Sinks, bombs, demons and family

Apologies somehow this one didn’t get published but remained in draft state. Sorry for the delay but please enjoy some bank holiday thoughts.

Let me be clear, before this starts, I am not a people person I simply don’t like people. Now many will wonder why I do what I do if I am not a people person and for those there is a wealth of reasoning in this blog. If I were to paraphrase I would say that I believe that, in the main, publicans are introverts confronting their demons.

So it is a bank holiday weekend here and we are doing a bit. It is fairly hectic and we are all getting a work out but its nice people and a great showcase of a great pub. Whilst you may look at me during these times and see how easy my chosen career is most of you know it’s not all like this. The low point of today was clearing up after a sink vomit or possibly a menstrual bomb* I am not sure which. Thankfully only I got both tasks although my barmaid did tell me earlier that ‘sometimes I am ashamed to be part of them’ when she discovered her own menstrual bomb* in the toilet.

There were other low points, there always will be. but all in a great day in a great pub and with a great team.

Now you cannot have a low without a high so let me share not just tonight’s but the last few. Last night I was visited by the pubs own puppy Luna, a sweetheart as ever, and owner Deborah. That Debs worries so much about this old man is testament to the fact that she is part of the Plough family, she is the Plough’s girl and knows that whatever time in the morning and whatever state we will always look after her.

So tonight I had a conversation with Ellie, who is on a seasonal contract (and appears to have read it), about a finish date and I explained that its academic because we just extend contracts. At this point our Princess went on to explain how she loves working here because it’s a family and we are all here for each other. Apparently the Plough is the best bar that she works in because we always have her back.

When Ellie talks of family she talks of her mum’s pub in the same reverence that I hold the Phoenix. It doesn’t happen often but when it does a pub can form the biggest family of your life. I am so moved by the love that these people have for my pub, what a family!

I cannot even begin to explain the love that I have for my small Plough team. I am so incredibly lucky to have them and so are you, all of you, because without them we wouldn’t have a Plough. The people who work here don’t just help out they rescue precious hours for overdue tasks and allow me to be a publican they are essential to what we do.

I have literally the best team in the world and even some who have moved on (little legs) will always be part of the family. I will though add a special mention to Lennie at this point, a man who has stood against pikeys with me and one of the few men that I can laugh with when it transpires that we are both being played by the same girl, nips you are family.

*what happens when a women throws all of the associated detritus in a manner that looks like a small hand grenade exploded in her knickers

Nobody thinks of the Prince and Sharon we had a deal…

So today in the UK, for those of you that are not aware, is a royal wedding and the hype surrounding this means that all we have heard for weeks is women dreaming of being princesses. Given this backdrop I thought it might be worth revisiting an old (but recurring) theme and looking at some of the technical difficulties with the desire to be a princess in the modern world

It seems that more and more I hear women of all ages claiming that they would rather have been born in the 50’s when it was all about making a home for their man and being supported. The wedding has added a twist to it in the fact that dreaming of being a 19050’s housewife just doesn’t cut it when you could be a full fairy-tale princess and marry a prince.

We all have a rough grasp of some fairy-tale or the other where the prince rides in on his white steed and rescues our princess from servitude, transforming her to her rightful position by his side where she lives happily ever after so bear that in mind as we go forward into today.

The problem with these daft girly dreams and the oft heard lament of ‘where is my prince charming’ is that they only happen later in life. You see princess Sharon you didn’t keep your side of the bargain did you?

The princess was to be found on her knees scrubbing the wicked sisters bathroom floor. He probably wouldn’t have been looking for you on your knees snorting a line of cheap coke off the toilet seat or maybe you thought he was staff and played dead?

When the prince arrived with the glass slipper the princess was too shy to come forward and try it on. It’s hard to notice the glass slipper thing going on when you have snuck out the fire door to give Bob from Sainsburys a hand job (he did buy you 4 sambucas and promised you a kebab), you would probably have missed him.

Prince charming breaks the ties of servitude and takes his princess, dressed in rags, to his palace. Now you have made an effort here to be fair, the princess was probably wearing more clothes than you on a Saturday night. There is no mention though of the prince holding the princesses hair back while she vomits in the street (that sambuca was no good for you) and then scooping up her, her hair extensions and her broken heels while she tells him to go easy because she might hurl again.

