In the toilet

We visit Mike and Helen today and take along a stack of cards for him for his birthday from friends at the Pub - the exact day of which has set the whole of the Geriatrics' Corner all ahoo. Somehow the simple expedient of ringing up and asking never occurred to us.

On the drive out to the little Lancashire village of Borwick, My Good Lady and I are struck by the spring-like brightness of the day, bright and cold and with showers threatening, but definately heralding the season of rebirth.

Mike doesn't get around as much as he used to because of his Motor Neurone problems. And he's had a number of falls recently which have shaken his confidence rather badly.

Still, he and Helen are great company, always a pleasure to visit.

"There isn't any mains drainage in the village," they tell us. "We have to use a communal septic tank. And unfortunately it isn't always properly used." Seems the tank is blocking up, and the toilet is backing up rather badly.

This puts us in mind, though, of the eco-lodge we stayed at in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. No flush toilets there, either. Just a very large, dry tank. You had to keep the seat down all the time to allow the contents to compost itself. And remarkably, it lacked any malodourous emissions - indeed it smelt fairly sweet.

Using it, though, was a bit spooky. You always got a draft of cold air whenever you lifted the seat. It really put the shivers up you!

And although it wasn't bad, it did make you appreciate the comforts of a five star Sydney hotel toilet.