After being exposed to some gentle ribbing, in our last post, on the subject of her atrocious taste in music, Shewee Fiend Friend had many things to say. To refresh our possibly collective memory, here's what we said:
Also, we know for a fact that this blog is read by a total of seven people, one of whom is Our Mum, and none of whom ever watch the Festive Videos. Thus it matters not one jot whether we also link to this version of this Festive Video, and also this fantastic version.
The things Shewee Fiend Friend had to say in response were, in chronological order:
Just to spite you I listened to the first twenty seconds of the second version of that festive video
It was interesting to watch the spandex aerobics dancers until the singing started, then I couldn’t take it anymore
But I’m really glad to hear I’m not the only one who lets you know your taste in music is abysmal
Really just abysmal
[...]
Also I’ve just watched the third version of that video
Well I listened to around twenty seconds again. I had forgotten how bad it was so I had to turn it off pretty soon
It was also awful
Where do you even find these things? How have you heard of this terrible person
These are interesting questions which will, we are certain, spark further research and lead to many fruitful debates!
Jonny, meanwhile, has been devastatingly handsome in several toilets. Let's go through them systematically, in a scientific fashion.
Jonny writes:
Went into the office today and I was the only one there
Which is a shame because I look really fit today
Here's a pic of me by our unisex toilets
(We have 3 men's and 1 unisex)
Indeed, why should the women have their own toilet? It's not like they're people. However that may be, however, we absolutely agree that Jonny looks fit in front of this unisex toilet, and congratulate his employer on hiring such a dishy toilet enthusiast!
Jonny: Dishier than ever, in front of a unisex toilet.
The following photos arrived without any comments, which is a fantastic chance, we believe, to let our creative juices really flow, imagining where they might be from and what might have happened in these toilets to result in such clear signage. We encourage our readers to let go of all restraints and embrace some really fervent speculation.
Really let yourself go, now.
A tantalising door!
If a picture says more than a thousand words, here we have the equivalent of a bestselling mystery trilogy, popular in airports the world over.
A note of caution to sensitive readers: the following picture is highly suggestive and might make impressionable individuals over-excited. Be very, very careful.
Careful, now!
Finally, is this the fainting couch to end all fainting couches? Does one feel the urge to lie down sensuously, while sipping a gin-enriched glass of champagne and feeling really fabulous? Reader, one does.
Since we have established that it is irrelevant which Festive Video we choose, here is a random one that we have put no thought into whatsoever.
We don't know what your neck of the woods is like, but round our way there has been vigorous galloping in many directions, and enthusiastic cries of tally-ho! have been heard all over the realm. There has been frantic activity, not all of it related to escaping homicidal horror-clowns. Amid all the confusion, Shewee Fiend Friend accidentally agreed with us on two things, one of which was music-related. We know. It was a shock for everyone involved. Right now we're having a metaphorical sit-down in the shade, panting feebly and guzzling reassuring amounts of gin.
Shewee Fiend Friend went to a diner in North America recently, and sent us pictures with helpful and enlightening captions. The toilets in the diner in question were reassuringly sex-segregated, meaning that Shewee Fiend Friend felt safe throughout her visit. We've talked quite a lot about the horror of forcing women to share intimate spaces with people who a) are on average significantly larger and stronger physically, and b) commit 98 % of all acts of sexual violence. However, we'd still like to take this opportunity to recommend this excellent summary on why mixed-sex toilets are awful for women by Woman's Place UK, and also this one by Holly Lawford Smith.
Allez, en piste! Shewee Fiend Friend writes:
Inside it was pretty cool. Lots of 50s shit
Every table had a personal jukebox I played Video killed the radio star Not Elvis The bathrooms. Phenomenal
You enter this little vestibule from which you can enter one of two toilets
If you look closely, you'll see women's is marked doubly I like that
Same for men's
And in case it wasn't clear, the doors go to the floor
Very pleasant and reasonably clean. Above right was a sturdy coat hook
The comforting reminder that employees must wash hands
(I don't know why Americans have these signs everywhere. I find it disquieting that employees need to be reminded)
And finally, just in case it wasn't clear
Wasn't that wonderful? We feel somehow safe and clean, which is how we like to be if at all possible.
