Don’t want to put
you off your cuppa by describing in any detail my deliberations and deliveries
on the loo, so suffice to say I like a good selection of reading material in
there.
One book above all
others is a permanent fixture: Mark Forsyth’s Etymologicon is a toilet
treat. The brilliant and hilarious Inky Fool blogger takes a circular journey
around the English language, allowing the passing visitor (pun intended) to dip
in and out of his book and forever be at least interested; sometimes amazed.
Then there’s the
weekend tabloid TV magazines and The Guardian’s ‘Guide’, with which I
make a half-hearted attempt to stay in touch with popular culture. Throughout
the course of the week I read about all the films, plays and exhibitions that
I’m missing, give a glance to the TV soaps to see if anything vaguely
interesting is happening in them, so that I can better make small talk with the
stranger at the bus stop.
Don’t get me
wrong. I’m not looking down my nose at the soaps. Decades ago I used to be
addicted to Corrie and Eastenders, and Brookside before that. Who couldn’t love
Jimmy Corkhill?
Then, when I lived
in a quiet farmhouse in north Mayo, I stopped watching all of them, completely.
There I was, surrounded by ancient trees, with a heron on the rock by the
river, and here were all these vile people shouting at each other on my TV
screen. Why would I want to listen to them?
When the stress
levels are high or the IBS is kicking in, I can require fairly lengthy visits
to the loo library. For such sessions there is more meaningful reading matter
available. Arthur Schopenhauer’s ‘The Horrors and Absurdities of Religion’
might not sound like it’s a laugh a minute book, but the pure authority of the
19th century philosopher’s voice rarely fails to make me giggle.
Unshackled as he
is by the political correctness of our 21st century liberal agenda, he feels
neither shame nor guilt in dismissing everyone’s religious faith. Where any
writer would today have to declare their respect for the rights of others to
believe in what they wish, brazen as a battering ram Schopenhauer suggests on
the very first page:
“I can’t see why,
because other people are simple-minded, I should respect a pack of lies. What I
respect is truth, therefore I can’t respect what opposes truth.”
It’s immaterial
whether I agree with him or not. I simply envy his arrogance.
Sometimes a trip
to the loo library requires a little light reading, so equally important yet
just a smidgeon less intellectually demanding than philosophy, I might pick up
a tiny tome called:
‘I Could Chew On This’ and other poems by dogs.’
Writer Francesco
Marciuliano has somehow managed to persuade our furry four-legged friends to
dabble in poetry, with remarkably successful results. My personal favourite is
entitled ‘Unleashed’ which goes like this:
‘I’m free, I’m
free, I’m free, I’m free, I’m free, I’m free, I’m free. I’m lost.’
Always, without
fail there will be a couple of ancient National Geographic magazines available,
for those middle-of-the-night missions when reading is out of the question.
Beautiful vistas of soaring mountain peaks; fascinating close-ups of
microscopic viruses and a good long look down the gaping jaws of a Great White
Shark, flush, wash hands, return to bed.
Works a treat.
Occasionally
there's a guest appearance made in the loo library by one of those brochures
that try to sell you things you never knew you wanted. For some reason I find
them fascinating, even though I have not the slightest inclination to buy
bed-sheet suspenders, or a gadget that’ll warm the inside of my car by draining
its battery. I don’t need 8 chopping boards in different colours and cannot
imagine why anyone might, but by virtue of their presence in the little
catalogue, many people will feel the need to own them
Lurking on the
windowsill behind the reading area are various guide books to nerdy subjects
such as stars and planets, rocky seashores and weather, as well as more
mainstream topics like scandal and food. As with any good library, there must
be sufficient choice so that there’s always something to match my mood.
Sometimes however
there comes an interloper. A few weeks ago there was inserted in The
Guardian newspaper what they described as a free supplement called
“Appetite for Life”. It was packed with hot tips about how to beat stress and
live a long, joyful and healthy life.
Filled as it was
with lots of lists, tiny paragraphs under bold headings and fun photos, it
looked interesting enough to qualify for a place in the loo library. However it
turned out to be nothing more than a corporate wolf in altruistic clothing.
Purporting to care
for our collective health, it advised that:
“Doing a simple
thing like reading a book actually reduces stress levels by 68%, beating
listening to music, having a cup of tea and taking a walk.”
Fascinating. Who'd
have thought it? Then my eye wandered a mere two inches to the right, where
another item declared:
“You've heard it
before, but we’ll say it again. Exercise is the ultimate stress-busting
endorphin-releasing prescription, .”
Oh for goodness
sake. You’re pretending to help us, yet offering conflicting advice on the same
page. Who put this load of tosh together?
Further careful
scanning revealed that the entire supplement was in fact an extended
advertisement for Shredded Wheat. They didn’t want me to live longer. They just
wanted to flog me their bloomin’
breakfast cereal.
Such devious
double-standardry has no place in my loo library. As the Snapper suggested, the
only time we might have a use for that kind of rubbish is if we ran out of
toilet paper.
©Charlie Adley
10.05.14.
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