Thursday, 2 April 2020

Stupid Things I Remember about Growing Up (Part 6 - Those 3 toilets again)

Our house in Linden Way had 3 toilets.  One on each floor.  And they each took on a different role and thus developed a different environment from the others.

The ground floor toilet was mainly used by me and my brother, as it was the most accessible if we were outside playing.  That meant that we were usually in a rush.  You know how kids are.  You don't want to stop playing, so you hold it in until your bladder has expanded to the size of a space hopper or until your turtle head has nearly eaten an hole in your pants before you run panicking to the loo.  The rushed approach to the use of this utility meant that the walls were often splattered, a bit like when you shake a bottle of Coke before opening it.  You lose the first mouthful in the post-cap-removal explosion.

The kitchen was also downstairs, so you'd expect my mum to use this loo, but I have no memory of her doing so.  This might be because she successfully hid from us the fact that she ever used any toilet ever or perhaps she wisely went upstairs to the middle floor loo to avoid the carnage her sons often left in the downstairs one.

The middle floor toilet neighboured the living room and also had the bath tub that we chose to use.  Given that mum bathed us in the early years in the house (I'd like to say weeks, given that I was 6 years old when we moved in), her mere presence helped keep this room in a more hygienic condition.  As trips to this toilet tended to be whilst watching TV in the next room, they were unrushed and civilised.  I say 'civilised' but all my memories of either of us brothers skidding our pants so badly that we'd take them off and hide them behind the sink are from the middle floor toilet.

Finally, there was a top floor toilet.  It had a bath, but this was never used.  Probably because this toilet smelt somewhat pissy.  Like both other toilets, this one had no external wall and no window and so it relied on an extractor fan to clear any steam.  (From the bath, that is, not from a wee.... although, sometimes, well, you know).  It was flanked by both our bedroom and my parents' bedroom, so it was the toilet that was used during the night.  The extractor fan was too noisy for any of us to put the light on, so we slashed in the dark.  The floor was carpeted, so inevitably the first 10 seconds of a Jimmy was silent as you'd desperately adjust your aim until you'd hear the reassuring  splash of spray on still water.  I'm sure that on more than one occasion, mindful of the futility of hitting the target first time, I opted for the easier and wider receptacle of the bath tub.  Perhaps another reason for never using it for its proper function.

(I know I've written about this before, but didn't check back, because I was in a rush to finish and go for a poo.)

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