Work.

There’s a lorry driver at the left urinal. I take the left cubicle. My eyes rise to the square shapes of the suspended ceiling. I always find these interesting, I like it when there is a panel missing and you can see into the dusty dark space occupied with sparse pipe-work and wires. This time I look at the panels that are there, because there are none missing. I follow the edges of one square around and around. Urine falls. I follow the edges of a square.

Pub.

Age.
I get the impression this one has been here a long time. Pubs can be deceptive, mail-order rustic charm slung around the place to give the impression of a ‘real’ pub. But this toilet seems like it’s been here a long time (I’ll buy into it for now). The window fittings, they open upwards along a small iron arch-runner. Hmmm , that’ll be hard to visualise, it’s difficult to describe. Other than the rusted iron, there’s no obvious traces of history. It wouldn’t be appropriate in the toilet. It should be cleaned so regularly that history struggles to sit. But the wrought iron window fittings look rusted where paint work has been scraped by use. Tiles are a navy blue, and an off white ceramic urinal has two spaces implied on the surface, a well ordered ridge down the center.