Last weekend a friend’s band (the excellent Soul Purpose) were playing at the Gaiety and invited me to come along. I hadn’t been before and didn’t realise that after midnight this lovely theatre turns into Club Twaterama. The band were excellent and the place is nice but it is mostly filled with poserish men and loud women wearing shoes (or carrying shoes) that not only make the wearer walk like a hunchback with rickets but are also dangerous to anyone wearing a soft-toed sensible shoe anywhere in the vicinity. Purpley red stiletto bruises on my dainty size 5’s are not a souvenir I want to take home from any night out, or indeed any rush-hour train ride with ambitiously dressed business women.

I didn’t bother even taking photos as the toilet was packed with squawking ladies who -er- may have had a bit to drink and were having difficulty controlling their damned un-ladylike selves – and their damned dangerous shoes for that matter. The toilets were fine, and I’d like to go see some ballet in the Gaiety and review them properly at a calmer time, as the late night clientele had left them in quite a state.

Also, in vengeance for the fact that my boyfriend bought what he claims was one of the worst pints of Guinness he has ever had that night, for fecking outrageous 6euro50!! I admit that I stole an industrial size roll of toilet paper from that resistible restroom.. tee hee! at least if he gets the runs after that awful pint of Guinness, the Gaiety will pay for the clean-up!

I am the victor!

I am the victor!

Hello again, welcome to the Ochreworks lavatorial facilities:

Oh wow! its like being inside Mr. Blobby! The Ocreworks is a relatively new and very pleasant bar/restaurant/mini venue in Dalston. The decor is highly imaginative and unusual throughout the place (great duck themed artwork in the bar) and the bogs are no exception.

The pink theme is continued into the cublicles, which are plainer, but smart and stylish, and although you can’t really see it in the photo there is a towel dispenser! hooray! no stupid noisy hand dryers!

And check it out, this is the one differentiation between the ladies and gents:

Ah! a lovely pink kiss on the door! Apologies for photo quality, I’d filled my bladder with a few (very reasonably priced) Peronis in preparation for this visit, and didn’t realise my camera was on some kind of manual-blur-anti-focus setting which I hadn’t realised existed.

So, generally a great blog in a lovely bar (manned by very lovely barstaff too by the way!) and an extra point for having a peg on the back of the door. Always a plus I find for keeping your bag/coat/handbag dog from getting grubby. Or if you liked you could completely remove your trousers and pants, hang them up out of harms way and pee nude from the waist down.. whatever floats one’s boat..

Thank you!

I’m very sorry. I’ve been a rubbish blogger for the past couple of weeks, as I was on me ‘olidays. Fortunately it was somewhat of a working holiday and so I now have a bunch of juicy Greek bogs to review.

This excellent toilet is in an even more excellent restaurant in a place called Psara, which literally translates as ‘fish’ (I’ve been learning Greek). Psara is in the south east of Kerkyra which unfortunately attracts far more of the idiot type holidaymakers than the classier north part of the island. I’ve witnessed English tourists come in to the Taverna and ask if sunday roasts were available. NO! YOU ARE IN GREECE! WAIT ‘TIL YOU GET HOME FOR FECK’S SAKE!

Greek cuisine is among the best in the world, and however much I love a good British sunday roast, we really cannot compete with Mousaka, Kleftiko, Pastitsada, Stifado (I’m drooling now). Why would you fly all the way to Corfu to eat something you’d get in any shit pub back home? I found the answer from Robert, one half of the awesome couple who run this place and also the man behind the super toilets, which I will get to eventually by the way. A British tourist came to him this summer and asked which part of Greece they were in. He told them they were in the north-west. They asked what the place was called! He told them they were in a village called Messonghi on the Island of Corfu. They exclaimed: ‘we’re on an island!?’.

I hope you readers find this as sad and shocking as I do, and it’s given me an idea. I propose that when a person books a holiday on the internet for example, an essential part of the booking process should be that they must locate their proposed destination on a blank map of the world. I wouldn’t be too harsh, there would be borders and a compass etc, just no country names. I’d give them some leniency, but if they got the continent wrong, for example, they would have to start the booking again. And go and find a bloody atlas.

