The Blind Busker’s basement toilet offers an interesting sensory experience. Unusually warm, noisy and lit by a sickly orange glow, it feels a bit like you’ve walked into the gents on a Naval frigate, such is the encroaching engine-hum of what I assume is some sort of industrial-strength heating system (which would explain the warmth).
Mind you, if people in charge of warships were as bad at aiming as this pub’s punters are, we’d be at war with Denmark. Aside from the haphazard distribution of wee, the toilets are functionally fine, notable only for a rather impressive sink mirror.
But décor is this bathroom’s party piece – or rather was. Where once the room’s large chalkboards distracted the bored urinator with incongruous, not-very-interesting quotes from the likes of Tom Waits and Norm from Cheers, now a fat, bespectacled blue bird presents news of ‘street of the week’, a nifty promotion that offers food and drink discounts to residents of a nominated road. But, alas, there is no street of the week. Instead, our birdy friend chirrups into the void – a blank speech bubble has rarely said so much.
