wendy house

There’s an organisation, campaign, called “Bog Standard” that’s promoting better toilets for school pupils. It provides ‘School Toilet” awards. Now there’s a thing! Imagine the bog inspectors coming around to your home…

Accorrding to the UK phrase dictionary ‘Bog standard’ means  “Basic unrefined“.  It’s use was first recorded in the 1960′s by computing and engineering people. There are lots of different and entertaining theories about its origins but no-one seems to know for sure. I learned the phrase as a kiddie and made my own assumptions about it’s origin:

Bogs (toilets) are all very similar – white, s-bend, height, cysterms, raisable seat, raisable lid.  Bogs are boringly similar.  Why not have different colours, different shaped bowls, different cysterns.  So, to me bog standard meant dull, common, functional and uninspiring as a bog

Someone said ennui in a real conversation

• as-if it might be a real word
• as-if I might know what it means!

what a tease!

It sounded like “ahn-wee, setting-off my sensitively calibrated toilet-word-radar alarm. Wee?!

Giggling ensued, then I checked the spelling and looked up the meaning

This was not a tease. This was a real word and the utterer had used it in a sentence that made total sense

A celebratory tea party is in order

Bring on the cakes!

PS 82 word post before the PS

In the 1940s mumsie’s family moved into a 3 bedroomed rented red-brick terrace house

Three of the children shared one room, one bed. They slept sideways across the double-bed.  The only married son, a Naval rating, lived with his wife in the 3rd bedroom. The first time my aunt had lived somewhere other than an orphanage, sleeping in a dormatory

The 1890′s house had a luxury modern convenience, a flushing toilet in a brick outbuilding. One of mum’s jobs was to tear the Sunday newspaper into squares, thread the squares onto  string and hang them in the outhouse. Newsprint rubbed off on her hands. The damp air in the outhouse made the paper soggy

Even in this household of 7, there was never a queue to use the one toilet. Every bedroom contained porcelain chamber pots. Mumsie calls a chamber pot a ‘po’. You could do your business in the bedroom, leave the po under the bed then carry it to the toilet to be emptied. Mum and Dad agreed that it was important that no-one saw you carrying the Po to be emptied

Even though toilets were designed to be sat on and peed into, it sounds as if,  that’s not how they were first commonly used. I remember in the 1980′s that my grandparents kept chamber pots, a commode in their bedroom

We’ve already established that I have a healthy interest in the design, reference to, and use of Toilets.

So you can imagine my excitement when  Ms. Scarlet recently introduced a series of blog posts called the “Friday Flush. Scarlet will be the ‘mystery shopper’ in loos all over the South West and beyond. Excellent! As part of this  investigative journalism Scarlet has invited commenters to suggest assessment criteria for the loos being investigated.  I was having so much fun with thinking of criteria I think I’ve probably gone a little over the top, what do you think?

Aroma intensity (none <-> faint-inducing)
Aroma type (pleasant <-> acrid)
Discoverability (hidden with no signs – entrance embarressingly visible)
Drafts (Gale force 9 <-> still)
Drying technology (bring your own  <-> fresh fluffy towels provided)
Functionality (incomplete <-> swish)
Mould factor (none <-> suspicious stuff growing all over the show)
Price (free <-> entry turn style requires exact cash)
Privacy (airtight and sound-proofed  <-> ankles and feet exposed and splashes clearly audible)
Resources (bring your own <->plush)
Space ( breath in <-> synchronised wheel-chair choreography is a realistic possibility)
Sociability (one at a time please <-> sofa’s and social games provided)
Sparkle (matt <-> bum-fluff refelction)
Splash factor (dry <-> soaked)
Style (dead rat <-> yummy)
Temperature (Ice on the water <-> Oven)
Washing (taps/fawcetts  dont work <-> they even have a b-day!)
Wit (no smiles <-> laughed my pants-off)

The toilets in the Fine Art department of Reading University are proudly green and probably original features of the one-storey utilitarian style brick building (circa 1930). The subtle differences in styling such as the 3 vertical panels on the womens’ door imply it may be newer (circa 1950) than the more utilitarian design of the mens’.

