Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 11 April 2014
By Royal Appointment
I'll start by showing you the only surviving 16th century, half-timbered building left in Bath. Many people who have lived here all their lives have never seen it, simply because it is tucked away, out of sight. This was the furthest I could get away from it and still take a picture, so hemmed-in is it by later buildings.
It's the same old story - things that are ignored usually survive very well. It is the ones which receive attention from the planners that are most often destroyed.
Now, back to toilet bowls. I reminded myself of the name of our ceramic convenience this morning by peering at the maker's name printed in quite small letters on its inside. Normally, unless I am throwing up, I try to keep my head as far out of the bowl as possible, but today I got as near to the lettering as I dared to read the model title, in much smaller letters than the maker's, which is 'BRISTOL'.
It is - wait for it - IMPERIUS.
I would check to see if the spelling is as incorrect as my computer tells me (missing an 'o') but the chamber is currently occupied by H.I. and I think it can wait until she gets out. I'll get back to you about that one.
What a fantastically inappropriate title for a toilet - as if the act of using it could be made any more dignified by it.
I have an image of a minor member of the royal family posing haughtily on it for an advertising photo-shoot, having fallen on hard times so in dire need of money. Fergie just wouldn't be royal enough, she would have a huge grin on her very open face.
No, it would have to be a male from the House of Windsor - Prince Michael of Kent, for instance, staring detachedly into the middle distance with his silk pantaloons around his ankles.