Prince charming rides in and scoops up our princess onto his glistening white steed and rides off into the sunset. Does the story have the same ring when you take one look at the horse and say ‘where’s my baby gonna sit?’ There is no riding off into the sunset for you is there Sharon, well not unless you stop at home and ‘bung our eldest a score for pizza cos he is babysitting’.

This is before we look at the complexities of home curfew in a castle after the court appearance for ‘twatting that skank’ who said that you gave Bob a handjob outside the club. After all it is hard work to make a tagging bracelet work in a castle, maybe back up the tower to grow your hair? Then there is wear and tear on the carriage taking the kids to their respective fathers for the weekend, it’s a lot to think about.

You see nobody ever thinks of the prince, he hasn’t got it easy unless he meets you at 15 and locks you in a tower (that’s a whole different story). There are prince charmings out there but if you want one you’re gonna have to stick with your side of the bargain Sharon and that won’t be any fun when you’re 17 will it? You know what Bob ain’t a bad bloke, he does a bit of overtime twice a month and gets a discount on oven chips for the kids. Get your heels on girl, who knows it might be 5 sambucas tonight and you know how much Alfie wants a little brother……..

 

Before I get pilloried for this one no names have any meaning (except for the prince, he is the stuff of legends) it’s just a bit of fun.

Aliens, shirts and self help

I am acutely conscious that the gaps between my posts are growing longer rather than shorter and so tonight I am making an effort. Well it isn’t really an effort as such since I enjoy writing but I am sitting down with one mission at least.

Allow me to share with you some of the lunacy that is life in the Plough:

Today I was asked for ‘one of those things mum drinks, I don’t know what they are’. Having consulted my encyclopedic knowledge of people’s drinks choices I returned with the correct drink and noted that both mother and daughter drink the same drink, every time they come in they order two of the same. A brief delay before ‘ oh yeah so it’s the same as mine whatever that is’

We were struggling to work out why one particular customer seemed to get completely smashed half way through his third or fourth pint, not just drunk but proper hero to zero stuff. When I popped to the store the other day I spotted a clue which I confirmed on the next visit. Half way through every other pint matey was wondering to a nearby bench and downing high strength lager from cans. What we saw as one pint consumed was, in all likelihood, 3 or 4! Mystery solved and the innovative solution is to tip the remainder of his drink every time he leaves the property.

A long and protracted debate with one customer about the horrendous state of my gents toilets, a condition which resulted from said patrons use, produced an answer that even I couldn’t have foreseen. When I asserted that I am not a care worker and therefore should not have to clean up such a mess the guy looked for mutual sympathy on the grounds ‘I have to clean it up to’. I actually briefly imagined a self-help group with each individual standing up and saying “Hi my name is X and I clean up after Mr Y”. The insanity of the argument was totally lost on the guy though, as is so often the way.

I still get asked quite regularly whether we ‘do food’ this is a question that works on multiple levels and most of you know that the answer is No on all of them. Last week, once again, my negative response was met with the question “are you sure”. I recovered quickly and responded ‘no actually I am not certain let me check with the chef’ sadly by the time I had returned somebody had explained sarcasm and the guy had left.

There are a million more episodes to share but that is a taste of my madness now let me expand on the ever-growing list of pub rules/points of etiquette:

• If your dog is well-behaved except for ‘when there are people around’ then your dog is not a pub dog please leave it at home.
• If you cuddling your child looks like a scene from the Alien films then the chances are high that the little darling will not meet the pubs definition of ‘well behaved’.
• You are not allowed to use E cigs in this pub. I have no more interest in debating that rule than I do in debating why one cannot masturbate on the pool table. You cannot do either so get over it.
• A shirt is required to be worn when inside the premises. I know that there is no sign but again that is because it is basic etiquette, you also have to wear shorts/trousers and there is no sign for that. If you are just ‘popping to the toilet’ then, by the nature of the task, you are inside so put a shirt on.
• There are no happy hours/special deals. You are drinking in the cheapest pub in town  I could put the prices up in order to give you a discount for an hour but to be honest if you are that stupid you would have already spent your money on magic beans by then.
• Not everything is explicit, some instructions are implied but we try to make them easy. The rule that dogs have to be on the lead strictly implies that a human should be attached to the other end of the lead and that, if it is an extending lead, it should not be left on free running. Not everybody likes dogs, get with the program.

I will leave it there for now, there are many more to come but I like to retain an air of suspense.

Poles, Jags and community drunks

For the first time in ages I have a burning desire to post, to record the thoughts that are in my mind right now because they are an important part of my story.

