You know when you have one of those arguments with your old man, you know the ones which last several days and sees you straddling the edge of the marital bed in a bid to get as far away as possible from your betrothed. When, the same argument gets regurgitated round and round and you wonder how long this will endure before one of you will a) file for divorce or b) say sorry.
Alcohol can work in mysterious ways; effectively fueling the angst and danger of stubborn cupboard love. Or, just days later, oiling the wheels of coherent apologies and civilised behavior.
And in the sweet cold light of morning to maintain this new state of grace with your love make him some pancakes and coffee…freshly flipped, steaming with hot butter, maple syrup and remorse.
Have you ever been caught with your knickers (or pants) down. I mean – literally? I only mention it because next week it is World Toilet Day.
I divulge, one merry evening on my way home from a knees up in the city I jumped on the train to head home.
Happily gassing to any fool who would chat to me, I realised that I needed to pee, so I stumbled off in search of the loos.
Never the best bathrooms in terms of cleanliness: a train loo – and when it is hurtling along, trying to hover over said bowl, so your bum doesn’t touch the seat, and your slightly squiffy and unsteady to boot it, is – frankly, never the easiest job at the best of times.
This particular train – was a new one – with those enormous loos which have the rounded doors that open to reveal the entire chamber before spending thirty, slow seconds revolving shut again..can you see where this is going yet?
So I get in – the door slowly closes. “Splendid”, me thinks as I survey this new and cavernous type of train toilet. I proceed with the, ah, procedure and am happily hoovering, peeing and holding onto the walls as I wobble and wee along the tracks home.
Suddenly – ever so bloody, painfully slowly the door is revolving open again. “Shit, shit, shit” thinks smug, foolish moi, as I am glued in position mid-wee whilst the wretched door languidly opens to reveal to the entire carriage my white, wobbling buttocks!
I am stranded holding the walls – wobbling and weeing as the button to shut the automated door is two metres away across this vast space on the other side of the loo. “Buggery, bugger”, I smile to all yet am frustratingly stuck in position, as the doors, once again, nonchalantly spend…the…next…twenty…seconds…closing…again.
I am utterly humiliated and the people I was happily chinwaggling with just five minutes earlier can barely look me in the eye as I, sheepishly, leave the toilet and rapidly disappear to a new carriage, where as yet, no-one on it has had the joy of seeing my bum wobbling, whilst hovering in train space!
I only mention this shameful story in a bid to promote the terrible and distressing fact that 40% of the worlds population do not have access to a toilet andevery fourty seconds a child dies from water-related diseases…and in writing this ticklish tale, as part of World Toilet Day, Splash Direct have promised to donate £2 to Water Aid for every blog written about, erm embarrassing and disgusting toilet stories!
If you would like to get involved head to Splash Direct or Water Aid and lets help to make sanitation an important and fundamental part of everyone’s life.
Do you ever feel like your missing out on all the fun?
When you slavishly tune into Facebook or Twitter and see all those people, your so called: friends, having fun, hooking up, going to parties and looking, amazing, natch – does it make you feel like a miserable, friendless, lonely old goat?
I feel that too sometimes and will avoid Facebook and regularly deactivate my account…only to slink back in the dead of night to remind myself what the rest of the world are doing whilst I am in bed reading a book.
Then I discovered FOMO! It was a eureka moment for me – because I thought I was alone in feeling like I was missing out: having three binlids without doubt hampers your social life.
FOMO is the Fear Of Missing Out and the Oxford Dictionary has officially entered this acronym into it’s dictionary.
Isn’t it great: a wonderful, new 21st century anxiety we have created for ourselves – a new paranoia we can hand down to our children, and their children…
Only I would like to avoid this kind of paranoia being passed on and wonder if excluding FB from their lives is a good place to start – am I fooling myself that I can protect them?
Also, and this is a goody: TL;DR…I am worrying, because TL;DR might be happening right about…now.
The Oxford Online Dictionary entered TL;DR which means: Too Long: Didn’t Read!!
Bloody marvellous another superlative facet of our, so called, slick modern existence!
PREVOUS GUESTS HAVE INCLUDED: Professor MIKE TOOBY on Naoshima Island, 'Art Island', Japan. Hauser&Wirth-Bruton, Head of Education, DEBBIE HILLYERD. Artist, PAUL DESBOROUGH. Artist, MICHAEL PENNIE/Artist and Curator, FIONA CASSIDY. Director/Chair of Wells Art Contemporary, LIZ HEAD. Artist, PAUL VIVIAN, winner of 2015 WAC. Artist, CAROLE WALLER. Musician, JUSTIN ADAMS. Director/Curator, JOHN BENINGTON on Grayson Perry. Film maker, GEOFF DUNLOP. Curator/Artistic Director, TOM TREVOR. Artist/Architects: SOPHIE WARREN & JONATHAN MOSLEY. Artist, CHRISTOPHER BUCKLOW. Musician/Drummer, CLIVE DEAMER (Portishead, Robert Plant, Radiohead and Get The Blessing etc). Professor Mike Tooby on artist Albert Irvin. Artist, DEXTER DALWOOD & Philosopher, BARRY C. SMITH. Artistic Director Artes Mundi, KAREN MacKINNON. Artist, PETER RANDALL-PAGE. Artist, RICHARD TWOSE. Gallerist, DANIELLE ARNAUD. Research artist/Curator, Salisbury Arts Centre, Dr. MICHELLE WHITING. Cultural Forum, DAVID METCALFE. Director 44AD Gallery, KATIE O'BRIEN. Director Fringe Arts Bath, ARRAN HODGSON. University of Bath, ICIA, LYNDSEY HUGHES. Bath Spa University, Head of School of Art, ANITA TAYLOR. Artist/fabricator, STEVE HAINES. Director Holburne Museum, XA STURGIS. Artist, PAUL McGOWAN. Muscician, JIM DICKINSON on Paul Klee. Curator TATE Britain, Chris STEPHENS. Artist, KEITH HARRISON. Artist, ROBERT SCOTT on William Scott.