Lavatorial enlightenment


While cleaning my bathroom today, I made an astounding discovery.

I don't mean anything as mundane as noticing we're almost out of loo paper, that all the towels smell of wet dog or that someone - whether human or feline - has peed in the corner underneath the sink. Again.

I'm talking about something mind-blowing. Visionary. Life-changing, even. The kind of near-mystical revelation that stops you in your tracks, makes you put down your beer, ponder the complexity of our lives and our place in the Grand Scheme of Things and maybe consider the existence of an all-controlling higher being (though not necessarily in that order). The type of lightening-bolt insight that makes you wonder how you have ever managed to get by thus far without such fundamental knowledge.

But rather than tell you outright, let me ask you this: what do you think is the dirtiest part of the toilet?

Was it something I said?


My first girlfriend was a boy.

I don’t mean literally, of course. In the parlance of the day, she was a “tomboy,” even though she met neither of the criteria of this appellation, neither possessing the requisite bodily accoutrements nor having been christened Tom. In fact, her name was Katie.