Last night I closed at midnight, it wasn’t particularly busy but it was a nice crowd and it seemed fair to allow them to stay. When I finally closed and locked the doors it was with a happy smile, it was one of those days where the pub was what I want the pub to be.

I was brought up in the Eighties and this trade was all about shaking, what was then, small change out of punters pockets and buying a new Jag, I trust that we all appreciate that those days are gone. My great friends Andrew and Helen helped me to see that the community pub works it’s just what we do because we are here for the community not the other way around. When people ask me would I rather be somewhere else or would I rather be as ‘busy as’ I always answer that I am happy here and hey I am not as young as I once was!

During the course yesterday I helped persuade an inebriated person that it was better to leave and return than stay until air-dried following a washroom accident. I discussed various local issues with people and talked about people’s days and how/where/if they had watched the round the island race. Occasionally I allowed the Juke box volume to creep up for a song or two, quietly comfortable that music was popular with all in the pub.

I petted some dogs, gave some tourist advice and humbly accepted praise on behalf of the pub. I introduced some less educated palates to my selection of premium spirits and explained the relationship between cost of production and cost to purchase; this drives me to less known brands which don’t have the budget for heavy promotion.

This is what the pub is about for me. Sure a pub full of youngsters and loud music can be a commercial success but it is not somewhere that I would like to drink. Don’t misunderstand me, as much as this is my house, I am not a fan of all of the music, all of the people or all of their ways but in general this is a place that makes me feel comfortable even if I were a stranger. You can keep the party pubs, the drunken lunacy and the hard work I’d rather have a chat in my house over a beer. It is only when you talk to people that you hear such lines as “I am going to a party with my dance class, its Disney themed ” and, because you know said class is pole dancing, spend the rest of the day confused.

Toilets,people and method

I often wonder how to share what the Plough means with you guys without incriminating or embarrassing people, today’s idea is to just share some of what I have heard.

It’s been a busy day today and a broad range of people. If you ever think that your home is like a pub because so many people pass through it then read this as a test, if you have heard all of these today then the chances are you owe me rent!

“I had sex in your bedroom and your lounge” Yes that happens in pubs, peoples reminiscing can get real uncomfortable and it happens a lot.

“Take his money and hide it until he goes home” normally this would be frowned upon to say the least but when you are protecting an over generous drunk and he takes his winnings home its considered OK.

“The toilets smell the same” only girls reminisce about the smell in the toilets, for guys they all smell the same.

“My drink is upside down now” a rather delightfully complicated way of explaining the puddle on the floor and works best with a child like sadness.

“He won every round of rock, paper, scissors but I told him he lost” yes that is really what adults do in pubs.

“Somebody set fire to my inside bits” chilli vodka, the gift that keeps on giving.

“Shit the dog ate my hat” It’s a pub and hey stuff happens.

“I wasn’t being sick I was taking time out” yep that’s the chilli vodka again.

“I had sex on your pool table” Hey its a pub, stuff happens and yes I changed the table when I arrived.

“I can’t drink a whole pint I will just have two halves”  I just head every bar man in the country groan.

“Hello mate, hello darling (insert pause while lady goes to toilet) wow what happened to her” We tend to lose subtlety in the pub.

“We need £12 to get him killed” whilst counting change for the next drink…..

I will consider this post in the morning and it may be the way forward. For now let it suffice for me to say that eclectic is a strong word but it goes nowhere near describing the wonderful insanity that is the Plough.

 

 

One legged toilet celebrations and advocat

Well I thought that I should get one more post in before the end of the year. I apologise for the lack of posts but I am trying to get the next chapter of Rachel’s story written up and typing is not the best of ways of befriending Ms Nature.

As we approach the end of the festive insanity I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel and a return to normal pub life. The Christmas festivities predictably involved complete and utter strangers visiting your local and seeming surprised that the local ale house cannot furnish them with a Chambord* Royale despite them having seen it on a television advert, once. The pub, it seems, is the one place where everybody who visits for the first time considers themselves an expert.

The worst thing that you can hear in a pub on Christmas day is “oh I am sure that they had Cherry Heering/Advocat last year”. This simple sentence means that the landlord purchased some sugary garbage for his new-found customers and tipped it before they returned for their next annual visit. For these people I would like to offer some advice on a means by which they can ensure that the pub stocks their favourite tipple – use it! See it is that simple, if you turn up a couple of times a month, ask for old manglewort syrup in your pint then it will become a stock item, supply and demand and all that. Don’t misunderstand me we don’t mind you using the pub once a year just don’t think that you are anything more than a visitor.

