Laminated literature in the loo

Inspiration strikes at the most inconvenient moments - don't you find?

Frequently I will think "Hmm... I must blog about that", only to find myself in an unbloggable situation. No doubt the technology exists that would allow me to post from my mobile phone, or my Blackberry, or by the power of my mind, but I can't quite be bothered to figure it out. So I'll settle for only blogging every now and again when I find myself with a keyboard and an internet connection in the immediate vicinity of my fingers.

Incidentally, such is my fickle relationship with technology that my Blackberry sits at the bottom of my laptop bag, uncharged and unloved. I really dislike having telephone conversations, yet I have 4 (count 'em!) phones in my modest flat (one in the kitchen, one in my bedroom and two in the living room, naturally...). In fact I now have 2 phone lines, since the arrival of my pretty new BT Home Hub. But I don't answer the phone, unless I know who's calling - withhold (withold?) your number and clearly you're not worthy of my time and attention.

Anyway, I digress, because I'd actually started with the intention of telling you about what's written on the door of the ladies loo at work. No, no - not my phone number, cheeky...!

I've recently moved to a different area in the office. It's very nice - top floor, very spacious, tin roof that's deafening in the rain - you get the picture. So of course, my regular loo has changed. Now I don't spend a long time in the lavatory at work, but I have already become tired of the notice that is on the back of the door:

If you make a mess...
Please leave this toilet nice and fresh

Now, for one thing, one has to wonder what went on in there before we moved in, because I know for a fact that no-one in my department would be leaving any anti-social nastiness after they've been about their business. We're all grown ups and long past the point when someone needed to tell us to clean up after ourselves.

But the thing that really bothers me about the notice is the not-quite-poem-ness of it. The rhythm's just a bit off, and rhyming "mess" and "fresh"... [shudder]

It reminds me of the toilet roll cover dolls that my Nan used to crochet. She'd tie a little label to their wrists:

Down to the last sheet?
Don't despair
Turn me over
I'm a spare

So I'm seriously thinking that I'm going to start putting new notices on the back of the toilet door. They might be informative, or humourous, or actual proper poems. I'm not sure yet, but anything's got to be better than what's there. Except my phone number - that doesn't rhyme either...