A friend who we might refer to, for the sake of convenience and also accuracy, as Nerdy Beer Obsessive Friend, sent us this festive photo from a place in Helsingborg, Sweden, that provides culture for the people.
Now for a Jonny Babe Parade photo. For reasons to which we are not privy, Jonny is going through a Peaky Blinders phase. The result is most pleasing. We don't know where this photo was taken, and we also don't care.
Woof!
The thing about getting older is that one realises there are things that are better than Elvis. For instance, sex-segregated toilets. Also one realises that there are a fuckload of Elvis songs that other people did long before Elvis, and that are actually much better. Today's Festive Video is one example.
Some previous Privy Counsel posts on the horror of mixed-sex toilets, which can be summarised with the words a) NOBODY WANTS TO ELBOW THEIR WAY THROUGH A SEA OF BEARDED HIPSTERS TO GET TO THE SINK and also b) HARDEN THE FUCK UP AND GIVE THE WOMEN THEIR OWN FUCKING TOILET:
Zut, alors! Sacre bleu! Quel fromage! We've been on holiday in the south of France, and our high-school French has come back with rather more force than we are quite comfortable with. If we end up gesticulating in a Gallic fashion, brandishing a large baguette in public places, or insisting on imbibing a pastis in the shade under the plane trees while laconically making ironic remarks about the latest train delays, you will have to bear with us.
Let us symbolically trouver la gare together! Alors, the first toilet in today's continental blog post is from Montpellier Airport, and illustrates that what appears progressive may turn out to be, if one only reflects a moment, horrifyingly regressive.
There were, as far as we could tell, three toilets in the departures hall at Montpellier Airport: one gents', one ladies', and one unisex. Since the ladies' toilet was out of order, we were relegated to the unisex one. Making toilets unisex ticks the "inclusive" box, and makes everyone feel virtuous. We all want to be inclusive, right? God forbid anyone should feel left out! Intuitively, unisex toilets seem like the only progressive option for modern people. Men and women are equal, and there is no reason to segregate the sexes. But stop and think. For instance, think about these questions:
Do men commit the majority of sexual-violence crimes?
Are women safe in an enclosed space with strange men?
The answers are, respectively, Yes, Yes, and No. There is no lack of evidence of women being at risk from sexual and physical violence from men in unisex toilets. Before the loud manspreader scratching his balls in the back starts yabbering the "Not all men" mantra, no, not all men. But too damn many, and they don't, unfortunately, have a sign attached to them saying "abuser", or it would be easy to weed the bad ones out. Once you designate an enclosed space where women have no choice but to go, unisex, you are leaving them at the mercy of predatory men. There is a reason women want and need women-only spaces, and that reason is to exclude male violence.
On the left is the women's toilet...
...and on the right is the men's. In between is a narrow space with a sink, in which we found ourselves trapped uncomfortably with no fewer than three men, one of whom was wearing chinos.
The coat hooks, to be fair to this execrably bad toilet, are great.
The toilet itself is tiny, and not something you want to shout from the rooftops about.
Incidentally we were, as you can see if you go back through our Unisex Toilets label and read older posts (for instance this one), originally in favour of trans inclusivity. Being inclusive seemed to be a matter of human rights; both men and women are at risk of male violence, and if some men who look like women are at an even higher risk of violence, then surely letting them share a toilet with the women makes perfect sense? Unfortunately, however, it's not that simple. It turns out that there are plenty of men (again, not all men) who are prepared to argue that they are trans women in order to gain access to spaces where women are vulnerable, for instance rape crisis centres, domestic violence shelters, changing rooms and, yes, toilets. Robbing women of the right to banish men from women-only spaces renders them powerless to protect themselves against male violence.
