Toilet 19; Boggus Compactus

We spend a pleasant Sunday in the quintessentially English hilltop Cinque Port town of Rye in east Sussex. We meander a wee bit tipsy from the Gallo Sierra Valley Californian crisp dry white, up through the tourist throng and over steep Hovis cobbles towards the Norman church topping the town - and just below the summit, facing out to sea, we stumble across ye oldee castle and gun garden.
Now here's some serious plant yes sir-ee.
( All pics are click-thro expandable for your convenience )

Oh nay, nay and thrice nay; we wouldn't have wanted to have been on the business end of one of these babies, in yon days of yore now would we?

. . . and some naive yank perhaps thinks he would have made a good canon man, firing out at an invading armada - or unarmed Iraqi civilians?

These days however, the surrounding land having risen a couple of metres over the past five hundred years, the English Channel is confined a mile southwards. Here's what the gun-totin'yank would have hit. The tin roof of Solvent Solutions Ltd.

. . .mind you, he would have caused some pretty serious co-lateral with hefty iron balls like these.

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But one digresses of course. I take a deep breath, gazing up through seagull-screeched blue blue yonder to fix my eyes upon the 6ft thick castle walls. They knew how to build in those days, oh aye. None of yer £200K Barratt box rabbit hutch plasterboard and breeze block sheds, where you may have the pleasure of hearing your next door neigbour passing wind and smacking his wife & kids about etc for years on end

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.. THERE! Ensconsed and neatly tucked away below the castle ramparts, we trouve a neat little bog. Toilet 19 to be precise. Hey let's have a wee peek shall we.

The left hand door to the gents is pushed, and straight away we are into a compacted box of claustrophobic dimensions. Across the tidy red terracotta tiled floor, a psychologically uncomfortably narrow three-man urinal confronts the vision. Nice interior decor aesthetic paint job though. A dinky dinky hand dryer squats intriguingly slighty above and to the left, suggesting a penis-drying function as well as handies. Charming!

As I stand at stall two, taking advantage of the facilities, my gaze melds in a catatonic alcoholic stupour in amongst the molecular grime of the oxidized metal grating passing as a window, filtering diffracted and diffused light through from outside.

The pitted alu' alloy window grills in this space are space-age indeed. Indeed another viddy abouts the place confirms some space vehicular-type of vibe. Something along the lines of Hatfield bog ( Toilet 7 see Tags ). Hey yes, get a load of the porcelain cistern and accompanying alloy grid.

Quite a work of art wouldn't you agree?
Boggus Compactus is aptly named, yet the innards induce one to linger, for here is toilet minimalism combined with Bauhaus-like craftsmanship of the toilet furniture. . .yeah, take a glimpse at the sink plus. Sheer bog class, this.

. . followed by the obligatory cublicle inspection. Stainless steel slendour -and nine out of ten for clean-li-ness, as it were.

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Exiting blinking into the intoxicating sea air and blinding south coast early August sunshine, we half descend a long stretch of steps to see whether the Smugglers Inn is open for business - but no, it's not all day drinkies in this corner of Rye so I attempt to open my day pack wherein is stowed the remainder of the Gallo. . .but as I tug at the zip I loose balance and collapse hard and numbly onto my butt on the worn medieval granite staircase. Ha! Drunk!
Don't laugh we've all done it.

I look abouts and here is a timely reminder of what they used to do to you if you stole a loaf of Rye bread in 1600 and odd.

I am helped to my feet by a chortling half-inebriated-herself Miss Dingo, and it's back down the hill for some fish and chips and a sobering coffee pour moi.

Recommendations for Toilet 18?
It's a supernice bog, if you can find it? Now theres a challenge and a half for you chaps and chapettes.

AA.