The addition of a paper sign to the womens’ door is a modern addition, an attempt to change behaviour using strong language “Important, Under no circumstances should…” clear identification  of the people who should attend to this notice “...fine arts students…” and their unacceptable behaviour “…clean their brushes in these toilets”

EWE!  I always use the sink to clean my brushes – easier and less whiffy.

Riding the 6.45pm First Great Western fast commuter train, peak time, from London Paddington to some exotic location in the west. Standing room only, though some people are sat on the floor in the isles. I choose a place where fresh air can shift the almost rank stench of warm and stale sweat.

I lean against the toilet door.

Surrounded by besuited men with unimaginative ties and gently bulging stomachs. They all wear identically styled black leather shoes that are only differentiated by the size and degree of wear. I run my gaze up their bodies, risking eye-contact. No, not risking eye-contact because they are all immersed in their phones, silently thumbing their importance to others.

No fear of eye-contact, even though I’m the only woman present and dressed in bright-blue with flat shoes conforming to neither girliness, motherliness, nor business attire. I am invisible.

The new factory workers are crammed onto this train like chickens in a battery coup. I thank an undefined diety or two that I am not, and may never be, a conformist – no matter how painful noncomformity can be.

The Wendy House toilet has a high wall-mounted cistern. Fabulous water pressure flushes the toilet with a gravity induced whoooooosh.

But the cistern has always filled slowly with a noisy trickle of water. The whole arrangement is reminiscent of Victorian school washrooms. While waiting 15 minutes for the cistern to fill is not a problem when I am alone, for guests  it introduces a timing problem at peak use times.

With an imminent Wendy House party, home improvements are on the menu. Replacing the limescale clogged cistern valve. Yay. No problem. Or so I thought. A quick trip to the DIY shop where the sales assistant didn’t even know what a valve that controls the waterflow into the tank above the toilet was. Sigh. I picked the valve that looked most like the one already installed and toddled off home. So far so good. I switched off the water supply to the house then climbed on a tall bar stool to reach the cistern, remove the lid and start trying to unscrew the current valve.

Things started going wrong. A bit of the old valve broke off in my hand. A close inspection of the instructions for the new valve revealed that despite diagrams I could now work out what this meant

fit ballvalve using backnut(s) provided and ensure that the spigot(s) are used to centralise the tail of the hose

The backnut, spigots, tail nor hose were labelled in any of the 4 diagrams. Quickly I resoted to visual matching, make the new one look like the old one currently looks (without the limescale or broken bit). Then I realised that I would probably have to take part of the wall away to access the pipes.

The doorbell rang

Hello I’m Rob White and I’m canvassing for the Green party in May’s election. Can I ask you if you know whether you are going to vote in the election

yes

I can ask you, you know if you’re going to vote, or you are going to vote?

errr… ..um, I am going to vote

Are you going to vote for the Green party?

Valve in hand, I look at the two young perky faced boys on my doorstep

Have either of you ever changed a cistern valve?

Oh no, that’s very complicated, I’d call a plumber, you’re a brave person

They start backing away slowly as if I’m holding a loaded weapon. I’ve replaced cistern valves before. Normally its a couple of minutes, an easy job. Their lack of willingness and skill is a tad disappointing. I reassure them about my vote and non-violent intentions then call Kevin.

Wonderful Kevin sorts out my cistern with Canadian calm

Cistern refill time has sucessfully been upgraded from a 15 minute trickle to a 30 second flow. Result! Almost grounds for a proposal.