In one of our first posts about unisex toilets, we gave expression to
our fear of being trapped in an enclosed space with strange men by
flippantly describing the bearded hipsters crowding the sink. We have since had cause to drop the flippancy. We empathise with trans women and -men, but fail to see why supporting them must endanger women.
Luckily the internet is, just about, a place where women can talk about things that affect them, and there are many brave radfems (or, as some people label them, TERFs) out there conducting an intellectual debate about the difference between sex and gender. Some of our favourites are Jean Hatchet, Lily Maynard and, of course, gender-critical transwoman (oh, that this epithet even exists) Miranda Yardley (who, incidentally, has been permanently banned from Twitter for saying abusive things like "an adult human male is a man").
We shall no doubt keep talking about the screaming bloody horror that is unisex toilets, but let us for now move on to something potentially more festive - French public toilets!
Strolling along a promenade in the charming southern French town of Sète, we were delighted to spot a sign pointing to a public WC! Our disappointment was in proportion to our initial excitement: the door was locked. Two friendly French dudes relaxing on a bench informed us that c'est fermez, and our French companions explained that since nobody in their right mind goes out in the middle of the day, everything including the toilets is shut until 3 pm. This seemed fair enough considering the blistering heat, and the fact that the toilets were still closed at 4 pm was surely just an anomaly.
A resolutely closed door
A supremely exciting sign!
To be honest, we weren't brave enough to ring the bell - maybe if we had, a friendly toilet attendant would have let us in?
Here's what the public toilets in Sète look like as you are walking away from them in disappointment.
The public toilets may have been shut, but fear not! we stop at nothing to procure pictures of toilets, and ventured into the bar next to the local hôtel de ville in order to satisfy our readers' voracious hunger for images of French facilities.
"Respectez ce lieu propre comme vous le trouvez quand vou rentrez. Merci." Ah! Gallic gallantry!
Here by the sink, which has no soap, is the poubelle in which one is supposed to deposit one's lingettes et autre.
We naturally didn't spend our entire holiday lounging around Sète,
guzzling pastis and ogling athletic French men engaged in nautical jousting.
No, indeed! We made sure to attend the Le Corum concert hall in Montpellier, where we found the facilities unproblematic and reasonably cultured. Hurrah!
Last but not least we visited, for our readers' delight and edification, the toilets in the Galeries Lafayette in Montpellier. This was not without difficulty - on following the signs pointing towards the WC, one was led first along the entire gallery, then down the stairs and finally up a minuscule lift. We are nothing if not dedicated to our cause of describing toilets in an obscure and mildly amusing bog blog!
The hand dryer, we suppose, could have been worse.
The coat hook was the best thing about this toilet. Have we identified a trend?
There is no toilet seat, but the toilet roll is all present and correct so that is, presumably, something to be grateful for.
The soap supply is adequate and so is that of lukewarm water.
Readers, we have reached the end of the road: this is where we stop ranting. We hope that your hypothetical question Où est la gare, s'il vous plaît? was answered. Festive Video? You bet!
An excellent public toilet in Athens that we enjoyed immensely but where we also had occasion to ponder the safety issues that being a woman (a calamity affecting roughly 50 % of the population) in public spaces necessitates pondering: Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts, But Totally Trust the Toilet Attendant
A blog critiquing gender ideology, including documented harm to women brought on by a lack of women-only spaces: The New Backlash
We would argue that most of us, however competent and organised we would like to appear in the eyes of the world, spend most of our lives lurching mindlessly in whatever direction we happen to be pushed by circumstances, eagerly grasping whatever alcoholic beverage is available come Friday night. However, even though we're happy, at the Privy Counsel, to take each day as it comes and live and let live, we appreciate the importance of some kind of guidelines to steer us straight. As regular readers will be aware, we defined two mottoes to live by a couple of years ago: PEOPLE SHOULD FUCK OFF MORE and FEMINISM NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT. These have stood us in good stead.
