Caravan Memories and Bathroom Doors
MONDAY: Lunch on this quiet Monday in the student-sparse library is Wensleydale with cranberries on a sunflower breadcake from a local shop. I had no sandwich makings at home, so I was forced to treat myself. Ahhh, what a shame...
The other night I was staring vacantly at the television. (I say "staring at vacantly" because most times when I find myself sitting on the sofa and the TV's on I'm really not interested in watching it and I just wish it would go away. "Right," says 26-inch Panasonic, "I'm off t' pub. Don't wait up for me." But alas, it's only a dream…)
Anyway, I was staring at a repeat of QI, Stephen Fry's more intelligent than average celebrity game show. The question came up about what links Airstream, Sierra, Fleetwood, Sandpiper, and a few others names…and instantly, propelled by an excited prodding in the childhood section of my memory, I blurted out "TRAILERS! They're all trailers!" As the celebrities all seemed stumped Stephen Fry gave the answer: "They're all makes of caravans." (Which, of course, are trailers in America.) Andrew, who was sitting next to me and usually knows most everything but not this, was impressed that I replied so fast. I explained that my grandparents once lived in an Airstream, and I had a friend who lived in a Sierra and another who camped out in a Sandpiper.
Still, I'm rather perplexed. Why do I know so much about trailers? My Uncle Tom, who's the genealogist of the Mitchell family, informs me at various times during his research travels of new bloodlines, races, and nationalities to add to my already hugely diverse ancestral tree. It could be the touch of Gypsy from way back that has etched all the makes of caravans into my brain. But on the other hand I'm dying to ask him -- proudly, of course -- if he's located any trailer trash in our ancestry.
That might explain why I think of pink flamingos as desirable decor.
TUESDAY: I brought my lunch today. It's only cheddar and spring onion with English mustard on a Somerfield equivalent to a whole wheat bolo roll. But my fruit includes fresh nectarine, fresh local strawberries, and intensely ripe cantaloupe.
Something I've been meaning to complain about is this closed-door policy in Britain. And I'm not referring to immigration or trade or anything so newsworthy; I'm talking about bathroom doors. Why do so many Brits, including the younger generations, leave the bathroom door closed when nobody is in there? How do they expect people to know if the bathroom's in use or not? It's not like there's a door latch which, when engaged, changes an indicator from VACANT to OCCUPIED -- at least not on the domestic bathrooms I've seen.
When I first visited England I still lived in sunny Southern California where the fact that I didn't have central heating wasn't much of a problem. And then I visited the huge stately home of some non-wealthy Sussex acquaintances who simply couldn't afford to thaw the late November chill from their castle by turning on the heating. So I could understand why they closed off all the doors to the lounge in which we were being entertained: it was to keep the heat from the roaring fire in the room with us, instead of letting it waft off and dissipate in the freezer of a kitchen where even the Marmite had probably turned to ice, or into the frozen wasteland of the upstairs rooms. If one had to pop out to use the loo, one could simply don one's coat, hat, and gloves and pretend one was on a camping trip.
In cases like that, door-closing makes sense: to conserve heat and reduce fuel costs. But this does not explain the infuriating habit of keeping the door closed to an empty bathroom. And it's not the elderly Brits I'm railing at, because they may have been brought up with the toilet outside away from the house, and therefore they may still harbour the opinion that a toilet belongs out of sight and not displayed as a feature of one's house. All well and good, although some people actually have this attitude about their children and pets -- but I won't start on that one. The door closers I object to are mostly young people I've known who have no logical reason to leave the bathroom door closed when they vacate the room. My god, it's the 21st century, and top Italian designers enjoy the rewards of well-attended exhibits of their gorgeous and sensual bathtub, sink, and toilet designs. There's nothing to be ashamed of -- everyone has to use the toilet now and then, even the Queen and the Pope. I suppose androids wouldn't necessarily have to, but if there were androids I would think they'd have much better things to do than to come over to my house and make sure my bathroom door is shut.
I'm sorry -- bathroom doors are meant to be open and inviting when the room's not in use. If the bathroom has a window the sun can shin in, providing money-saving solar heat, and the air stays fresh and healthier.
Okay, I'm going to stop talking about this now because I'm in danger of becoming so obsessive I might start going around opening bathroom doors that are closed for a good reason. So consider yourself warned…
