Toilet-traits
I was sitting in the cludgy thinking where and who,And spinning an empty toilet roll, you know, the way you do. On it, it said stainless steel but it showed a bit of rust,But underneath the metal you could see a brown hard crust. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t rust I could tell,But when I chipped away at it, there came a funny smell. Now sitting here legs together and trying hard to squeeze,Trousers at my ankles and Solomon’s round my knees. When in here, I’m on my own, and try to not talk shop,But now your here I just can’t hold, the water it does plop! I always sit here daydreaming, staring at the door,And looking to the skirting, there’s a spider on the floor. A massive varnished barrier and brass upon this door,You can feel the thickness of the wood and graffiti? There’s room for more. Many folk through the years, have sat here for time poor souls,It could be soft it could be hard, that’s how the paper rolls. Now here’s a thing I can’t work out and stand here with wet feet,It’s the big conundrum; you know the one, the up down lavvy seat. Standing here staring, my brow I start to frown,And don’t forget, this is hard as my trousers are still down.Does it really matter? Who are they trying to kid?About when you finish in the bog, you have to shut the lid. Anyway, been here a while, my bum stuck to that horse shoe thing,It ripped the skin from my arse and now I have a ring! Doesn’t it make you wonder how you can sit on Shanks’ throne,And every time you do, you’re always on your own. But one thing that makes me mad and you’ll picture this I see,Is when you’re bloody bursting and you’re stood outside with no key! So now’s the time to get my pipe and sit here with my papers,I sometimes chill on this seat and laugh at comic capers. But its winter time and not so fine,It’s dark and cold and damp, I take a candle in there with me,As some clown stole the lamp! Been in here far too long, there’s queues outside the door,They’re not so happy I can tell, feet tapping on the floor. So as I open up the door to the folk I smile, I really am a charmer,“What’s all this fuss about? The toilet seat is warmer!” Now with my wife I sit at home, watching Top of the Pop’s singers,I shock in horror at her quirk “you’ve nicotine on your fingers!” Now not a one for mawkitness, my head full of marching bands,But whatever you do in the toilet, make sure you wash your hands! by Bernie Logue.