Nice shoes…

Nice shoes…

Another door, but I visited no facilities today to which I will not return, so you’ve missed nothing. This brief remark is on the obscenely large gaps under cubicle doors in America. The gaps between the door and the frame are also extra-large, which is good news for all of our readers, who are perverts. I feel that comma is appropriate.
Our Berkeley accommodation last year, had, for some reason, a cubicle which you could see right into if you stood at the urinal beside it. I’ll try to locate a photo.
I should possibly have included something here for scale, but you’ll have to trust me – this is a really big gap. I always thought they were ridiculous, until that time last year when I could not unlock the cubicle I was in. Had brute force not eventually worked, I would have had to call for help or crawl…

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On Hooks

On Hooks

Not all my photos will be of doors – but these highlight an important issue which many people seemingly forget when kitting out their toilet cubicles. The first picture is a loo door in Dublin Airport, the second in Heathrow, and the third in San Francisco. The third picture is less satisfactory than what I was trying to photograph, so I will focus on the first two pictures. Can you spot the difference?
I’ll give you a minute.

Well done!
Yes, there are at least two bags on the hook in the right picture, while in the other, those same bags are presumably balanced on my head, because that hook isn’t going to hold anything with any degree of reliability, and especially in an airport, your bags must go absolutely everywhere with you and there’s piss on the floor.
Some loos provide no hook at all, and are unworthy of review.

Home Is Where The Fart Is

Home Is Where The Fart Is

This is it.
On the other side of that door lie seventeen days of latrinal uncertainty.
Here I am, in the comfort of my own bathroom, the lock on the door purely symbolic, preparing myself for a voyage and a lack of reliable bathroom breaks.
For your pleasure and disgust and erudition, I will once more turn my hand to chronicling some of the pit stops during my travels. It has been a while, but perhaps it is like learning to ride an elephant. I regret not keeping a better log of last year’s sojourn across the ocean; the bears, the breasts, the fire, the blockages, the great escape…
Perhaps, if I risk falling short of my 150-word quota, I will share these anecdotes with you.

For now, I sit here and ponder the same question every traveller must before embarking on a long journey – when did I last poop?

– Your Man on the Can