Last night, the beverage available happened to be the good kind of champagne, which was pleasant to a high degree, but more importantly, we formulated a new Privy Counsel rule of life! The third rule, now added to the canon, is ALWAYS GO TO THE TOILET TWICE.
"Hang on, hang on," you may be saying to yourself now, sitting up on your chaise-longue and agitatedly waving your tweed-clad arms about. "I'm perfectly happy going to the toilet just once. Why would I go twice just because some random toilet blogger with a record of showing poor judgement tells me to?" Your concerns, if this is you, are legitimate, and your logic infallible. However, hear us out - there is reason to our madness!
However, let's say that you, being trained in scientific methodology and critical thinking - even if your judgement has been temporarily clouded by vast amounts of the good kind of champagne - go back in some time later, for the sake of scientific enquiry and journalistic integrity. Let's say that, while washing your hands, no fewer than three persons of the male sex squeeze awkwardly past you.
THE HORROR!
We have always argued, and will continue to argue, that A SHIT TOILET IS ONE IN WHICH ONE IS FORCED TO WASH ONE'S HANDS IN THE COMPANY OF BEARDED HIPSTERS AGAINST ONE'S WILL.
In this case, the males in question were not so much bearded hipsters as bloated middle-aged men in unflattering trousers, but the tenet still stands. Only someone with very poor imagination would design a venue where a woman has to wash her hands in an enclosed space with random men twice her size, and not expect her to feel nervous and uncomfortable. We say this not because we dislike men, but because the statistics speak for themselves.
The majority of all reported sex crimes are committed by men, against women. When we say "the majority", we don't mean "something like two thirds", or even "something like three quarters", but "something like 98 %". Let that sink in. Now ponder the fact that sexual predators are opportunists, who harass, grope, and assault women when circumstances allow, and you will see that unisex toilets are a TERRIBLE IDEA.
To all restaurateurs out there who are considering putting in new toilets, we implore you: HARDEN THE FUCK UP AND GIVE THE WOMEN THEIR OWN FUCKING TOILET. Women-only spaces exist not because women are irrational creatures who insist on having several expensive square metres to themselves, but because toilets and changing rooms are not neutral spaces, and because the world is not safe for women.
Let us summarise our argument: Sex is biological reality. Gender is a social construct. No matter how dedicated we are to the struggle of crushing the patriarchy and pulverising gender norms, pretending that gender doesn't exist doesn't solve the problem of sexist abuse. Hence, until we're equal, and one sex isn't constantly subjected to sexual violence by the other sex, let there be segregated toilets.
PEOPLE SHOULD FUCK OFF MORE.
FEMINISM NEEDS TO BE MORE MILITANT.
Also, when writing a toilet review, ALWAYS GO TO THE TOILET TWICE. The first time may not show you every facet or even faucet (especially if you're off your head on the good kind of champagne).
Having ranted for a suitable amount of time, let us enjoy some photos from the well-equipped, but uncomfortable and potentially dangerous, toilets at Johan P:
We have no complaints about the toilet except that it has no coat hook. Could it be any more obvious that a man designed these toilets? The equivalent of Marie Antoinette's "Let them eat cake" is the male toilet designer's "Let them put their handbags on the floor". No person in their right mind wants to put their handbag on a toilet floor - BLOODY WELL GIVE WOMEN COAT HOOKS!
This is all very well, but we still don't understand why sinks must look like cattle troughs.
The soap and hand lotion was very nice, and smelled of lavender and thyme!
Another aspect of Johan P is the acoustics in the restaurant are terrible. There are times
when you would give your right arm not to be forced to listen to the
person next to you, but there are also times when you would quite like
to hear what your company is saying, and Johan P is not a good place for
hearing whatever conversational pyrotechnics may be going off around you. The question of acoustics technically falls outside the range of
our blog, but we thought it worth mentioning. (Let us also note, however, in the interest of fairness, that the champagne at Johan P is excellent and the moules frites are to die for.) Speaking of acoustics, we have some exciting toilets from Audiologist Friend, and also from Australian Friend and Jonny (who counts as a friend for administrative reasons), in our vast cavern of an archive - something for you all to look forward to!
