I believe, according to The Star, March 15, that the antiquated ‘Blonk Street bogs’ (not my words, you understand!) are being resurrected and converted into a cafe.
What possessed them? Did they receive a flash of inspiration on the road to ‘Domestos’?
OK, they’ve not been used as public conveniences for decades, but, seriously, no matter how much they reinvent, disinfect, sanitise and fumigate them, and ramp up the fragrance factor, how can the image of what the building was in a previous incarnation ever be erased?
How can anyone enjoy a skinny latte or devour a full English breakfast on the very same spot where people were repeatedly urinating (or worse) for years on end? I, for one, would not consider that to be an appetite stimulant!
Maybe its because I’m of an age where I can remember what public toilets were before the local councils started relegating them to history.
The broken locks, broken flush mechanisms, broken everything, the graffiti from a whole spectrum of toilet wall bards, the pungent smell of you know what, the vending machines selling indelicate items and the sharp-tongued lav attendant sitting in the corner, baggy bloomers and varicose veins on display.
Can I reconcile that with a picture of an eatery?
Not a bit of it! I guess that those who believe in ghosts, hauntings and previous negative energies being embedded in the bricks and mortar would struggle even further to make that mental leap!
Who will declare this establishment open for business, so to speak?
Urine Geller, Julie Andrex?
What kind of background music will they play? Handel’s Water Music? Minuet in P? Rod Stewart and the Faeces? What kind of food will be on the menu? Anything yellow or brown. Would that be to anyone’s liking? No, please, no!!
Putting toilet humour aside, top marks to you guys for your inventive and enterprising spirit.
At least it’s better than letting it go to waste (OK, that’s the last pun, I promise!) and letting rats and squatters have free rein of the place. I truly hope it all works out for you.
Perhaps I’m being a wet blanket (don’t question the source of the wetness, and forgive me for breaking my promise regarding puns) and perhaps it’s just my age, or perhaps I need therapy, but all I know is that I don’t think you can rely on my patronage.
Oh well, I guess you can’t win ’em all. Good luck guys!
Sheffield’s finest self-styled architect
Name and address supplied.
Footnote: I suppose you won’t be popping into Public any time soon for a drink?It is in the former men’s toilets next to Sheffield Town Hall.