I will avoid the obvious lav-antics and I won't do a 'Places I Have Been' expose. Sufficed to say I have been fortunate over the years to experience the extremes. From sublime five star hotels (piped music, ambient lighting and hot and cold running room-service), to the level of Hell that is the festival port-a-loo (with that unmistakable three day old aroma where your eyes not only water, they bleed!) Instead I've thought of other things that have happened to me 'A la commode'...
There have been times of religious discussion, such as when I was drunken audience member accosted me in the loo following a show to explain just why the he felt we were Godless heathens ("No offence!"). Times of incarceration, as already alluded to in 'Arrest', when forces beyond mere man trapped me in the loo! And moments of meditation when we contemplate the big questions; "Why are we here?", "What is my moral commitment?" and "Why is always me that has to change the toilet roll?!?". I could even share with you my hypothetical theses on urinal etiquette entitled 'Real Men Don't Wash Their Hands'. Instead I thought I'd talk about role of the lavatory at parties.
They do say that all good parties end up in the kitchen - not true. All good parties are created in the kitchen as this is where the alcohol is to be found. It will inevitably pass thought the lav and often end in a drunken pile of bodies in the living room watching 'The Blues Brothers' for the hundredth time. But I've also found that a loo can make or break a party and that two loos are an advantage - just ask Lautrec (*Brumm-Ching!*). That way you have a spare should one become occupied; be it legitimately or with a person passed out hugging the toilet or by a gaggle of girls consoling a soul in torment...
"He doesn't love meeeeeee!"
"He's not worth it Shaz!"
"But he's all over herrrrrr!"
"Yeah, but she a tart and everyone knows it... quick hold her hair - she's off again!"
Having said that I'm as guilty of as the rest when it comes to other peoples parties. I once locked my self in a loo purely to clear a headache which was being aggravated not one but two people snoring in amongst the living room 'pile'. If it's not your party and unless you're very lucky a house-party will rarely end with a cosy bed to sleep in. When the final film has finished playing and sleep finally descends it's a case of find what piece of furniture is available or hit the floor.
However, at one party I did strike it lucky in more than one way. It was a particularly good party where, shall we say, I got very friendly with a lovely girl who is so happened was a good friend of the person holding the party. As the evening wore on, and we explored each others dental work, I was excited to hear that she had already secured a room for the evening and she was quite adamant that I should share it with her. As the party wound down, and the argument about which movie to watch started up, I was lead upstairs in a blissful daze.
I soon came round, however, when I saw I was being lead into the bathroom! I queried how practical it could be to bed down in the bog! But as she explained the space had mood lighting from the shaving mirror, running water to drink and, above all, a lock. I was sold! And proceeded to enjoy the rest of my evening broken only by the occasional thumps against the door to show not everyone was happy with the idea.
One should never kiss and tell so I will only say I enjoyed my night of lavatory leisure. The only downside, as I explained to friends later, was banging my head on toilet bowl once or twice! Not a major drawback but I did have to live with the nick-name of 'Armitage Shanks' for a while...
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