We are now heading into the last of the insanities namely New Year. This is not an event in its own right it is simply the ending of one year and the beginning of the next. Unless you are particularly frail you can be reasonably confident that tomorrow will come, quite why we choose to celebrate one of the 365 times this happens a year is beyond me. I would like to see a number of drinks laced with poison so that we could celebrate making it through but I fear we need another couple of Tory governments before that is legal. So this year, as every year, people will celebrate the marvel that is the clock reaching 00:00 as if it is some sort of an achievement.

When these digits magically align at this mysterious pattern we will celebrate by invading the personal space of strangers, whose idea was that? Women will be overcome by some insane game of kiss bingo and will endeavour to kiss everyone in the room whilst the men will shake very hand that they can get hold of. Timing is critical in this game, all personal space boundaries reappear at 00:07 and remain in place for the rest of the year. Every year our accident and emergency departments are filled with people who went past that 00:07 deadline when the truce ends and we all go back to being strangers.

Given that this is a night when many people will be visiting friends, pubs and clubs there is one other issue that I would like to touch on before I draw this to a close, one for the ladies. When you reach the toilet this is not an achievement, there is no reward. I know that sometimes there is a queue but when you get in there it is not a gold cup moment, you are not victorious and, sorry to say it, you have not displayed any special skill. There really is no need to record the fact that you were in a toilet for prosperity, honest. As adults we are expected to use toilets as a matter of routine a bit like brushing your teeth or getting dressed.

When you return from the toilet you don’t expect a round of applause and people asking you “did you have a good one?” or a man with a stop watch outside lifting your arm and declaring “if that was all liquid we have an endurance winner”. Do you see what I am getting at here? it is not a celebratory moment so please no more toilet selfies.

*Other overpriced pretentious liqueurs are available 

Empty jam and streetwalkers

I have had a number of people ask me for an update on my current health status so I shall start there today. I am struggling to beat Ms Nature down but, like any pigheaded man, I haven’t let that stop me.  Mornings and evenings are becoming more painful as the wrists seek to reduce my ‘window of operation’ and righty has remembered what fun it is to generate sharp spasms at random times.

Of course I have considered the increased levels of pain and the potential causes and consequences and arrived at a structured plan to rehabilitate. There are two facets to my plan, the first is to ignore any pain and the second is to increase the exercise. My approach has yet to yield improvements but I am confident that a good dose of stubborn will change that in due course.

In other news I think I experience cabbie jealousy over the weekend when picking up my children. Despite several attempts at conversation the driver was resolutely mute until my children got in the car, at which point he wouldn’t shut up. This was more than just conversation, I swear every time my daughter opened her mouth he had to tell a better story, there was a definite case of “he is my friend”.

I would also like to share with you the insanity of tourists. On Sunday I watched as a couple slowly realised that there was no longer a rush to get their young child to the toilet, nothing unusual in that. They proceeded to change said child’s clothing and pack up the rest of their kit and at this point made an odd decision. They placed the wet, or more accurately soiled, clothes on the wall, I can’t fathom why. I can see that they didn’t want to take the dirty clothes home but what was the purpose in leaving them to dry? Were they hoping that when dry somebody would use them without realising? Or perhaps they just thought that such a wonderous thing as child sized denim would astound the locals and left them there for our ‘museum of the future’?

This brings me to rants of the week, the first is to the delightful grocery home delivery service. Part of my groceries last week was a bath mat set, you know the deal a bath mat and a toilet pedestal mat. When I unpacked I found just a bath mat, despite the packaging saying that it was ” two piece”. When I called the other side of the planet, hey why do it in England, they asked if I had received the item and I explained that I had received half of it. I will acknowledge that this was my mistake as the call centre apologised and said that they would refund half of the value. But I don’t have any need for half of a set I responded, indeed they were more than welcome to have the half back  but the problem was that technically I had received the item.

In the end my cell phone signal came to the rescue and dumped the call, when I called back,and regaled the new call centre person with my analogy regarding empty pots of jam having no value despite the pot technically being present, I was rewarded with a refund, in full no less.

