Whatever I said...

I went for a piss this morning in Cairo International Airport. Whilst I was pissing, a man whose job it was (and still is) to stand in the toilets all day, crept up behind me and draped five sheets of toilet paper on the partition between my urinal and the one next to me. After I'd finished, the same man followed me to the sink where I was offered another five sheets of toilet roll with which to dry my hands.

But that was this morning.

This afternoon, I took a piss in London Heathrow Terminal 5. Spotless, auto-spurty-fauceted, dyson-drying-heaven with no blokes disregarding the very basics of human privacy. After a two-hour delay (caused by the anticipation of, but not actually attributal to, the abundance of snow that's been threatened) I arrived in Edinburgh, grabbed my suitcase, and proferred a Dayticket courtesy of a bloke who was finished with his unlimited £3 pass for the day. I found some thought evaluation was required with whether the kindness of the ticket issuer outweighed the guilt I felt as being carted across the city for an hour by a grumpy-faced driver who didn't have the balls to argue with me about the clear moral issue of not paying for the service.

Hey-ho.

Sister #1 met me for a guided tour of my luxury living quarters for the next fortnight. The Quartermile pad is very nice. All hooked up and wired in. Surfing the internet without swearing is something I'd almost forgotten could happen.

The evening was spent with big sis sharing stories of life, love and therapy to a backdrop of dance music, cheeky nieceisms and a piano so out of tune, it sounded like a honky-tonk.