Pan Iberia - A Lavatorial Guide

[oily oaf]

Boa Noite! :mad:

The more lively minded and alert among you will have gathered that I have returned to this blessed Albion via the moving, flying, planet raping aeroplane device and am once more able to add my insightful comments and observations in this debating society par excellence.

Whilst away I became accustomed to a diet consisting largely of lager, olives, figs, lager, lager and oily tuna steaks washed down with lager with the ensuing result that my bowel movements became more regular than a home defeat for West Ham :(

So with this in mind I have now completed a small guide book entitled "The Rough Mechanics Guide To The Iberian Bog" which chronicles my own toilet based and and at times explosive experiences in the Gentleman's retreats throughout Southern Portugal and Spain.
It is a fairly compact and yet all encompassing work and is aimed at those people who upon venturing into the region have found themselves through one reason or another "wanting to go to the toilet".

Here is a small taste of what you can expect for your £200,003,59p.

Faro airport:
As I passed through baggage reclaim I decided to pop to the Ben Ghazi for a crafty one before calling a cab.
As I opened the door I noticed that you could cut the fetid atmosphere inside with a knife.
Realising at once that decisive action was called for I attached a length of string to the cat's collar and hurled it through the door before closing it firmly.
After ten minutes I hauled him out only to find the brute unconscious and with tears matting the fur around his eyes.
I made a tactical withdrawal.
Marks out of 10 - 2

O Restaurant Baixamar. Santa Luzia:
A blessed lavatorial shangri la.
The bowl glistened and winked in the shaft of warm Portuguese sunlight that peeped through the louvred window, the heady scent of orange blossom and Dettol Extra Strong filled my head with sensuous delight as a piped Shipping Forecast played softly in the background.
So enamoured was I of the facility that I promptly pressed the distress button and asked the maitre d' to serve my Sardine Vindaloo and fizzy lager in situ and spent the next hour in wonderful pensive bowel evacuating nirvana
10/10

The following day I crossed the Guardiana river into Spain and reached Huelva before going down with severe stomach cramps.
Sadly everything was closed including the bogs due to the sacred festival of "The Last Clearout" when Our Lord nipped away from the supper table for a quick nipsey in the chodbin before shooting off to the Garden of Gethsemane with the lads.
I watched enthralled as sombre priests, black as crows bore huge papier mache toilet bowls through the thronged streets, gently waving burning toilet brushes and anointing the crowds with small bottles of Blu Loo.
Stark and moving fare indeed.

Loosening the top button on my trousers and mopping my sweating brow I sped on to beautiful Sevilla. Whitewashed Moorish Jewell of Spain. Home to the succulent orange, the sudden cry of the anguished Flamencoista, the throb of guitars and some of the finest Manueline khazis in all Spain.
I opted for a tiny public lavatory in a small backstreet and let fly as the scent of tapas and industrial cleaning fluid enveloped me like a shroud.
9/10

For your copy of the full, unexpurgated version of my toilet trek please send me all your credit cards and pin numbers safe in the knowledge that I will have cleaned out your account within 1 working day.

Disclaimer:
I am a gullible 2 bob mug who can't even walk and talk at the same time and who realises that I will receive absolutely no goods whatsoever within this or any other working year.
I will be in/out between the hours of ..... and .....am/pm.
I do/do not have a fierce dog
signed.............

Next week:
How I became locked in a grim life or death struggle in the gentleman's retreats at The British Bulldog Lager and Pilates Emporium in Torremolinos after an irate English football lout accused me of staring at his toilet brush :(

[Jaws]

Oily,

I was extremely interested to read your accounts of the Boggas of Spain, however, I felt you were a little underdone in some details.

For example, I couldn't really feel I was there without a description of the Bog Role (Toilet Paper), was it harsh, soft, standard industrial fare, was it there at all? and I would have liked to know what you were reading on the Bog, local newspapers?, phone directories? ??

Perhaps this is all in the "sealed section" in which case I will gladly remitt my bank balances.

[CarlMetro]

Nice to see your return to these fair shores Oily :up: but did you have to mention Seville? ;(

[Donney]

What's wrong with Sevilla? Did you have any bad experiences there? It's a nice place, not my favourite, but nice nontheless.

[Donney]

Oily I have found the ideal place in Matosinhos (http://www.directoalpaladar.com/2007/04/16-restaurante-wduck-comer-sentado-en-un-vater#more)

http://www.directoalpaladar.com/2007/04/16-restaurante-wduck-comer-sentado-en-un-vater#more

[Eki]

Welcome back to the forums, oily. The Iberians tolerated your presence longer than I would have expected.

