So, in a futile bid at reinventing nostalgia in the most innapropriate way, “The (new) Marquee” opened in a cavernous multi-storey club in Leicester Square. As it somewhat unsurprsingly turned out, it was a total disaster and lost a lot of total f*cking idiots a lot of money when it fell on its arse as soon as it was opened.
Saying that…I was intrigued to have a gander. So when I was invited to a friends gig on one of its multiple floors, I decided to check it out.
Not being the worlds most organised man, I inadvertenly found myself in the familiar situation of running late for the gig (AGAIN)…and when I did arrive I was properly dying for a piss. I mean…that was my be all and end all…I could barely walk…I was pretty much holding it in with my fingers.
So…we get in the doors and discover that the gig is on the 3rd floor. I hoof it up the stairs, say a quick hello to the band, (that wasn’t hard…there was pretty much us, the bar staff and a couple of very underwhelmed tourists in the 400 capacity, multi-level cyber cave) and then swiftly enquired about the whereabouts of the bogs.
Turns out they were on the 5th floor.
So I run (as fast as a man holding his penis can) up the two flights of stairs and see a single door with both a wee man and lady sign.
Bit odd. But hey…I’ve seen Ally McBeal and I’m down with that.
I walk through the door note with no small amount of surprise that there is a man to my left selling lollipops who wants me to give him a pound so that I can have a piss with a clear conscience, but am suprised to note that on the right hand side of the door is also a woman pulling the same stunt.
I notice this is a very odd toilet. It’s all modern and minamilist….and that the two sour faced con merchants appear to sitting rather too close to the action.
There is a single door that I assume is the only crapper.
I notice that the urinals really are quite swish though…more like long troughs made of flint. If I’m honest…they’re a bit on high side…but still…really rather zen. Just not sure what all the metal features are for.
So…being a man of the world and having no issue whatsover with unisex toilets….I walk over to the urinal, whop the chap out and start pissing for Scotland.
It is only once the flood gates of hell have been unleashed that I begin to look more carefully at my surroundings, and more to the point, the abject look of utter disgust from everybody else in the room.
My brain starts to churn.
“Bit odd that they’ve got taps in the urinal….wonder why that is….quite a lot of them as well…..what are those f*ckers looking at…..bit rude….oh…hang on…why would you have taps on a bog….oh…my….lord…..I’M PISSING IN THE SINK!”
And I was. With some aplomb. Couldn’t stop it either.
So now I’m pissing like a racehorse in the posh unisex sink part of this stupid bloody posh twat toilet and I can’t stop…but I feel compelled to engage the two horrified toilet attendants (and other patrons) in coversation.
“Well this is awkward”
“I don’t normally do this sort of thing you know”
“easy mistake though eh? Looks a bit like a bog.”
Finally I finish, give it a shake and get the f*ck out there (making a big deal about running one of the taps first) with as jaunty a, “I’m really sorry about this…I’ll just go now and we’ll pretend this never happened” as I could muster.
And do you know the worst part about It was?
I was stone cold sober at the time.
I never went back there.