Talking of having a wee, I popped into the gents at Preston station this morning before boarding the Arriva TransPennine TraumaTrain™ for the very last time before Christmas (thank God).

Like a lot of public comfort stations (and with a bladder like mine I've seen a LOT), these have a little chart on the door stating that some lowly, underpaid drone has done his duty in the last hour and checked the bogs. There was indeed a little signature agains "06.00" to say that the chap had stuck his head round the door.

In this particular case, he'd presumably checked that the urinals were STILL full of fag ends and chewing gum, that the taps STILL don't work and the whole place STILL smells as if someone's died.