Why I love England #16:  red telephone boxes

Just around the corner from the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden is this fabulous row of antique communication devices. Many people 20 and under will never ever have used these. Why would they need to? They carry their own phones with them. In the 80′s a row of phone boxes like this in a city centre would have a person in each box talking and maybe one or two people outside, checking the change in their purses, waiting for their turn to make a private call.

According to this history, in the 1980′s most homes didn’t have landline phones.

In 1987, the post office, who deployed and maintained them, systematically replaced these red boxes with a more modern design with more glass and open to the air that reduced the likelihood of the box being used as a urinal, or the subsequent pungent smell. Pew! I remember the smell!  Some villages protested against the replacement and managed to hold-on to this much loved older design. But sadly, most red boxes were removed.

I guess they are still useful to a few people for actually hosting a landline call, they are also useful for keeping warm, dry and quiet for making a mobile phone call. It’s wonderful that the local council, as many councils in tourist areas, have decided to leave them here and maintain them in such good condition. For the tourists, and people like me who can be heard bubbling

AWWWE How CUTE!

In these cloak rooms

My secondary school used to have a cloak room, rows of hooks for coats, jackets and gym bags. No cloaks. But if we wore cloaks we would have been able to hang them there. Unlike the cloak room signed here. In these cloakrooms  there is a sink, toilet, towell and one of those plastic-bag lined bins.

A TOILET! I’m gradualy getting acclimated to the UK where toilet is not a naughty word. Love it!

In 1978 I was witnessing the dramatic emotional rollercoasters and soap operas stories of my friends while they discovered ‘going out’ with each other. Fascinating. Tearful toilet consultations, betrayals in the school playground, ambushing at the school gates, but worst of all for me – underwear became important. One girlfriend took me aside to provide worldly advice on behalf of my concerned girlfriends. The advice was:

Wendy, you really should wear a bra, they look a disaster

At home I asked mum ˜can I have a bra?, ˜yes dear, if you want. Gosh that was easy. We went to the local M&S   where they measured the relevant pasts of my body and I tried on several   ˜training” bras. Training because evidently I needed to practice bra wearing skills. Even the smallest training bra was less that half empty on me. It seemed silly, mum and I persisted in this pubescently significant purchase, neither of us overtly questioning the need. I wore the elasticated mini-monstrosity to school. At school the straps were twanged by all sundry as we moved between classes. I didn’t wear it again. Disaster was a less painful experience than strap-twang-burns Ever since then I have regularly failed carefully provided training-to-be-female exercises.

Jilted John sang Jilted John the side was going steady (with Susan)

Just how do you diagnose something as a foreign object without the aide of well-labeled packaging?

words used include:

• bin
• toilet (3 times)
• Please (3 times)
• Thank You
• ‘foreign objects’
• ‘Sanitary towels’

Arranged in what look like sentences including full-stops do help to make this sign wonderfully British.

I attempted to comply but it is possible that a foreign foodstuff did make a sort-of appearance. I’m hoping no-one checks¦

Let’s get this absolutely clear; steam generated by a bath in one room can set-off a fire-alarm in another room.

After a prolonged bout of worky-worky-worky

Wendy: would people like a restroom break?

Person-1: Did you ACTUALY say RESTROOM break? (Face expresses what looks like incredulity)

Wendy: errr.um.yes, I lived in the US for 8 years and it still hasn’t quite worn of

Person-2: you’ve lost a lot of your American accent

I am still labouring under the potential misapprehension that I have never had an American accent. It’s clear that I picked up a lot of US words.   I like them,  their meaning appears understood locally  if experienced as out of place with my reputedly cute accent.

Unfortunately, even on the rare occasions that I say You rock, that was super-awesome   (UK meaning: ‘thank you that was jolly good’) I exude an air of trouble-with-sincerity to the locals that can induce both  grimacing or giggling depending on the disposition of the listeners

wandering through an empty mall, alone,    wearing fitted  jeans and t-shirt, I stopped at the information centre for some vital information:

Wendy:   Excuse me,   can you tell me where the restrooms are?   (Soprano voice)

I still haven’t sufficiently re-adjusted to England to actually  say the word ‘toilet’ out loud in a public place without sniggering.

