The Princess and the Pee

THE TIME: 3am Sunday morning.
THE PLACE: A club in a disused factory in Stoke Newington.
THE TOILET: Floor ankle-deep in unidentifed liquid. Cistern lid broken on floor. Water in toilet bowl close to overflowing.
THE OCCASION: The perfect pee.

So. The perfect pee. Hello? How the fuck can any girl experience the perfect pee in these circumstances? Even leaving aside the tideline creeping up the sides of yer sandals: ignoring the loo roll embedding itself on your heel: how can this pee be anything but traumatic?

What's a girl to do? Hover? Or plonk? To hover means clenched thigh musicles and an insufficiently emptied bladder. But plonking yer ass down on the seat means exposing delicate flesh to the fluids of strangers. Ew! And yet, last night, pee nirvana was reached under exactly these conditions. How can this beee? [read more]

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