[schmenke]

Utterly captivating chronicle on your intestinal adventures there Oily ‘ol mate. Thanks for the scoop (see wot I did there). So enthralling was your tale that you might want to consider a monthly editorial in the Michelin Guide, you know, a critique of Europe’s road-side toilets. Many a weary road traveler with tightened sphincters would certainly find relief with a quick reference to Oily’s chapter entitled Complete Review About Public Porcelain Excrement Receptacle Sites, or C-R-A-P-P-E-R-S for short.

Looking forward to the first installment… :up:

[oily oaf]

Jawsey oh fruit of my lusty young loins, I took the precaution of packing a number of back issues of "The Arsenal Supporters Chronicle" which provided me with many hours of absorbent and sadistic fun.
Now go to your room and pick all those hard core grumble mags off the floor. There's more T and A in there than a Bangkok rub a tug shop :mad:

Carl. Coulda been worse squire I could have mentioned Sheffield :(

Donney. You beat me to the punch amigo. That very same establishment was mentioned in my paper today and my eyes lit up at the chance to amuse everybody here with the relevant pictures.
You do realise you've ruined my life don't you? (whine)

Eki. Indeed they did my moose tampering chum. I think you gave me 3 days if my memory serves me correctly :mad:

Schmenkie. When I read your piece I laughed and vomited into the wastepaper basket by turn at the sheer fatuous, improbability of it all.
I have however had an article published in this months Enema Digest using the clever acronym Totally Useful Rectal Delivery Suggestions.

I think I'll have a nice bit of cod for tea tonight.
A few fries and a tin of mushy peas.
Yeah go down a treat that will :r2d2:

[Donney]

I'm sorry Oily but when I saw it I just could not help myself and had to post it here.


I think I now get why Carl is not a fan of Sevilla (it was football after all)

[Hazell B]

I think I'll have a nice bit of cod for tea tonight.
A few fries and a tin of mushy peas.


None of that foreign muck here. We're having pizzas.

I dunno, a few days away and he's eating posh nosh and bleating on about marmalade oranges :mark:

[race aficionado]

Holy Crap!
Oily's back!

And full of beans I see! :p :

:s mokin:

[Brown, Jon Brow]

I would like to see oily's guide to toilets in the Lake District. I've had experiences in them which involve Dutch tourists. :erm:

[LotusElise]

I've often found that the toilets in supposedly posh places are really nasty, while less posh places have better lavatorial quality.
For example, the public loos in the centre of Warwick are deeply unpleasant and the stalls in the Albert Hall were flooded when I went there once.
Yet in the cheapo shopping centre in Liverpool, the loos are fine. Is this democracy, toilet style?

[oily oaf]

None of that foreign muck here. We're having pizzas.

I dunno, a few days away and he's eating posh nosh and bleating on about marmalade oranges :mark:

You're absolutely right of course Ms B.
I shall make amends for this aberration by sticking firmly to our national dish of Chicken Tikka Masala and Neapolitan ice cream from this day forward.

Foreign grub is the devil's work and no error :mad:
Last night I had some of that Camembert cheese and then dreamt that I was involved in a sizzling romp in my shed with Her Majesty The Queen and the late Archbishop Makarios of Greece.
The grateful duo then gave me five pounds before hurling me headlong into the yard and ordering me to powerwash the patio.
It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

[LeonBrooke]

Last night I had some of that Camembert cheese and then dreamt that I was involved in a sizzling romp in my shed with Her Majesty The Queen and the late Archbishop Makarios of Greece.
The grateful duo then gave me five pounds before hurling me headlong into the yard and ordering me to powerwash the patio.
It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

You must have such little self-respect, oily, you really have my sympathy.

That it seemed natural that you engaged in intimate relations, and then the very people with whom you had been engaging in these relations reduced you to the level of a menial labourer immediately afterwards shows how little regard you have for yourself...

[CarlMetro]

I've had experiences in them which involve Dutch tourists. :erm:

Oo er misses :s ailor:

[Hazell B]

...... Her Majesty The Queen and the late Archbishop Makarios of Greece.

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

So long as Her Maj's horse and some Corgis were there, why shouldn't it feel natural :confused:

Jeez man, throw in a game of bridge and you're describing my average friday night :mark:

[jim mcglinchey]

[quote="oily oaf"]Boa Noite! :mad:



After ten minutes I hauled him out only to find the brute unconscious and with tears matting the fur around his eyes.


A week later and that image still makes me chuckle.