Now, for a Festive Video. This one appeals to us for several reasons.
Festive Video - Shannon McNally, Lonesome, Ornery and Mean
Quousque tandem abutere, Stockholm Central, patientia nostra?
We were invited to celebrate the birthday of a very dear friend of ours, and for this reason got the sleeper train to Stockholm, a place we normally go to great lengths to avoid. All our worst paranoid fears were justified when we, having staggered off the train at 6:16 a.m., bleary-eyed and with the bonhomie of a gouty grizzly bear, went in search of the ladies', in order to tend to our personal hygiene and apply some make-up, only to find that the toilets were BLOODY UNISEX.
Now, we agree with you that it would be vastly preferable if we lived in a world where women weren't judged more on appearance than competence. We would totally fucking love it if a woman weren't 2.6 times more likely to be interrupted than a man, if women aspiring to any kind of authority didn't receive death- and rape threats as a matter of course, and if every time we appeared in public with no make-up on, people didn't flock around us asking if we're alright, as we look so tired. We would be thrilled if make-up weren't a prerequisite to women being taken seriously. Unfortunately, we have have grown up in a world where the foremost measure of a woman's worth is her appearance, and, thanks to this early socialisation, we are rather prone to slapping on some foundation and eyeliner before even attempting to interact with our fellow human beings.
The application of make-up requires solitude. It is a very private ritual, designed to provide an armour to mask one's inherent vulnerability in a man's world. A ritual that one certainly doesn't want some random person, cushioned by male privilege, to come and gawk at. This is why we are appalled every time we need to adjust our make-up and the toilets are unisex.
As we have stated before, we are all in favour of unisex toilets - as long as they don't leave women vulnerable to the male gaze, and the potential of male violence that it entails. We're aware that going to a public toilet is awkward for many trans people, and would cheer on a constructive solution to this problem. We simply fail to fathom why "inclusivity" appears to mean reducing women's safety. If having only men's and women's toilets means that some people feel unsafe, then for fuck's sake either introduce a third category, or make sure that any unisex toilets offer a safe space for women!
Here's what happened when we got to the toilets at Stockholm Central train station:
We paid our ten kronor to the friendly attendant.
We went into an uncomfortable and not overly clean cubicle. We have ranted on the vileness of cubicles many times before, and do not need to further expostulate on this subject.
We despaired at the sound of a creepy middle-aged man trying to chat up two teenage girls right outside our cubicle, and deplored a world that allows him access to them in this despicable hell-hole of a restroom.
We washed our hands in the none-too-clean trough-like sinks. (What is this modern obsession with sinks in the shape of troughs? Is this a conspiracy by hipsters wanting everything to look like 19th-century farm equipment?)
We despaired at the absence of mirrors, and muttered the filthiest
medieval curse we could think of, wishing warts and a wasting disease on
the person who decided it was a good idea to install vaguely reflective
black panels instead of mirrors.
We scowled at the pathetic "footage-of-a-fireplace-on-a-loop" installation, and wished, in a fit of petulance, that we had brought our shewee so we could piss disdainfully all over it.
We sent death rays of hatred in the direction of the person who decided to install air dryers instead of proper paper towels.
We washed our face, drying it with a tissue we had luckily brought with us, and wished that someone had had the forethought to predict that people would want to tend to their ablutions when getting off the sleeper train, and would require a more comfortable and hygienic option than sticking their face under the air dryer.
We scowled at the man unabashedly staring at us while we applied our make-up. We restrained ourselves from punching said man in the face.
We moved to a different sink.
The man followed us, and kept staring.
Dear Stockholm Central, would it be too hard to install a space where women can escape from the male gaze for just a few minutes, and actually feel safe? Would it not be possible to rip out the awful cubicles - that everyone hates anyway - and install proper toilets, with a proper sink and mirror in each one?
