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Friday, December 05, 2003

The Toilets of Old London Town

By Lee, aged 28 and a half

Here’s part one of a brief tour around some of the more notable bogs in the country.

China White, Piccadilly
You may ask what I’m doing in such a high-class establishment. Oh my dear things, this week has been a non-stop cavalcade of z-list parties and cabaret acts this week, leaving me as a shambling mess at my desk. No Girls Aloud can perk me, no coffee too potent. But it was with great aplomb that I attended a Christmas do at China White last night, a place whose entrance is synonymous with pictures of drunken faux celebs clutching to the door jam like sailors in the middle of a storm, landing straight into the pages of Heat.

The toilets are another matter. The urinals are slabs of Charlie Dimmock-esque stone, leaning against the wall at a rakish angle. You’re not sure whether you’re taking a slash in a bathroom or a garden centre; indeed you’re not sure whether you should be pissing in it at all. It reminds of a tale of one associate who queued up to relieve himself in the loos of a packed yet tiny bar, and got in there to find people were also using the sink as the urinal. Swallowing his pride, he followed suit. Later, after queuing again, he once more took this option, only to find that the whole mood of the place had changed and sink-wee was not de rigour before being sneered out of the room.

Sidenote: I did dash into the ladies when everyone was too pissed to care. I was determined to find a seat that Jordan, darling of the tabloids, had used not 24 hours earlier. She does have a very distinctive bum print, does Jordan.


Mash, Oxford Circus
My first induction into the whizzy world of the media was in this bar restaurant, whence upon going into a toilet cubicle, I ran my finger over the cistern to find it covered in dust. Believing the cleaners to be rubbish, I finally noticed that the dust was white and very expensive. Ah, my naive days.

Still, the urinals in there are unique in their construction, being a mix of concave and convex shiny stainless steel, thus giving them the properties of a funhouse mirror. It’s worth hanging around there to watch the gentlemen unfurl, then catch a glimpse of their reflection with a gasp. Every one of them are thinking “I don’t remember bringing that!


The Site Bar, Charing Cross
When I used the cubicle in there the other day, I heartily reminisced that the previous time was during the ownership of the previous tenants, where the dive was under the moniker ‘Brief Encounter’. At that time, I happened to be in there with a Russian ballet dancer, and we both took great pleasure in the numerous signs ‘If you do ejaculate on the stainless steel, please wipe it off. It leaves marks’. Most charming.


Public Toilets, Carnaby Street
Oh, another one full of shuffling elderly maries. One of my more gentle-natured friends (I do have some, I promise) accidentally ended up in there, and caused much excitement due to him being a bit of a looker. They can smell fresh meat, you know. Anyway, he’s a sweet thing and didn’t rise to their advances, not even when one gentleman reached around to grasp his manhood. Completely out of character, he hissed “If you don’t move your hand, I’ll piss on it!” causing the gentleman in question to back away with fear in his eyes. Genius.


The Pineapple, Leicester
The clientele of this salubrious wendy bar come in two types: sixteen-year-old boys of easy virtue and a need for cash, and elderly gents whom have got their pension in their wallets and viagra at the ready. In there, many years ago, a certain mary of our community was heading down the passageway to their gents, when his boyfriend barged up to him and accused him of sleeping around. And set about his face with a knife.

Horrifying, I know. Of course, evil best friend Declan laughed himself off his stool at this, and never misses an opportunity to head to the toilet door with a yell of “I’m just off for a slash!”

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