I am making this post under extreme duress after telling this story to my fellow producers over a bucket of fried chicken. In it, I discuss the various necessitates of the morning routine, and the extra effort involved in doing them in the bathroom of the cupboard. Those with weak stomachs should probably stop reading now…
The Cupboard is tiny. A single bed takes up the space, with the ‘kitchen’ (one single cupboard, with worktop on it, a kettle and a toaster) on one side and the ‘door’ (shower curtain) to the bathroom on the other.
The bathroom is smaller than those in even the smallest of motor homes. However, rather than making a space inventive wet room, three separate appliances were installed; toilet, sink and shower.
The shower is best described as the anti Tardis, somehow being smaller on the inside then looks would lead you to believe. I have yet to find out a way to squeeze my ample frame into its coffin like confines, close the door and then turn the water on. I am also sure the shower and I have gone well past fourth base on the two dates we have shared together (she does seem incredibly probe friendly!). Oh, and she runs hot and cold for no rhyme or reason, in terms of water temperature. The so called heat adjuster seems to be there for looks only, as the water just goes in the following pattern of roughly 10 second intervals:-
Cold, Hot, Cold, Nice, Nice, Scalding, Freezing, Nice, Freezing, No More Skin, Off
Next to the shower rests the toilet, a menacing smile on her porcelain face. And I mean this literally, at one point someone drew a joker face on the toilet, and little has been done to cover it up. Indeed, it is my belief that all attempts to cover the face up have only made it worse.
To stand up and pee in the toilet is relatively painless, though you do need to strike the pose of a conquering knight, right leg standing firmly on the dragon carcass that is a box of mysteries (I assume pipes?) to achieve the proper angle.
The other is fairly more complex. The shower to one side, the sink to the next, it would seem the architect of this bathroom never envisioned that people sitting on the toilet would have a lower half. My knees have near identical bruises on them from these two vicious sisters. There is a solution, with a little poem I made up to make sure I remember it.
Before you poop, open the f@*king shower door!
Next, the sink. Home for shaving, teeth brushing and hand washing. The first struggle, getting the water to come out. One turns the tap on the top, nothing. Oh, but there is a tap on the side also. A wee turn and the bathroom is transformed into the Trevi Fountain. Fighting my way back I turn the side tap back off and the top tap is fine. Turn the top tap off and on again, nothing? Luckily, you do not need to go through the fountain scene every morning. As long as you side tap on, side tap off, top tap on, everything is fine. There is no such thing as warm water, only cold.
However, you cannot stand directly in front of the sink, over which hangs the mirror, unless you once again strike the heroic pose and have one leg up on the closed toilet seat (pro tip, always put the toilet seat down before doing this, lest you have damp socks).
Due to the more family nature of this blog, I will refrain from the more gory of details.