegia! This will remind us of all the things we love about this area of the globe - namely, the heating, plumbing, and sanitation - and take our mind off the extensive train-related rudeness prevalent in the region.

We are taking this moment to introduce Audiologist Friend, who has actually, however, featured in a previous post - that one from last summer when we were staggeringly hungover. Audiologist Friend says, "På det här fiket dricks Norges bästa kaffe," which we are translating as "Slave, stop your harpsichord-playing this instant and show me the way to the vomitorium".

This is apparently the toilet in a café in Norway,
where you can get the best coffee in the entire country!

Does this, friends, remind us of something? But naturally! We are struck with happy memories from the best toilet in England, which happens, funnily enough, to be located in a café!  If you haven't been to Café Treff in Ambleside yet, then throw yourself on the first donkey cart bound for the Lake District! Hasten, hasten! Leave the children behind! Hang the cat! Get on that donkey cart and GO!

Since we're talking about things that are best in their respective categories, let us take a moment to appreciate the best ever translation. Our mum, being ever helpful, kind, and rampantly intellectual, helped us translate the infinitely useful phrase "From the idiocy of random dudes on the internet deliver us, O Lord" into Latin. Here it is, for your enjoyment. You're welcome.

A stultitia fortuitarum personarum simplicium in Interrete vagantes libera nos, Domine.

We find this phrase enormously satisfactory - to the point where we have to let out another Woof!

Because we're feeling red-hot and full of pizzazz, and because we just can't get enough of androcentric narratives that pander to heteronormative stereotypes, let's have this festive video:

Festive video - Ennio Morricone, A Gringo Like Me (performed by Peter Tevis)

Related Reading
The best toilet in England:
Café Treff, Ambleside: The Best Toilet in England!
The best toilet in Iceland:
A Splendid Christmas Present: The Best Toilet in Iceland!
Get more Clint Eastwood action (of the dirty kind) here:
Privy Counsel Pin-Up: Clint Eastwood, or, Black-and-White Baths, or, Dirty Men with Guns
Read more about androcentric narratives here:
Ten Things that Feminism Has Ruined for Me

Kick-Arse Suffragette Friend: Causing Quite a Stir!

Our day got off to a healthy - rude, even - start when we discovered some ribald Armitage gifs in our inbox! (We've said it before and we'll say it again - we've got the best friends!) We also received pictures of some quite breathtakingly rude toilet graffiti from Uncle Sean, which we are looking forward to showing you very soon.

Today, however, we are going to be engaging in one of the few activities ranked above "perving on Armitage gifs" at the Counsel - ranting about mixer taps!

Also, we have a new Privy Counsel Friend to introduce! Let us yodel in an unbridled manner and drink a toast to the person we have decided to call Kick-Arse Suffragette Friend! Kick-Arse Suffragette Friend sent us the below picture, saying: "I found this the other night and thought of you."

Did your jaw just hit the floor, painfully?
Ours did.
The grace and elegance of this appliance reminds us of the lavoire.

We are gobsmacked and eighteen kinds of bamboozled. There is too much beauty here for the human mind to comprehend! Bring out the mop and bucket - the combination of stylishness, practicality and hygiene has set off a flood of rampant salivation at Privy Counsel HQ! We don't know where this gizmo is (though we suspect somewhere in New York), if it is common, or if it is new-fangled or historical, but it surely is a thing of beauty!

This graceful porcelain contraption attaches to the sink and lets the water from the hot and the cold tap mix, creating an enjoyable flow of pleasantly tempered water in which to wash one's hands. Now, like the Danish "subjunctive taps", this set-up necessitates fiddling with taps, which is decidedly not one of our favourite activities - we would much prefer moving a lever. (Or, if that is not an option, perving on Armitage gifs, or, if that is not an option either, drinking whisky straight from the bottle.) However, it allows one to wash one's hands comfortably, in water that is neither freezing nor scalding, thus allowing one to take one's time and do it properly.

Of course, there will always be perverted minds and degenerates. Enlightened Friend, playing Devil's advocate, made quite an effort arguing against this hygiene-facilitating contraption, claiming - oh fuck it, we can't even remember the mess of garbled gobbledegook that issued forth from this normally intelligent person. Suffice to say that we won the argument - twice.

