Yes – there are still stand up loos in France. Now, we females have quite correctly sought equality and in this regard for long periods we have been able to use true unisex stand up toilets. The last one I found was on the autoroute services close to Poitiers. However, these are not stand up toilets! One squats the bot……there was a time when I did not know this. Also be aware that toilet paper is not always provided. You have been warned. I have also found that when cycling with kids, minor cases of Diarrhoea can be turned into instant constipation when the stand up threat is rolled out.(One day the child abuse van will pull up outside and uniformed politically correct guards will grab me). I didn’t intend to make this blog a toilet tantrum but if you are an affecianado of deep luxury quilted double silk tissue that will caress your flesh with the kiss of the soft southern breeze – FORGET IT. If that’s what you want take your own. But again beware! For UK drainage users, the design of sewer here is often of smaller bore and lesser gradient, but let’s not plunge into such depths.
Just before we lower the seat down on this issue I must tell you about one evening in Paris two months ago when I was dining at a Pot au Feu restaurant. We were seated near a door which opened into an airless cupboard which housed la toilette. Another diner dashed into the cupboard and appeared to be immediately swept up in something involving a bullet train and a volcanic explosion. He emerged appearing soothed and returned coolly to his table to continue his elegant life of chic Parisian. We were engulfed in a cloud of gas that contravened the Geneva convention and the laws of physics. I struggled for air while Gilles calmly lifted a bone from his stew to his lips. ” La vie – it is about flesh you know….” He said. He was born there.
As I rode through the town today I saw the cat lady. (See my blog “The cat’s out of the bag”) She was standing in the road with a large pair of binoculars held to her eyes. She was studying the church tower. I must point out that the cat lady is also the bird lady. She is also an angel but probably escaped. She saw me and we did the four kisses.
“Oh my little bonhome, my little flea – you are there.” She explained as if I would understand.
“Quoi?”
“My little man, my love, my ‘plume blanche’, he is there alive.”
A while ago she found a dazed crashed baby dove with a white breast feather, fed and did whatever angels do to fallen doves and set it free. She watches over it. One day an angel may need a dove for a special mission. As gangstas say on the streets of South London -“Respect”.
Emma thinx: Leaders – Leave out a little seed. A dove may land.
Just before we lower the seat down on this issue I must tell you about one evening in Paris two months ago when I was dining at a Pot au Feu restaurant. We were seated near a door which opened into an airless cupboard which housed la toilette. Another diner dashed into the cupboard and appeared to be immediately swept up in something involving a bullet train and a volcanic explosion. He emerged appearing soothed and returned coolly to his table to continue his elegant life of chic Parisian. We were engulfed in a cloud of gas that contravened the Geneva convention and the laws of physics. I struggled for air while Gilles calmly lifted a bone from his stew to his lips. ” La vie – it is about flesh you know….” He said. He was born there.
As I rode through the town today I saw the cat lady. (See my blog “The cat’s out of the bag”) She was standing in the road with a large pair of binoculars held to her eyes. She was studying the church tower. I must point out that the cat lady is also the bird lady. She is also an angel but probably escaped. She saw me and we did the four kisses.
“Oh my little bonhome, my little flea – you are there.” She explained as if I would understand.
“Quoi?”
“My little man, my love, my ‘plume blanche’, he is there alive.”
A while ago she found a dazed crashed baby dove with a white breast feather, fed and did whatever angels do to fallen doves and set it free. She watches over it. One day an angel may need a dove for a special mission. As gangstas say on the streets of South London -“Respect”.
Emma thinx: Leaders – Leave out a little seed. A dove may land.
Emma Undercover 