Just off the M6 north of Lancaster, the delightful Burton-in-Kendal Moto services beckons tantalizingly - especially after a knackering 5 hour overnight drive from London.
I decided long long ago that long daytime motorway journeys in this plagued land of ours are complete masochism, what with the chronic traffic and roadworks mix from hell.
. . . .So as I say, the temptation to pull off and relax a while and maybe indluge myself with a Moto rubber egg on stale toast with sticky no frills beans on the side, was too much to resist. After languishing in the gutter for a while, even the pavement looks like up.
And while I'm at it how about a reccey of the conveniences? I hadn't bog-blogged since August and I was getting withdrawal symptoms. But it would have to be done quick-now before 7.00am or, like Post Festivity Repository ( see Tags), I wouldn't have the time even to raise the digicam to snap before another patron enters the establishment. . . . .
Walking a little unsteadily towards the services after hours in the cab at 70, I see it's a cute wee modern facility . .
( All pics are click-through expandable )
Through the swing doors we swish and an immediate turn left takes us along a covered walkway past the Ladies and a row of battered BT phone booths on the right, towards to the Gents at the far end . .
On the way, how cute! These great Moto people think of everything. Pet paradise indeed. We presume the "Moto pet loo" comprises that same stretch of stenching grass on the embankment outside 
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Only upon reaching the Gents doorway do we realize the substantial build quality of these services, reminding somewhat of the Inca-like stone monolithic bulk and hulk of Toilet 8, The highest loo in the UK ( see Tags).
Hmm, not bad - for England 2006, where ticky tacky Tesco "architechture" has spread like an eggbox- infestation throughout the land.
. .and what's with that periwinkle blue and green plaque of pride bolted to one side? Well well, Bog Of The Year 2005!. .
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Immediately upon entering Toilet 20, one is confronted with a what's-behind-the-green door-invitation to refresh one's motorway-abused traffic-grimed and sweat-laden bod'.
A nice touch.
Ah yes, but finding the attendant at 7.00am this grey morn' may prove difficult, yet . . . NO MStM, get that filthy thought out of your mind . . .
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No sign of janitorial or supervisory life abouts the place. Let's crop and zoom in on our genial Moto host who promises us a bog experiece from heaven herein shall we?
John Willie Wilkie! I always knew you were destined for great things. You wouldn't mind someone taking pictures for posterity (sic) inside your cute little pride and joy, now would you?
Well if you would, tough titty old boy.
The view now, looking into the bog itself is a darned fine one. An elongated oblong of a convenience, this seems just the ticket for an absorbing exploration. Wonder what's with the wall-mounted sweets jar though? All will be revealed 
Past the nicely laid out line of ultra-dapper mod inlaid wash basins, I turn and snap a neat row of ever so dinky urinals. Smart place this. Liking it.
Turning back I proceed forth up two steps to greet a line-up of five formica cubicles.
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Aaaaand nippingquitesmartly into the next to the end cubicle for privacy and peace, we are delighted to find a spic and s pan interior, complete with all mod cons.
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It's quite some swish plush tidy tiled & hygenic colour-coded formica-lined sweet-smelling bog haven this; complete with touch-free auto flusher. . ' how about that!
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Putting the seat down and, er, sitting down, I gaze skywards to admire the space-age ceiling arrangement . . . two squares and a circle, a smoke alarm and a small air duct.
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Immediately to my left hangs the almost obligatory Kruger loo paper holder. That Mr Kruger does well out of all our obulations or what. A nice little earner if you can get your bog roll dispenser into all the public conveniences in the land, nay continent.
Like undertaking, business will never die . . .
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Staring ahead in catatonic bog rapture, my vision melds with the simple but effective hardened plastic catch that has secured the door.
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You will doubtless have observed in the previous two pictures the steel plating rivetted to the sides of the cubicle. Seeing as there is no weight to support, its function cannot be structural but instead must be functional.
So, ladies. Prepare for a shock (or not). A 3mm or so thickness of metal plate is nowadays deployed on the sides of many modern gents' toilet cubicles just up to about waist height, in order to stop peeping toms drilling dirty little peep holes through the partitions.
You'll doubtless remember that classic line in Ridley Scott's Blade Runner where the cop Deckard says to Zelda (the android snake-dancer/stripper) " you'd be surprised what a man would do to get a glimpse of a naked woman". Well, here we have the gay version.
Trouble is, they didn't plan for the testosterone inevitability of one man standing on the toilet seat. For at about 4 feet, just topping the steel plate, we spy a tissue-blocked little hole. Christ almighty, do they never give up?
Ah well, boys will be boys.
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My gaze drifts down to the spotless tiles and again the super plastic layout of the place, right down to the suction supports.
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Enough! Must get a move on to snap the remaining bog furniture before the morning bum's rush brigade arrive on their ways to work. So out I creep, checking the urinals are unmanned, and after snapping the amazing view looking back down through the loo. . .
. . .I notice yet another entrepreneurial new service to be had at Burton-in-Kendal Moto. . .snap.
Framed with a reflection of the white stalls behind, a combing mirror sports an irrisistable offer of an invigorating one pound massage for all you weary motorists. The guys would certainly go for this one - a luxurious pummelling by a topless beauty while the missus waits with the yowling brats back in the carparked Vauxhall?
Dream on lads. Remember that bloated and grubby-looking armchair languishing just inside the main entrance? Yeah, it's got stuff inside that'll give you a 5 minute mechanical back rub. It's something you'd only want to give a go after a few jars though, realistically.
Yet we have the spirit of the age defined right there.
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Turning to the right slightly, we pick up the symmetry of the twin stainless steel & plastic hand dryers along with another one of those strange wall-mounted sweets dispenser jars. .
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In actual fact, they contain chewable little sawn-off toothbrushes concealed within confectionary wrappers, as some of you may already know. A pound coin will bring you the dubious delight of being able to munch on a flexible centimetre of plastic brush coated with peppermint-flavoured antisceptic.
I tried one once - absolute viledom. It would also be far too easy to forget what you're doing and instinctively swallow it. Doesn't bear thinking about.
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So. In the course of my incredible journey towards and through what is undoubtably a superior gold-star motorway services toilet, I have been offered;
1) Drinkies for my doggie
2) Freepost Truprint film processing bags
3) A Ģ3 shower
4) A Ģ1 massage, and
5) A Ģ1 chewable toothbrush
When all most gents want is a quick pee and a wash handies. Jesus H Christ with one foot in a mop bucket, if it carries on like this, by 2010 they'll be offering us a 5 quid short back & sides while we're sitting on a tailor-made swivelling crapper 
AA.
isadora101
( i avoid it when out, but it's really need sometimes! 
Tell me tell me, what's in the wall-mounted sweets jar!