Dirty Deeds

View down the Allt Coire a'Ghrandaich towards the Moray Firth and Ben Wyvis

It is amazing how once an idea - however outlandish - permeates our consciousness, related events seem to follow as if from nowhere. Such information must always be there, yet it normally it passes us by, flowing past in the deluge of information that we struggle to swim through every day.

I give you an example from last week. During the popular music comedy-quiz 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks' the presenter related an anecdote about the Kiss guitarist Gene Simmons. Apparently Simmons came to the realisation that he could never keep pace with wild man of rock Ozzy Osbourne when he happened upon Ozzy smearing his own excrement on the walls of his hotel room. There was no discussion of why Ozzy had felt compelled to indulge in such a revolting act, nor any discussion of the practical considerations. Had Ozzy simply grasped a handful or had he used plasterer's tools to obtain a smooth and even coat? Was he mindlessly daubing or was he attempting to capture a creative thought of some sort? Perhaps some further research might uncover the details, but to be honest they matter not a jot. What matters is that this story struck a chord with me because earlier the same day news had reached me of a similar story; perhaps Ozzy could offer some insight into the mind and motivations of the vandal who wrote the word 'Shit' on the walls of a workplace convenience. Disturbingly, perhaps the same vandal had used a pen to draw a swastika on the walls of another cubicle the previous week. I am not sure which of these depraved acts is worse, but certainly it would have been worse still had the two offences been combined.

So it was that, having given the topic of the stool as a creative medium only scant consideration for a number of years, my mind was flooded with recollections of related incidents. For instance I can recall hearing of a cubicle in a Rothesay pub being defaced, in excrement, with the words 'Shit Graffiti'. But my favourite is another workplace incident, recorded in an Ayrshire chemical plant. The chap who told me this story had been working a nightshift on the upper floors of a plant, surrounded by great vats, hissing steam pipes, flashing lights and nerve-jarring alarms. He retired to the stalls with the intention of letting one go. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he became aware that in the corner of the cubicle, behind the door, lurked what appeared to be a giant Malteser, the size of a softball. On closer examination it turned out to be a perfectly spherical toley. Both diameter and aspect ratio were inconsistent with its having been extruded through an aperture in the form in which it was found. My correspondent concluded that the perpetrator had grasped their output - either by fishing it from the bowl or by catching it on the way down, then carefully shaped it by rolling between - presumably gloved - hands.  They had then left it for the pleasure of future visitors, like a public work of art.

Reactions to such antics vary widely. Disgust is common and understandable, but a minority cannot help but laugh at such a foul display.  Perpetrating an act as insanitary and inconsiderate as deliberately leaving excrement on the walls or floor of a workplace convenience may at first appear to require an unusual degree of mindlessness, or even severe mental health issues, but I reckon that it is just the extreme end of a continuum.  I mean who among us can honestly say that they have never found themselves issuing a small chuckle when they fart in a lift, or when they realise that a slowly-filling cistern will oblige them to leave an un-flushable offering for the consideration of the next user?

Ben Bhraggie, Golspie

From the village of Golspie Ben Bhraggie appears to be a tiny hill, yet on climbing it I found that it is actually a respectable 1300 ft. It is dwarfed by the whopping 100 ft statue of the Duke of Sutherland that graces (or defaces) its summit. Someone has sprayed 'Monster' across the base of the plinth, a reference to the Duke's role in the Highland Clearances.

A more appropriate tribute to the injustices of the Clearances than this monstrous statue is to be found in the gents toilets of Glasgow's Lismore pub, where each of the urinals are emblazoned with the names of villains of this period, Patrick Sellar, George Granville and Colonel Fell. A plaque on the wall invites the visitor to pay their respects to these reviled individuals by hosing their names down with pish.

As far as I know this form of memorial is unique. It is surprising that more recent personalities have not been commemorated in this way, Maggie Thatcher being an obvious candidate. Now I think about it an obvious extension would be to glaze a likeness of her face onto the porcelain.

In fact why stop there? Why not enamel a picture of Thatcher's face on the back of a toilet pan instead? With a traditional toilet one would have to take careful aim in the hope of decorating her face with a skidmark, so one of the perverted Dutch toilets with a raised, waterless inspection platform would be best for this application. It would then be a relatively simple matter to deposit one's steaming load directly onto the target area.

On Toilet Humour

Curiously, almost all of the positive feedback I have received about my blogging to date has been related to the toilet humour content.

I did briefly consider blogging exclusively on matters lavatorial. The thing that dissuaded me was not any concern about my ability to crimp out sufficient words on the topic each week, it was the surprising fact that toilet humour is not enjoyed by all. Like yeast-based spreads, people either love it or hate it.

Toilet humour transcends cultural barriers. In my view, it comes as close as one can get to a universally recognised form of comedy. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that stone age man – perhaps even early hominids such as homo hiedelbergenis - played the old trick of asking their friends to pull their finger when they felt a fart brewing.

Shakespeare famously wrote words to the effect that the man without music in his soul is fit for treason, stratagems and spoils. I contend that those who do not appreciate the humour of the toilet should be viewed with a similar level of suspicion. Their mock horror is a vestige of Victorian era repression, they are not being true to themselves. Like vegetarians, they have turned their back on an essential aspect of their humanity and in so doing they have degraded themselves, becoming mildly sub-human in the process.

Depending on your point of view, the website ratemypoo.com is either outrageously funny or sickeningly depraved. The site first came to my attention in the late '90s. Back then it was called amialogornot.com, a tremendous piece of innovation using the format pioneered by the then popular amihotornot.com. My all time favourite shot from that site featured not only a huge jobby bobbing in a pan but also its author, crouched down low so that he could get his face into the shot, grinning and giving his turd an enthusiastic thumbs up.

It is of course possible to have too much of a good thing and it is some years since I last 'logged on' to ratemypoo.com. Needless to say, in the course of researching this post I had a peek. As I typed into the address bar I felt a slight trepidation, what if the site no longer existed? What if the world had moved on?

Thankfully there was to be no disappointment. To save you the trouble of clicking through any mediocre toleys I have included a link to the current top twenty. Enjoy.

http://ratemypoo.com/top.html