Mall Information lady (MIL):   Toilets?

Wendy:   Yes (smiles, manages not to giggle)

MIL:   Womens? (no hint of a smile,   a stern facial expression)

Wendy:                                       …..Yes?…     (stops smiling and listens to the directions from the seemingly grumpy looking MIL)

The Ladies toilets were next to the mens toilets.    The directions to find either of them were the same.   Why do you think the MIL wanted  to establish with me  whether I was asking for womens or mens toilets?  

My outline form in said Jeans and a t-shirt (flickr photoshare)

Garden designer guest:   it’s not many people that can look straight into their garden when sitting on their toilet

I will have to put something in the line of view to make it a tad more pleasurable than just patio and fence.   As I’m sure you can imagine,   I’ve been  contemplating the garden rather a lot  recently…

According to the principles of Feng Shui,   I should change the layout of the bathroom,  keep this door closed,  change the colour scheme from blue and white to red and red then add  a few candles or my career will flow into the sewers.   Alas,   I’m way too busy building my career and going on holiday  to bother with arranging and paying for  builders to rebuild  my bathroom in a Feng Shui approvable layout and colour scheme.   Pleasing plants in line of view will have to suffice.

Not ‘are you apprehended by the police for the ghastly crime of insufficient height’ but another clever  euphemism for wanting to go to the toilet.   The city of Westminster has signs to help you out with clever stick-people designs to illustrate the problem for those people who don’t understand the idiom ‘caught short’.     My favourite part of the sign is the invitation to text toilet,   for a toilet.    Hoorah,   no euphemisims there just send a text saying what you need,   effectively the bottom-line…

Here in the NW US the doorways are big,   just BIG.

It’s as if builders are planning for obescity on a large scale.   The door to the (toilet) restroom in my temporary accommodation is about twice the width of any doors in the new old  wendy house.   I have to stand in awe for a moment before I pass through them….

Unsuitable for sensitive people

I hurridly put my keys (car, both  house, mailbox) in my back pocket when I came in.   I don’t normally keep them there,   too uncomfortable to sit on I was in a hurry to use the  0.5 bathroom.    After relief I flushed, pulled-up my trousers, and heard

shhhhplink

I turned to catch a brief horrorful glimpse of  my keys sitting in the bowl before they dashed around this bend swiftly followed by my hand.   Never to be seen again.   Panic followed by thankfulness for my  spare sets.   Must get another spare set quickly because this is the sort of accident that gravitates towards me at times when I need more composure than normal.

The  symbolism of losing my house and car keys this way could be a tad disconcerting if I was supersticious,   which I’m not.  

If you asked an English publican,   in England,    what their ‘rotating tap’ was they would likely look at you quizzically as they explain that it is the thing in the toilets that you turn to get water  for hand-washing after having completed the necessaries.  In the UK tap is a common referent for  a fawcett.    

A  disconcerting reply to an unsuspecting US person who tries to avoid using vulgar terms like  TOILET when the words Bathroom or restroom are more acceptable referents for a room with a toilet in it.   Draft beers are described as being ‘on tap’ so after the initial surpirse the move to understanding your actual meaning will not be hard.  

By contrast,   if you go into a NW US bar and ask what are their guest beers they give you a quizzical look and after some basic clarification they will tell you that what you actually mean is what is their rotating tap.   Doh!

it’s just not clear if this sign is labelling products for or products by ‘feminine’s as trash.   Maybe it’s a deliberate ambiguity and the reference covers both!   Hooray!   My only remaining confusion is why such a powerful,   useful,   sign is hidden in  a toilet rest room cubicle

replace the US euphemism restrooms with  a word the English  bastardized from the lyrical  toilette.   Knowledge of this word and its proper use in England is essential if you are caught short after a couple of excellent sized real Ales,   as indeed I may well have been when I took this photograph:

thirty-first post in a standard setting Wednesday series of “why wendy’s single”.

