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