Life at № 42 by E.M. Coutinho
The one terribly unpleasant thing I found when we moved into number 42 were the loos. From a little distance they look normal, but as one approaches, one discovers they’re of the German persuasion. My first encounter with a German loo was travelling as a child. I (still) remember looking at it and trying to make sense of the thing. It didn’t take me long to decide the only reasonable explanation for that design was that Germans sat on the loo differently, straddling the thing. Why they did this I did not know, but alas, they’re an odd, meat boiling, sort of people.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, let me explain with pictures.
Many years later (well into adolescence) I discovered to great horror that my theory was entirely mistaken. Germans weren’t a quirky loo straddling people. That little platform you see (Balcony? Observation deck? Presentation tray?), is there so one can have a good look at what’s just come out of one’s body. Yes, seriously. Eeeeeewwwwww.
Anyway, one by one they’re being removed from number 42. There’s now only one left to go. Thank goodness. It’s just a horrendous concept. To look back and see something just sitting there, like it’s waiting to take a selfie with you.