Micturation

(Yeah, OK, this is just a posh, biologist’s  word for pissing. So be prepared for more crudity, disguised as astute observation, mingled with another of my grumpy rants. Or click away now.)

During a meal at a friend’s house the other week the topic of “lowering the seat for the women in the house” came up.  I was surprised this was an issue because the friend is a cat owner and as former cat owners we got into the habit of always closing the lid of the toilet to stop said cat from drinking out of it, and have never lapsed. Perhaps some cats don’t prefer eau de toilet.

One of my earliest memories is standing at the toilet with my brother Paul, innocently peeing in tandem into the bowl. And then being severely told off by our father (for what was, to us, a perfectly normal activity). I think he felt this was a risky venture - though we were so small - and our little penises therefore so close to the bowl - that I’m sure it would have been very difficult to miss.

Unlike the average adult male.

Frankly you’d need an 18-inch monster to be sure of hitting the bowl accurately standing up. The day I first had to clean a toilet was the day I gave up the venture. All those splashes on the sides of the bowl! And on the floor! Revolting! No, man: if the toilet in your house has splashes, it wasn’t me!

I’m somewhat less conscientious about public toilets; mind you, so is everyone else. Wherever you find a urinal there is invariably evidence of previous users to be found on the floor. The only variable is the moisture content – hotels a slightly damp patch, sporting venues and motorway services a glistening wetness, pubs and parks a frank pool. You cannot help but stand, possibly in your best shoes, on the outflow from multiple cocks.

I can accept that the receiving bowl may be at the wrong height; after all the male leg comes in varying sizes. (Has anyone patented an adjustable-height urinal, I wonder? If not, why not? Or some suction to gather up the core flow and any errant side-spray, like a Dyson Blade in reverse. Mmm ...might be too popular.) But in some establishments it’s almost as if the clientele are purposely missing. Perhaps they wait until the place is empty, then

The most hygienic place for peeing is probably the bedsit or student room wash basin. Lady readers, don’t let any man who has lived in such a room tell you that he bothered to trek down the corridor to the communal toilet in the middle of the night every time ... especially after 4 or more pints. Run the cold tap at the same time and there’s no splash-back at all. I so wished for a washbasin when a crowd of us got back to my room in Earnshaw Hall (Sheffield University, circa March 1971) after a several pints and I inadvertently left the key on the outside. Some sod locked us in for a joke with the result that my friend Kevin was eventually obliged to pee out of the first-floor window. Thanks for that, whoever you are.

OK I felt this blog had been lacking in crudity recently; I now feel I have addressed this issue. Next time - a review of Richard Herring's Talking Cock show.