The second rant is against UKIP, well actually all of the self-serving, leaching politicians and their street walking cronies. I have a postal vote, I exercised it on Saturday and the envelope which I carried, on that same day, to the post office was most obviously my vote. At this stage my selection is clearly complete so why on earth do you feel the need to assault me on the street? As a rational citizen of the country I have deliberated over the pool of hopeless, arrogant liars that I have to choose from and selected the one who makes my skin crawl the least. When you assault me in the street you change the leaderboard and make me want to remove my support from your particular cretin but the system does not allow me to.

If I open the envelope my vote spoils and my voice is not heard. I am under no illusion that my voice counts you understand but hell I have done my bit, I have selected my cretin so leave me alone. Take note of the comedy sized envelope labeled A or whatever it says and get the hell out of my way. Or perhaps I am misreading the whole scenario, I presumed that these people were simply ignoring the envelope but perhaps they were targeting me. Perhaps this was all some plan to spoil my vote? No, I think not, that would involve a level of intelligence way above that of a politician.

The need to crack on

Whilst I have bemoaned the silly season of New Year’s resolutions, and I stand by that rant, it does seem that there is something about the season. It’s OK I haven’t signed up to a diet plan or joined a gym, in fact I’ve made no change or commitment over those that I have had for some time. I do feel doubly frustrated at the stagnation of my life at the moment though and I can only put that down to the season.

I have one potential pub project that remains on the market without any apparent urgency to sell, I know the price and it’s always been kind of my reserve option. Over the weekend I have found myself becoming quite annoyed that I cannot take it off the market right now, January being a great time of year to crack a start on a seasonal venue. Some may say that this is fuelled in part by a desire to leave where I am at the moment and it is true that recent additions to the neighbourhood do make exit even more appealing but it is not just that. There is a floor plan on my PC that I used for the original business plan and it discounts the first floor for immediate trading, this is still the right thing to do. That floor plan has become the subject of much modification over the last few days as I seek to resolve two problems with the layout, or more accurately the commissioning of a kitchen within the current layout. The kitchen being at the rear of the first floor means that it blocks the rear door which is the preferred access to the small garden, the pub needs its own access to the rear for a smoking solution and to attract trade from that direction. There is also the matter of knocking through to internalise the access to the second floor residential, I hate lock up premises, which doesn’t suit the current arrangement.

I now have a plan for this side of the building that involves only one external alteration at the rear, since the building is not listed this should not present a difficulty. So I have a plan for something that is not intended to need doing until year 2 or 3 at the earliest. I also have plans to resolve the fact that the patio extends over the toilet roofs, the original one being a sign over the mirror in the ladies with an arrow pointing up and the legend “Shhh they can hear you”. Obviously my business plan already sets out a trading style and on reflection I think a 4 week shut down will benefit the venue by setting a break point between current trading and the future. This is the passion of the trade that drives me with every opportunity, I sit sketching and drafting plans and then walk to work thinking through options.

I’m not sure if was looking over the files at the weekend or January blues, whatever they are, but I find myself horribly frustrated that I cannot call my agent and proceed today. I know where the venue is and where I need it to be and its annoying not being able to make progress on that path. Like I said it’s not a new commitment, it’s not a resolution it’s just a sore reminder that the slow and painful machinations of the system are still holding me back, lets hope I’m not saying the same thing next January.

To those that follow the other project don’t worry Rahel is currently in the pub, her one not mine, and you will see an update soon.

 

Reverse grocery shopping

There are some people who look guilty, just inherently they do, and there are some that are guilty. I think that the guy walking his dogs by the the station this morning was the latter. At first I thought that the furtive shuffle and clear discomfort at being observed were a result off the task in hand. After all at some point, one presumes, he would have to collect his dog’s mess.

Obviously the older you get, and he was not young, the more of a task this becomes. Getting to and from floor level can be a laborious task and that somehow makes the ‘reward’ even less appealing. He kept a studious distance from the dogs as if hoping that he would miss the event and I got the idea he wasn’t a fan of clearing up. Sure enough dog one did what he was made to do and spent long enough in the act that the walker couldn’t reasonably miss it.

At this stage a grocery bag was produced and the ‘bounty’ dutifully collected. I actually felt a little bad at this point for presuming that he was avoiding the unpleasant task. He muttered a mute grumble but I am sure it was directed at the canine diet and not my proximity as observer. The second dog was not to be outdone in the ‘make the human perform the unpalatable’ game and promptly slunk into high grass. Now this, in itself, is evidence of evolution. Your dog doesn’t use high grass by choice, I guess it tickles, but they know that it complicates the collection.

