Yesterday I got stuck on the toilet.
As entertaining as bodily functions are, I’m the kind of guy who needs a little extra entertainment in the bathroom. Sometimes I like to read a chapter or two of whatever I’m currently reading, but on this occasion, and somewhat predictably, I forgot my book.
If I have my phone to hand, I fiddle around with it. Sometimes I change the settings to annoy or suprise future-me. Sometimes I use the screen as a teeny mirror to check there aren’t spiders on the wall behind me, or pretend I’m a secret agent making sure I’m not being tailed. Recently, since I decided I should get a Twitter account to help promote my novel, I go on Twitter and forget to promote my novel. Instead, I give myself repetitive strain injury scrolling through bite-sized bits of whatever, wondering why the hell I have a Twitter account and what it’s for and what it’s all about, and if I should just delete the fucking thing, or learn how to use it, or something.
But on this particular occasion, I did none of those things. I played Brick Breaker instead.
There are certain characteristic noises that can be heard in my rented flat.
One is a manic squeaking and hammering of pipes whenever one uses the toilet – a phenomenon that started for no identifiable reason last year. It was almost as if the toilet decided that it was underappreciated, and resolved to thenceforth announce whenever it is in use to all the other residents in the block.
Another noise is the summon to battle when an arachnid intruder is encountered, an event that occurs with alarming regularity. And a third noise is a howl of despair upon opening the cupboard where the biscuits are kept, when one discovers that no biscuits are there to be found.
A swimming pool is a big pool of liquid in which people swim. They come in many shapes and sizes, and occasionally are filled with non-conventional liquids – just like the swimming pools themselves.
All swimming pools are fun places to go, unless you have a phobia of swimming pools, or can’t swim, or have traumatic memories of the time a swimming pool touched you in a non-conventional place.
But regardless of how fun it can be, a swimming pool is just a poor person’s ocean. It doesn’t have tides. It doesn’t have beaches. It usually doesn’t have waves to play in, or interesting weather phenomena like waterspouts or sea-fog. It’s filled with far less interesting wildlife, and is a terrible as a trade-route. On top of all that, it’s only about half the size – which means the urine concentration is twice as high.