I think the tourism council, or whoever it is who makes rules about this sort of stuff should really put my idea into place. It would encourage people to educate themselves a little in geography and it would weed out the idiots who think that China and Japan are the same thing, that all the popular European holiday destinations are lumped together somewhere south of Heathrow, and don’t really care anyway as long as they can get a bacardi breezer, a sunday roast and spectacular sunburn.

Whew.. so back to the point here.. At Taverna Dionysos one can only get real Greek food, and it’s some of the best on the Island. The restaurant is simply and tastefully decorated (including the toilets), and the staff are some of my favourite folk ever.

The toilets here are reassuringly solid. The big stone tiles, the warm green walls and rustic accesories make it a very comfortable place to drop off your moosekaka. All the fittings are lovely and tasteful, the ‘Ladies’ sign on the door is just brilliant and thankfully there is a mosquito screen over the window. I like small insects generally (hate it when they get big and boisterous…flying cockroaches can fuck right off), but mosquitoes all need to die asap. They are pure evil, they not only suck out your blood, they spit into you! This is unacceptable behaviour, even for an insect.

ooh, rusticy!

ooh, rusticy!

This is a great bog, but more importantly a great restaurant, as the most satisfying toilet business is the result of excellent food and drinkable Retzina (Retzina is most often undrinkable, so this is a compliment). Congratulations Emi and Robert. I’m missing you already. Almost as much as I miss your feta bread.

I miss Emi's feta bread.

The Ladies loos on the ground floor of the London Science Museum are disappointingly un-sciency. I was hoping for some kind of NASA approved space-age bum-improving self-cleaning wonder-bog, but alas. They are more like the bogs you might have had in your school science dept. at best.

The highlight is, again, the Dyson hand-dryer, which doesn’t seem quite as impressive in these surroundings. I have also come across this contraption so frequently at this point, that I am beginning to see him as rather the slut of the toilet world. Bring back the humble towel dispenser!

The colour scheme is pleasant and inoffensive and I do somewhat like the schooly vibe, especially the retro wooden doors with a ‘no smoking’ sign on every single one! I half expected a man with a lab coat and a neck beard to appear, confiscate our cigarettes and hand out detentions to those of us not in school uniform.

Seriously. DO NOT smoke in here. Or no more science for you!

Seriously. DO NOT smoke in here. Or no more science for you!

Maybe I am some sort of disgusting risk-loving germ hoarder, but I actually sit down on toilet seats. Is this odd? I’m certain it’s not dangerous.. maybe it’s a cultural divide.. or maybe Tyra Banks is just mental.

Just sit down Tyra, I’m sure you do enough squatting in the gym.

Another lavatory I could happily live in. The Gresham provides effortlessly stylish sanctuary and comfort for even the fussiest of buttocks (Tyra Banks might even break her hovering rule for this place).

The cubicles are solid and well made in frosted glass and wood, and the wealth of spotless mirrors makes the place seem huge and sparkley. They have the balance of classic design and modern innovation down with unusual bowl shaped sinks, tasteful big plain tiles and stunning lighting.

Unlike in some fancy hotels, these toilets are luxurious in a modest way. There are no toilet attendants to listen in on your bottom burps and then awkwardly ply you with warm towels, foul-smelling hand creams and niceties.

And you don’t feel too guilty for being a tress-passing non-resident who probably couldn’t even afford a fizzy pop from the mini-bar

ooh! nice comfy chair!

ooh! comfy chair! don't mind if I do.

I often wonder if anyone really looks at the exhibitions in the V&A, because the restaurant, the gift shop and the toilets are AMAZING. That was a little shallow of me, they do have some great stuff in there, especially the old musical instruments. But honestly I could happily eat all my meals in the restaurant, equip myself for anything in the shop, live in the toilets, and never ever have to leave the V&A.
The toilets are vast, and a delightful shade of buttercup yellow (these are the basement ones, I’m pretty sure there are some others, but they were closing. I’ll be back though). They have the aforementioned bloody brilliant Dyson hand-dryers, and enough mirrors to satisfy even Mr. Vain himself.



There is a really cool kind of sink-bar along the middle of the room with mirrors starting at neck height, so that you can romantically share a sink with someone, yet never see their face.

The toilets are clean and well kept, despite the enormous number of cubicles, they smell nice and are just very satisfying.

Thank you dead royals!