To make sure that the event was spotted the canine spent some time at it, adopting the posture and grimaces of a woman giving birth. Our man wandered over and then proceeded to use, or attempt to use, the same grocery bag to collect the second load. This was clearly not something that he had done before, or thought out in advance, there was no elegance in the task at all. He took three or four attempts and in one he actually managed to slip his hand through the bag handle and grasp the target!

Eventually he had collected a good bag full, he attached leads to the dogs and departed complete with heavy bag. It may be that he made a mistake this morning and took one bag instead of two, he may have always intended collecting all the waste produced but for my money he’d been carrying that bag for weeks with no intention of using it.

As a side note to evolution, given we now all understand that it is our duty to collect and dispose of our dog’s waste isn’t it time that they came to the party? We all like seeing them run and play but can’t they be a little more civilised and use a designated toilet. Perhaps they could always perform that task first at least, then we could all get on with the fun things like chasing sticks, just a thought.

Cheese, deodorant and sheds without doors

Human curiosity is a wonderful thing and I have now discovered that it rates above security in some of our emotional checklists. This discovery was made whilst walking through St Pancreas station in London, or more accurately this is when I personally made the discovery. A new ‘installation’ has been placed on the concourse which is essentially a small garden shed with no doors. On each side of this box there are small holes with ‘view’, ‘look’ or some such statement emblazoned on them. From each of these openings what I presume is termed an ‘inviting’ light beckons.

As I approached this today there was a man bent over enjoying whatever view there is inside the object. This was a demonstration of human curiosity at its best. Two factors combined to help the second observation: that you had to bend over to view the object and apple’s sleek design. One of the ‘features’ of the Apple phone is that its form is soft and rounded, this means it is not particularly good at being constrained in one’s pocket. Well actually its rubbish. Especially when bending over to view an “installation”, hence this viewer’s prized phone seemed to have grasped the opportunity to escape and was almost free.

Now at this moment my good nature kicks in and I want to assist but I am in a quandary. If I tap him on the shoulder it is likely to surprise him and as he jumps so his little apple friend will leap to the floor and, since apple haven’t produced a parachute app, it will self destruct. I seriously considered this option since I have a hatred of all things apple but in the end I was too nice. The logical option was to push the phone back into his pocket but would that be wise. I am a tattooed, ponytailed man and the natural assumption that is jumped to is rarely the friendly one. Having weighed up the options I considered it better to leave him to his observations. I am sure that he will remain undisturbed when somebody pockets his phone.

I have actually seen a number of these devices at work in public places and on reflection I wonder if they are installed by modern day thieves. Since this is ‘installation art’ nobody knows what it is supposed to be and the ever curios bend down to observe. To a thief this is the perfect presentation of your expensive possessions. Is there some roaming band of thieves using a shed and a torch as an elaborate plot perhaps?

Not that it would work on me of course because my anti advertisement feature prevents it. I am physically incapable of following suggestion in this manner. If it ‘just has to be done’ then I don’t. If you ‘just need to look’ then I don’t. Quite simply if you want me to do it or encourage me to do it then don’t expect success. If you left me alone with the small shed and the light and the encouraging labels I would not view it. In case there is somebody watching and waiting to say “Ha we made you do it” I avoid any such guided curiosity.

A final question of these ‘installation’ pieces is how do they survive in the modern security mad world full of unattended luggage stazi? If I want to fly on an aeroplane then I have to empty my worldly possessions onto a conveyor belt so that some civil servant can play the generation game. I then have to secrete anything that could ever attain a liquid state into a plastic bag that will inevitably split and empty itself on sight. Having done all of this I have to strip and take several doses of radiation to check that my bones are not made of smuggled rare Dutch edam. The repeated warnings to watch out for unattended luggage mean that frequent travellers are now finding that their luggage smells of urine on account of having to take it to awful public toilets with them.

I presume that the authorities have approved these installations but nonetheless where are all the ‘good citizens’ reporting them. They don’t know it’s a piece of ‘art’, they don’t know it’s authorised. To all intents and purposes it is a big box that you can’t see inside, surely more of a risk than my deodorant? Now here’s a thought for the security services, not that I am an expert of course. But if* I was to plant a bomb in a public place I would put it in a shed with no doors and a little light in the window to attract people. Why smuggle two 50ml toothpaste tubes when I can put 2 ton of semtex in a shed and attract a crowd!

*To those at GCHQ, the author has no intention of carrying out any terrorist acts so please return your attention to the other 6 million email accounts that you monitor.