Reason # 31: entrance fee

The entrance fee for the wendy house boudoir toilette facilities includes  at least one elegant pull-up.  

tall people are required to duck when passing into this room or to wear their bruised forehead with pride and aplomb.

The UK Government has a department called the ‘Privy Council” that looks after professional  institutions that are incorporated by Royal Charter (e.g. Univerisities,   the BBC, Opera houses, Cities) and acts as a court of appeal for overseas territories.   Royal charter  makes these organisations  ‘incorporated’ which appears to mean that they have the rights of an individual.    Privy is a UK slang term for ‘outhouse’ or TOILET.  

Read no further if you have a sensitive disposition.

Wearing my white Levi trousers to meet  cutomers when it’s ‘that’ time of the month?   A recklessly dodgy decision because of the ever-present leakage opportunities.

RED

Laundress

In  the bathroom,   I pulled off my trousers placed the offending red marks under the hotwater tap.   Result?    A small fresh red mark becomes a large pink swirly pattern.   Other ladies in the bathroom inspecting my tattoos, scrawny legs, and  making ‘every girl’s worst nightmare’ comments  while I stand humiliated and trouserless at the sink. After 30 mins grappling with tap and trousers I had a pair of trousers with a large wet patch around the groin and down the inside legs.    No noticable pink.   I spent the next 15 minutes using the paper hand-towels (no warm air dryer available) to soak-up excess water thereby reducing the impression that I had a different,   more yellow,  leakage problem.

Actress

Meeting the customer.   Hoping the damp patches on my trousers were sufficiently subtle to be unnoticable below my glittering yellow wonkey-tooth smile,   big nose, and conversational charm.   Acting as if  my trousers were not extremely prickly uncomfortable.

I think I pulled it off!

“I just need to take a bio break“

Will the USA euphemisms for ‘go to the TOILET‘ never cease?   I have to admire their perpetual creativity.   Maybe it’s the new frontier,   lavatory linguistics?   Now they can no longer literally ‘go west’ they ‘go to the rest rooms’ and invent brave new words for the experience to baffle the foriegners.   Splendid,   I’ll play,   after a quick ‘de-hydration squirt’

US people ‘rest in a room’.    It sounds meditative,  contemplative,  possibly even spiritual.    

When tour de france cyclists take a forced break they “commune with nature“.   This sounds even more spiritual than ‘resting’.

I tend to use the loo to have a pee or take a dump.   It is probably a strikingly similar experience without the spiritually inspiring label.     Maybe  I need to put some religous symbols in my loo rest rooms to help local visitors  feel rested.

Our Barcelonean correspondent, Eyan,  wants to know about the Microsoft Word selection of Synonyms for that naughty word:

Why isn’t toilet in the Word synonyms dictionary for British English? Are we being coy? Sweeping things under the carpet again?

I think it’s outrageous Toilet water and toilet block are there, but no toilet. What is a guy to do ? It’s there for US English, but not for British English.

I’m baffled,   I’ll have to rest in a room for a while to wonder whether the water closet (WC) should come out of the closet and declare itself a toilet  

on the table or in the rest rooms

apparantly they are kept in the Loos next to the tampons,   see!

US people appear to avoid using this word.   When in restaurants they use the phrase  ’Rest rooms’.   Descriptions of homes for sale may include 1.5 ‘bathrooms’.   The 0.5 bathroom is one without a bath (uh?!) or a shower.   It appears to mean a room with  a sink and a toilet.   Even toilet paper is labeled ‘Bathroom’ tissue.  

‘toilet humour’ exists in the US.   I’m not sure if it is known or referred to by this category.    

TOILET TOILET TOILET!

That felt good,   that felt NAUGHTY.   Teee heeee…