Located just off the main parking square directly adjacent to the Co-op and across from the old Safeways/new Morrisons in the charming south Wales market town of Brecon, languishes this longpig beast of a bog. An integral part of the scenery hereabouts, but which could do with a fresh coat of whitewash; we approach the Gents ( Dynion ) from the square.

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Two curiosities strike as one passes through the doorway. Firstly even the "Gents" sign has to have its Welsh translation, as if we are in a foreign country. It's a bog, chaps - I mean no one in their right mind is going to mistake it for a tailors. Second, for some bizarre reason, this south Wales cottage has a recurring theme of a Boy Scout-like motif repeatedly emblazened on surfaces throughout its internal structure. Don't ask me what that's all about, I'm only the humble bog-blogger.
Swiftly entering the long house we find;

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the space expanding to Tardis-like volume, the 12-man shiny steel urinal at the far end being the first object of attention. The second sense in here is one of social intercourse. This is a very well frequented toilet and on previous visits I have found several locals discussing life and times whilst attending to nature's call. The flavour of the place is almost cattle market banter-friendly. Moving right along, or more precisely, turning sharp right, we discover

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a line of 6 pokey cubicles with a larger disabled tagged on the end. Again, the Brecon town toilet logo irritates. What the hell is that wretched squiggle?
Rendered in fetching fawns and dark green with tan tiling, the colour scheme is about right I suppose, for a popular public loo. As one approaches the traps, one ( or at least 6ft one" me ) notices the dolls' house nature of the doors and low dividing partitions.

Seriously short on height, one sees that one could engage in a conversation, should one so desire, with someone of similar Englishness of height standing in the adjacent cubicle. All you'd have to do is tippytoe a bit to have eye contact. Again, evidence -backed up by our Smallest Toilet in the World bog-blog from July- that the Welsh, bless their dragon-sewn cotton socks, are somewhat vertically challenged, as a rule. . .

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Dismissing the uncomfortably exposed and voyeristic feeling of being ensconsed in trap 3 and after admiring the random glass brick placement in the walls, we wander around the corner to the substantial stainless twin wash basin section. How many chirpy- cheerful brief Welsh-accented boyo dialogues have passed between wash handy locals here over the years, one muses. The basins and surfaces are spacious indeed, reminding of a meeting place of quite some unstated importance. ( see bottom of blog for pic)
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Before leaving this gossip house of sorts, we pop back into a trap to snatch a pic of the securing locks and bolts which struck the eye before.

Similar damage is evidenced on all trap doors, even the roomier disabled, so signs here of a fairly brutal side to folk, presumably after the pubs close on the weekends. Certainly wouldn't fancy being interrupted at my sit by some Welsh Rugby try converter wannabe's drunken match practice door kick-ins.

Suppose they have to vent their frustrations somewhere, at having to live life at under 5 feet seven and getting beaten by the English at just about everything ( except decency ).

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I saunter out of Brecon Public Conveniences, past the Ladies at the other end of the block and into the square, in a kind of bog daze. Shall I buy milk at the adjacent Co-op or the new manic Morrisons across the way?

Decisions decisions.

The horrible new genetically modified Morrisons it is, for the Co-op smells like an old folks home.

MSM

BTW, The Walrus, aka the good Dr Dark, says this convenience is, or was back in the summer, less than sqeeky C. Reminding that I forgot the token hygene count; I'd venture an average to poor 5/10 and quietness of sit rating at virtually zero.
Great place to informally meet & greet the locals though.

PS. The Welsh for "Police", which the cops have writ large on all their partol cars, is HEDDLU.
Hahahahaha

Had to get that one in, the Heddlu swine stop you on any country road after about 11pm for no reason other than everyone else has gone to bed by 10 - and issue you with some ticket instructing to take your insurance etc documentation to your local police station within a week.

They need something to do out there besides banging young lambs.