Brewer's
Unoriginal 
Miscellany

Pub toilets

All pub toilets are poorly signposted.
This is so that, when you first feel the need to pay a visit, you don’t have a clue which way to go, so you head initially in the wrong direction, then have to turn round embarrassingly in front of a crowd of onlookers after you walk accidentally into the alcove behind the cigarette machine.

All pub toilets are situated on a different floor to the pub itself.
This is to force you to attempt to negotiate a set of narrow stairs, usually downwards, whilst in a drunken state, and risking stumbling, losing your footing and ending up at the bottom in a heap.

All pubs must be separated from their toilet facilities by at least two doors.
This is so that you can't see anyone standing at the urinals while you're stood at the bar sipping on your weak yellow lager.

All pub toilets have supposedly witty names on the doors, like 'Laddies' and 'Gentlewomen', ‘Ducks’ and ‘Drakes’, or ‘Masters’ and ‘Mistresses’.
This is to encourage you to walk into the wrong convenience by mistake, much to your eternal shame, and because the landlord mistakenly believes that these names are funny.

All female pub toilets have the same floor area as male pub toilets.
This is because most architects are men, who never stop to think that one cubicle takes up a lot more floor space than one urinal, so they just divide the pub’s available toilet space in half, so there’s always a huge queue outside the ladies, which they never notice because they’re men.

All pub toilets are cold, damp, with puddles on the floor and lacking in toilet paper.
This is because landlords know that, after five pints, you'll be so bladdered that you have no choice but to use the facilities provided, however miserable, and so there's no point maintaining them to any acceptable standard.

All pub toilets are jinxed so that, whenever you desperately need to pay a visit, so does the creepy bloke from the bar that you'd rather never ever be alone with, except that now you are, and you're standing next to him, and you'd rather be absolutely anywhere else, except that there are important biological reasons why you can't leave the urinal for the next 45 seconds.
This is because life's a bitch. Or am I just going to the wrong pubs?