I’m a bit dissapointed that they have recently changed the toilet seats in Solas. I think it’s for the best but I only wish I had photographed them earlier.. I’ll explain: The toilet seats in Solas used to clash in the most dramatic of ways with every other aspect of the decor. As you can see from the photos, the ladie’s room has a kind of warm reddy purpley romantic rosy creamy kind of thing going on. The toilet seats were blue, yellow, flowery and grossly twee. It was a brilliant example of toilet decor confusion and I shall mourn deeply those bog seats, wherever they may now be.. most likely in a tramp’s box of treasures.

So, minus fantastically clashing toilet apparel, what do the bogs at Solas have to offer? Well, the sinks are really cool, rustic and interesting, reminiscant of a caveman’s porridge bowls, and the mirror is nice and big. There is a sanitary protection/rubber machine: bloody expensive but occasionally life saving. The doors with the big printed roses on the are classy and cool and the lighting is ace, check it out:

Solas also holds host to one of the deadliest modern toilet phenomena of our time: the Dyson hand-dryer!!!! Behold:

I’ve come across these babies a few times now, and I am deeply impressed. You see, I’ve never been a hand-dryer fan. If no other drying equipment is available, I’d much sooner use my clothes or even hair. I hate the noisiness, ugliness and sheer crapness of hand-dryers. They take ages, and mostly just seem to vibrate the water on your hands rather than rid you of it. I also don’t really like disposable handtowels, because they are really wasteful, and many people seem to have no sense of proportion when given disposable things for free. What I really like is those proper old school (they even had them at my school) pull down looping towel things. The ones that are properly bolted to the wall – so no freebies – and are made of actual real absorbant towel material. That was a bad description. I hope you know the ones I mean.. Anyway, failing those practical yet elusive beauties, the dyson thing is brillant! you put your hands in wet and (slowly) lift them out dry! and you can watch the strong air make the skin on your hands tremble with delight.

So, well done Solas. Your toilets are lovely. (and your fries are really good too)

Although I will mainly review public toilets, there are one or two private water closets I have come across which I think are totally special and in need of recognition. Look at this one! the gold candle thingies! gorgeous! and note the collection of lavatory literature behind the toilet. 10 points! I am very much into having something to read while i’m doing my business. Especially books of fun facts like the Schott’s Miscellany books and those great mini books you get in your stocking at Christmas… or at least I always get them. (yes i’m in my 20s and still get a stocking, my mum is ace) I have a full dwarf’s library in my WC.

This toilet is in the house of some lovely friends of mine, who shall remain nameless.. and I bloody love it! It is tasteful, classic and unique, and the colour scheme is simple but striking. Easily done in a world of magnolia but still much appreciated. The real attraction is the main bathroom, which is thoughtfully separate from the actually toilet. Really handy for weak bladdered people who share houses with people who like to take long baths. Here is the main bathroom:

Nice huh! I love the indigo blue cupboards and the lovely Victorian tub, and the fireplace! A fireplace in a bathroom! To me this is the epitome of luxury.

And a seperate spacious shower. Great! I also really like the sink tiles, like crazy paving on your wall. They also have one of those magnifying mirrors that allows you to see your own facial pores in detail.. Fascinating and gross all at the same time.

So congratulations anonymous, yet valued friends. I love your loo.

Rather dissapointing i’m afraid. The Central Hotel toilets are totally bland and uninspiring. Not even a thrush poster for excitement. They don’t seem very well maintained, the decor is a bit rubbish, in a kind of ‘we tried to be classy and then ran out of money’ kind of way. As you can see in the photo above, the toilet seat has that dangerous slightly wonky quality, where there is a risk of it sliding out of place from under your buttocks and leaving you unbalanced midstream! Risk!

Despite the soulessness, it does have good chunky walls and doors (therefore good for a dump) and my cubicle had two toilet roll dispensers, hooray!

p.s. If this reaches anyone from the Central Hotel, i’ll let your yawn inspiring lavatories slide if you just please PLEASE turn off the awful radio playing in the library bar. Or at least switch it to Lyric fm or something inoffensive and inkeeping with the nice vibe of the room. I can’t stand having to listen to badly amplified pop shite when i’m trying to enjoy my tea and scones of an afternoon. And I really like having tea at the Central Hotel… i’m so uncool.