I was recently standing in a long line of ladies at a tourist piss-stop between the geyser (which I loudly proclaimed to be a "GEEZAAHH!" at every opportunity) and the waterfall part of an excursion while holidaying in Iceland.
Naturally the queue for the gents was non-existent. I've asked the question before but I'll ask it again, in the hope I may have amassed readers exceeding those I can count on one paw since beginning this blog: ladies, what is it you do in there? I can only assume it's drugs.
When it was finally my turn, the woman leaving the cubicle said the flush didn't seem to be working. I replied saying I'd take my chances.
I glanced at the bowl full of used tissue, sighed, and pressed the flush. And do you know what? The paper drained away. Magic. Move over David Blaine.
Okay, I know there are different flushes for different toilets. Some you have to press and hold. Some need a quick yank (I said 'YANK'). Sometimes you have to stand on the lid to reach the pulley. I know, because I have done this. In Heist, BTON. Which isn't there anymore. Presumably because those not as adventurous as I gave up trying to flush and it's now become a sewer tour.
But honestly ladies. It is neither brain science nor rocket surgery. Flush the pain away.
The amount of times I've seen a lass in nightclub loos turn her nose up, wincing at - gasp! - the sight of a bit of blimmin' bog roll curled up in a toilet bowl like a ghost snake (Ghost Snake, coming to a cinema near you). "Not using that one!" she'll sanctimoniously screech. All the other girls give the Ghost Snake a wide berth, envisaging the toilet from Trainspotting with the Loch Ness Monster rising from it. (Must be all the drugs they're on).
Except for me. I calmly go in, sigh, and flush. That's all there is to it.
There does seem to be a competition between women, and I've noticed this in various workplaces too when it concerns desk cleanliness, about who can appear to be the most disgusted by a bit of dirt. We've become a nation of wusses. When I think some of these women have babies whose bums they've wiped, who've regurgitated food all down their clothes, whose snot they've sucked, it does baffle me why excretions and their accompanying accessories which can so easily be removed at the touch of a button can cause so much offence.
And so I don't cause offence by saying "man up", I'll settle for "bog off" instead.