We won't get into the whys and the wherefores of the whole tap separation idiocy, as it tends to alternately make one's blood boil and freeze it, which is very tiring. Instead, we'll list links to our previous rants on the subject below the festive video.

Since our latest Privy Counsel Friend, Kick-Arse Suffragette Friend, is in fact a rootin'-tootin' Texan, we thought we'd have a festive video featuring another kick-arse rootin'-tootin' Texan lady - Kacey Musgraves! (The song is even vaguely plumbing-related!)

Festive video - Kacey Musgraves, The Trailer Song


Related Reading
All our previous rants about tap separation idiocy:
Mixer Taps - The Great Controversy, or, When Will Britain Enter the 21st Century?, or, You Are Not Alone!

Are You British? Does Tap Sanity Elude You?
Terminator Toilet
A Note on Desperate Measures
Tap Into Pain
Les Conduites Dangereuses: For Once It's Not Just Us Ranting

The History of Plumbing: A Recap

In this post, we looked into the NHS guidelines on handwashing. We've said it before, but it bears repeating: the NHS handwashing guidelines are impossible to adhere to without a mixer tap:
Dirty People: We Wash Our Hands of Them!

A very important reminder of why exactly handwashing is so damn important:
A Christmas Mystery: The Mysterious Case of the Curse at Crapper Castle, or, Put a Lid on It, or, No Shit, Sherlock

Some of our favourite handwashing videos: Handwashing Extravaganza!

Look, even Jonny gets the point of mixer taps: The Comfort of the Familiar - Life, Jonny, and Everything

Not strictly related, but Australian Friend sent us this festive article: UK's first "poo bus" goes into regular service

Southern Comfort: A Joyful and Soothing Italian Toilet

You know how, sometimes, a day which you fully expected to be horrendous - and result in either an addiction to barbiturates or enrolment in a nunnery - actually turns out not just ok but POSITIVELY FESTIVE?

Yeah, so that happened. And then this article turned up and made the atmosphere at Privy Counsel HQ positively riotous with mirth! S:t Pauli pisses back! Using water-repellent paint! We love this so much we are currently making undignified noises, curling up helplessly on the floor, and hooting with laughter.

In celebration, let's have a look at the pictures from that Italian public toilet we maybe mentioned, once, or thought we did. It was a great public toilet, replete with cleanliness, functionality and one really, really lovely toilet attendant! (Read about another friendly toilet attendant, in Athens, here.)

When looking at this picture, we tend to make a weird, Al Pacino-esque noise.
It's somehow very satisfactory, isn't it?

As all our friends know,
A COVERED TOILET ROLL HOLDER MAKES OUR HEART LEAP WITH JOY.

AND SO DOES A COAT-HOOK THIS STURDY.

Today we happened to discuss British plumbing with our favourite aunt.
Can we just say, THIS IS HOW IT IS BLOODY WELL DONE.
There is soap, and one single, unified tap, from which water of a pleasant temperature comes out,
without scalding one or giving one's hands chilblains.
Water of a pleasant temperature coming from a tap IS, BY THE WAY, NORMAL.

AND A FESTIVE SIGN!

Also paper towels, hygienically encased in a very safe-looking dispenser,
and surrounded by lovely tiles of an attractive green colour, offset by stylish white ones.

As far as we remember, these toilets were in Oulx, by the way. (Read more about other toilets in the area here.)

Because this is the kind of day we've had, let's have this festive video:

Festive video - Darius Rucker, Wagon Wheel

Related Reading
That time when we went round terrorising London with shewees: Shewees Are a Girl's Best Friend!
That time when Shewee Fiend Friend pissed all over everything, all over the shop: SISTERS STANDING UP FOR THEMSELVES
That time when Shewee Fiend Friend was super frustrated by incompetent males unsuccessfully aiming for the toilet: (Don't) Aim for the Stars
Our classic review of an Italian train: Finally! An Italian Train!
Another Privy Counsel classic: Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts, But Totally Trust the Toilet Attendant
All posts about Italy

Let's Have a Sub-Category of Related Reading, Today, On the Horrors of British Taps
A Note on Desperate Measures
Tap Into Pain
Are You British? Does Tap Sanity Elude You?
Terminator Toilet
Oh, and also, this report about the S.t Pauli toilets, from Denmark, is hilarious.