As a diehard Southerner, I have unthinkingly subscribed to that popular maxim: “It’s grim up North.”

Therefore, it was with a degree of both surprise and amusement that I witnessed the consternation––and enterprise––of a large group of visiting Northerners––lads on a stag do––when confronted with the gents’ toilet at my local watering-hole.

I know by proximity––the ladies’ being next door––that it is a small toilet.  An estate agent might generously describe it as ‘bijou’ perhaps even ‘intimate’, but a more honest assessment would probably be ‘cupboard’.

Nor is its marketable value enhanced by its inherent darkness or, as one of the first Northerners so eloquently commented: “There’s no fuckin’ light in here.”

However, this possible obstacle was overcome by native Northern nous: “Use the torch on your phone.”

Ultimately, though, this ingenious use of artificial illumination still didn’t improve the visitor’s initial impression: “It’s horrible in there.”

As the last of the group took his turn to enter, I recognised my own geographical prejudice reflected back at me when he observed with disdain to his mates: “What do you expect?  This is London.”

© Beery Sue

Beery Sue finds herself at a North-South divide.