357: Toilet mat.

This photo of La Bonne Vie Guest House is courtesy of TripAdvisor

Who has carpets in the bathroom; what's with that? (Observational comedy, innit, airplane food, peanuts, etcetera.) Those little toilet mat thing-carpets; disgusting. Erm.. they get peed on and absorb it, don't they, don't they? And so ends my foray into observational comedy in which I discovered it's not as easy as it looks. Trying to work out what is missing from my 'act' ; can't be punchlines cos the observation is the punchline ; I think the absent element might be a nice suit. And a microphone to lean on. Perhaps I need to pull off a cheeky nod and a wink and get a floppy hairdo. If I could do some voices and robot noises that'd be great too. But it's not me; I'm too serious. But I really hate toilet mats and bathroom carpets ; I really hate them, I do. (You know who loves them though? Richard Herring, he can't get enough, and unironically enough he is a real stand-up comedian of a not particularly observational kind.)

By the way, I'm not trying to lull myself into the requisit self-confidence to become a comedian. I am a thouroughly unconfident unfunny human being with no desire to be stared at by a room full of people. The only reason I'm going on about this is cos I really hate toilet mats. Who the hell came up with the idea of putting an absorbent pissrag on the floor around the toilet for you to splash about in in your stocking feet? Even worse, who thought of expanding said pissrag across the entire floor, nailing it down and calling it a carpet? Why oh why oh why oh why would anyone want the wateriest, steamiest, pissiest, smallest room in the house to be clothed in an absorbant unwipe-cleanable piece of material filth? Answer me.

Not that I often encounter them. I never do. The furnished flat I live in has one, but it is never used for toileting. I sometimes find it hugging the sink, but it knows I wont have it anywhere near the accursed toilet. Toilet mats are one step down from the monstrous abomination that is the toilet brush, eek that is nasty. Both of them go sailing out of the window into the alley below. The door is double-bolted to halt their persistent return ; no matter how they whinney and howl they shall not pass. Yeah, that's right, fuck 'em.

Last night's post was short, and surprising. Surprising in the sense that I had completely forgotten I wrote it. Post gallery drinks at SandBar, followed by a gentle stroll home I remember. But blogging and falling asleep I had forgotten. Of course I remember now, and that is one good reason to carry on blogging. Next up: my impressions of the current show at BLANKSPACE.