This will hurt me...

A view from the toilet. Mayfair Plaza, Sandy Bay. November 2011. Theme Thursday already, and today's post comes from INSIDE the toilet here in the complex where I toil away. There are a few options if you are in need of a lavatory during business hours, but I prefer this dunny . For one, it is close by. A quick nip through the car park, and you're in the privvy! Secondly, how many times can you say that you've enjoyed the magnificent (and not at all repetitive) artistic styling of Stark (Sandy Bay's answer to Banksy) while sitting on the can ? Certainly, other johns might not be so decorated with the detritus of urban decay, but I find those loos , khazis and latrines far too cramped for my style. Honestly, who wants to go about one’s business like one of those calves penned up in a veal factory farming enterprise? Not this little black duck! If I have to use a bathroom INSIDE, I need space. I need to be able to stretch my legs out lift my arms up and roar like ...

The things that you see when sitting on the toilet. The toilet, Mayfair Plaza, Sandy Bay. October 2011. I always seem to be finishing books on the Friday and consequently posting the review the following week, so forgive me if I’m a little vague on Herta Müller’s The Appointment . I shall confess that I was not familiar with Müller’s work until she was awarded the awarded the 2009 Nobel Prize in Literature. Müller is a Romanian-born German novelist and poet most noted for her exploration of the effects of violence, cruelty and terror; usually in the setting of Communist Romania under Nicolae Ceauşescu. It is this stifling atmosphere of repression that pervades throughout The Apartment . The unnamed narrator – a young, female factory worker – has been summoned for questioning by the secret police for a relatively benign crime. From this point, her life has become subject to the whims of Major Albu, who summons her for random interrogation sessions with seemingly little purpose other tha...

One suspects that this is one of those "He's going to resent this in the future" kind of snaps, but I've decided that I'm posting it anyway. We're a week into what I am calling toilet turkey , a titanic tussle to topple terrible toddler habits; namely, pooing one's pants. But I ask you, does this like a fellow ready to ditch the world of cloth nappies and thrust himself headlong into a world of cisterns, u-bends, bowls and urinals?

Here is my question to you, do robots poo?