Jernhusen, meanwhile - the company that owns all of Sweden's train stations - claim in a mindbogglingly imbecilic press release that the toilets at Stockholm Central "have been designed with inspiration from several natural elements, such as fire and water [how about wind?] and with aspects which attract [sic] several of visitors' senses [which ones, exactly?].
Despite this rampant hyperbole from Jernhusen, we felt uncomfortable and downright unsafe while visiting their toilets at Stockholm Central. We urge our readers to continue to avoid going to Stockholm, or, if you must go there, to avoid using the toilets at the central station.
Thankfully, once we arrived a our destination for the weekend, Mora Hotell in Mora, our senses were soothed and our spirit revived by a truly excellent toilet!
Isn't this hygienic, copper-coloured toilet-roll holder just beautiful?
An excellent, excellent sink. It truly restored our equilibrium after the cattle-trough trauma at Stockholm Central!
Everything in this toilet is beautiful and works well - from the toilet to the ventilation!
A sturdy bin, at a comfortable distance from the truly, truly excellent toilet. And there's that copper-coloured toilet-roll holder again! Woof!
A festive copper-coloured lamp, lighting up some festive locally sourced art.
We give this toilet two very enthusiastic thumbs up! (We are confident that, if Leslie Knope had been with us, she would also have loved this toilet.)
We have, actually, a whole hoard of fantastic photos from Australian Friend, Audiologist Friend, and Meandering Friend, but right now we have an urgent appointment with a gin and tonic. Let's finish with a festive video, shall we? Except let us first wish Maureen Helen - a fine, upstanding Australian and one of our favourite bloggers ever - a happy birthday!
Today's Festive Video carries a message which we rather think we could all do with hearing, but perhaps especially the teachers among us: You may feel like you're orienteering in the dark, with your feet bound and a pack of wolves howling just across that field full of landmines and clowns, and like your lesson planning is haphazard to the point of endangering your students' actual mental health. But actually, you're DOING JUST FINE.
We like, at the Privy Counsel, to be seen as competent people. When you are a self-professed intellectual, you set your standards high. As we mentioned the other week, we did battle with a circuit breaker and came out of it covered in dust and spitting teeth. However, in most areas of life we like to think of ourselves as clued-up and capable. Our source criticism is rigid, our soap is the monkey-friendly kind, and we wouldn't dream of using a semi-colon where a colon is clearly indicated.
But sometimes you fail. Sometimes, you find yourself - to borrow a story from Caitlin Moran to furnish us with a metaphor - in a taxi, having accidentally poured neat clove oil into the eye of a celebrity, and trying to rinse it out with a can of lukewarm Lilt. It happens. Sometimes, no matter how competent you are generally, you will fuck up royally, and your cheeks will burn with shame. And that's ok. As we never tire of saying at the Privy Counsel, we are only human - and some of us barely that. It's totally fine to embarrass yourself and make people angry with your half-arsed blundering. As Our Favourite Aunt pointed out, you might even be doing them a favour - a brief cease-fire in your ordinary barrage of breathtaking skill and flair might be a nice break for everyone else, who has been feeling quietly inadequate in the light of your dazzling sufficiency.
We received a message from Tudor Friend, that purveyor of toilet news good and bad, accompanied by a link to this article about a brewery that has revolutionary toilets. The toilets mentioned embody, we think, the trope of the high ambition sadly trampled by an utter failure to achieve high standards. Tudor Friend said:
God, would you ever have thought, when you started your blog/fascination, that TOILETS would suddenly become an issue on everyone's lips?* (That... that sounds wrong, now that I read it again. But I'm leaving it because maybe you need a giggle.) Anyway, curious about your thoughts on this- it doesn't solve the horrible-hipster-at-the-sink problem, but it does seem to offer everyone a modicum of privacy in a fairly equitable fashion (I have never understood how guys can stand next to one another and wee!!).
