By: Blonde Two
I really should apologise before I start this blog post, for my inability to stay away from the subject of nature-toilet-moments. I find them unremittingly entertaining and thus, in my Blondeheadedness, expect you to as well.
Here we go! We have a unisex loo at work. There are lots of things wrong with this arrangement. I can’t tell you all of them, but one is that you can tell, by the sound, whether it is a bloke or a girl weeing in the next door cubicle.
We take the delicate trickle of water into water for granted when we use the loo. Until, that is, we head out to the hills, squat (girls) in the bushes (if you are lucky) and realise that wee sounds completely different onto purple moor grass; kind of muted and more subtle. If you should ever be tempted to try out different wee textures and sounds, don’t go for granite as the splashing resonance you hear will be just that – splashing!
I had a problem so odd the other day that I don’t even know if it can even be called Blonde. I am 99% sure that no-one else has ever had this issue.
It was after my New Year’s Eve bivvy with Mr B2. He was making a hot drink and I went for little grass watering session. It was so windy that I couldn’t hear a gush, flow or even a tinkle as I squatted. This was coupled with the fact that it was so chilly that bits of me had gone numb. The end result was that I was unsure, as I reassembled my clothing, whether or not the leak had been taken, the water had been passed or the piddle puddled.
To this day, I still don’t know, but I can reveal that, as soon as I had had my cup of tea, I had to have another go and paid much more attention this time!
I was up early this morning and your post hadn’t arrived, but it did so just after I’d finished my second (and last) piece of toast. Perhaps as well?
I’m of for a wee now with my iPhone which has sound recording. I don’t think I want to post a YouTube video, but a soundtrack may be possible.
I would be willing to bet that you didn’t resist recording!
We could make an album which would prove even more long-lasting than “The Cattle Grids of Dartmoor” (look it up!)
I wonder if my post about snipping has helped lower the tone of the blogger’s circle I belong to, given that mine came before yours. I do hope so. We were all, ineluctably, becoming excruciatingly middle-class. Notice how mimsy your previous commenter was about mere micturition.
But of course you’ve hardly scratched the surface. A male peeing sound can define whether one is in the presence of a lad or a considerate (usually middle-aged) man – not a negligible matter when we discuss, as I’m sure we will, the etiquette of the en suite. The lad aims dead centre and the acoustics may be such that this generates a sort of roar; the non-assertive male, who in another age would have cast his cloak over a puddle, aims for the quieter sides.
There’s more, lots more. But now you’ve switched on the green light it’s grist to Tone Deaf’s mill.
I think that non-assertive man needs to check carefully which puddle he casts his cloak over!
Very disappointing. If you must go bivouacking in the middle of winter, I daresay various unmentionable parts might get a little chilled. Brrrr. I envy you the adventure – from the comfort of my nice warm kitchen. I thought you were going to say that you found yourself attached to the ground by icicles and Mr. B. 2 had to mix the contents of a Kelly kettle with snow to get the correct Blonde-melting temperature.
Icicles? Now there is a challenge!