Thursday, 30 January 2014

Hey piddly wee, squatting's not for me

This is our bathroom toilet.  Isn't she a beauty?  Well, not really.  

Three reasons. First, it's part of a "retro" suite which would not be out of place in an episode of George & Mildred. Second, it's a toilet. And third, it's currently topped off with a broken seat. 

How the seat ended up in its present state is open to speculation. Suffice to say that it wasn't me, meaning it was almost certainly Vanessa. But we can't be sure.

So, what to do? The obvious solution would be to fix it. And we would, but for the fact that it's what's technically referred to in the toilet trade as "f***ed." A sad end to a shitty existence, you might say.

The next best alternative would be to buy a replacement seat. However, we're hoping to get a new bathroom put in very soon - if Mark the Plumber would ever bloody well phone me back - so, leaving aside whatever else may be in there, we might as well flush our cash away. 

In the interim, the only option is therefore to "tread" carefully (if you know what I'm saying). 

It's OK for the ladies of the house, of course - or the "natural squatters" as Jamie and I like to refer to them. But for us men, well, it's much less convenient.

I've worked out that if you keep the seat down (after, crucially, remembering to lift the lid), the seat stays in place. But elevating our shattered friend to perform a stand-upper is certainly out of the question. 

And, worryingly, this delicate situation is not without its dangers.

Many years ago back in Coleraine, I remember our pet lady cat Tinker teaching our baby boy dog Roscoe how to wee like a girlie - and he never got out of the habit.

I do hope my son and I are not now at risk of falling into the same trap.