It's not quite the Eden of actual separate fully-plumbed gender-neutral toilet rooms, and it would be a lot better if the stalls ran right up to the roof to create something closer to separate space, but I have to give them credit for trying to find a fix, as I fear individual complete bathrooms are never going to catch on financially. (I also rather like that it doesn't appear to have mirrors. I'm kind of okay with de-primpifying bathrooms and making us think less about how we look all the time, but that might just be me.)
The toilets in the Optimism Brewery, in Seattle
Image: thestranger.com.
Although we revere Tudor Friend's opinions to the the point of near-idolatry, in this matter, we don't agree. The story of the above brewery toilet has been bandied about on social media as the dernier cri in inclusive toilet-related equality of late. However, we have several reservations.
First of all, why bother with urinals at all? If one of the reasons for having a gender-integrated bathroom was that guys have more stalls than girls, why then make half the stalls in said gender-integrated bathroom unavailable to women? (Unless of course all the womenfolk are packing a shewee. We really hope they are.) We frankly don't see the point.
Secondly, the stalls, although seemingly made of sturdy, noise-insulating wood, don't, as Tudor Friend points out, go all the way to the ceiling. Can this horror cease now, please? Bathroom stalls need to ensure privacy, and that includes being noise-insulating.
Regarding the mirror issue, we see the sense of Tudor Friend's stance and would dearly love to be able to agree, but being fanatic wearers of eyeliner and obsessors of hair, we really, really, really want a mirror available in the bathroom.
In conclusion: No to non-noise-insulating stalls. No to bearded hipsters. Yes to safe spaces and mirrors. Full points to the owners of the Optimism Brewing Company for wanting to provide toilets that are safe for everyone, and friendly to trans people. We really, really appreciate it. But alas, we cannot bring ourselves to approve.
We move, now, into the realm of poetry. Readers, brace yourselves.
Quite a useful poem to remember odd snippets of when you are flailing wildly, making odd squeaking noises and spectacularly failing to impress people is Rudyard Kipling's "If". This poem was written by Kipling in 1910, and made popular by Helen Fielding in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, from 1999. Bridget Jones finds comfort in this poem when in a very sticky situation indeed, musing:
Poem is good. Very good, almost like self-help book. Maybe that is why Mark Darcy gave it to me! Maybe he sensed I might get into danger! Or maybe he was just trying to tell me something about my attitude. Bloody cheek. Not sure about sixty seconds' worth of distance run anyway, or if actually want to be man. Also is a bit hard to treat this disaster the same as triumphs as have not had any triumphs that can think of, but still. Will force heart and nerve and sinew to serve turn, etc. in manner of First World War or jungle soldier or whatever Rudyard Kipling was and just hold on.
(Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. London: Picador, 1999)
The poem itself, in all its "lip stiff and upper" glory, goes like this:
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings—not lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a man, my son!
As Caitlin Moran pointed out, this is a very useful poem - if you are a man. If you happen not to be a man (a calamity affecting roughly 50 % of the population), there is no poem specifically designed to make you feel better when you are panicking about a press release you wrote that contained factual errors. There is no poem to calm you down when you've spilled mayonnaise AND red wine on a yellow satin skirt. There is no poem containing guidance on how to change your tampon in the toilet of a moving train. However, Caitlin Moran has changed all that! Here, for your delight and edification, is Caitlin Moran's "The Woman's If".
Festive Video - Caitlin Moran, "If" I Were a Woman
Now, we recommend that you all chill the fuck down, stop worrying about that time when you accidentally poured boiling water on someone's foot, and spend the weekend watching Outlander and drinking whisky.
*We can't remember having any thoughts at all around the time we started this bog blog, but no, as far as we remember, we were the only people in the entire world, at the time, who cared about the quality of toilets. We certainly didn't expect transphobia to make toilets an international news item.
Since we have established that it is irrelevant which Festive Video we choose, here is a random one that we have put no thought into whatsoever. 
