When did going to the loo become such a faff? Obviously, as a theatre critic, the topic of loos is one of almost obsessive interest, not least because the Ladies usually consists of one or (luxury!) two cubicles the size of shoeboxes. But here in Edinburgh, where I’m covering the festival, the topic du jour is gender identity and the whole loo thing has been taken to another level.
The loos at the Traverse theatre bear the combined male, female and transgender symbol and the sign taped to them reads: “The Traverse aims to be a trans and non-binary inclusive space and as such we encourage patrons to please use the facilities that best fit their gender identity or expression.” It adds: “Gender neutral toilets are also available.”
I don’t know what this means but I think it translates as: it’s OK to do what you want. At university in the Seventies, my mixed dorm had unisex loos and showers. This was ahead of its time though (almost) everyone hated it and yearned for segregated toilets. But, hey, we got used to it. I really don’t think I care who I meet in a loo, as long as it’s not a rhino.
Conduct unbecoming
I have rhinoceros on my mind after seeing a production of Ionesco’s absurdist play of the same name. It’s set in a small village where people start to turn into rhinoceroses (though rhinoceri sounds better to me) and, suddenly, everyone wants to be one. I was already having a rather absurd experience while watching the play, as one of my armrests kept detaching every few minutes or so. Then my water spilled down the aisle, pooling over a vent.
About 15 minutes in, someone sitting about eight seats towards the middle of a row in front of me, got up and headed for the aisle. Was she ill? Heading for the (gender neutral) loo? I saw her crouch down by the wall. Suddenly I realised she was plugging her phone into a socket to charge it. Then she ducked back to her seat. Unbelievable. There’s absurd and then there’s absurd.
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Star struck
There is a total solar eclipse this year and my mother, aged 86, just happens to live in the path of totality in the tiny town of Dallas, Oregon (not be confused with that other place in Texas). Of course it’s being billed as “The Great American Eclipse” and in Dallas four days of celebrations will precede the event, which will take place on August 21 at 10.16.57am for one minute and 57 seconds. Did I want a commemorative stamp, my mum asked. Hmmm, I thought. But then she explained it has a picture of the sun on it which, when touched, becomes a black moon. It’s thermal imaging ink. I love it.
Uncool cats
I never really believed people took their cats for walks until I saw a guy at Regent’s Park café with his tabby on a lead. He takes her for a walk twice a day. Otherwise she’d just be indoors. I can’t quite understand how that works: every cat I’ve ever had has always insisted on coming and going as it pleased. I have to say that the cat on the lead didn’t look too happy about it all. That’s the thing about cats: they aren’t called cool for nothing. Dogs adore you; cats don’t really like to make up their mind. I did laugh this week when I overheard a young woman on the street saying to her friend: “I don’t think I should get a cat; I will want it to love me more than it will.”
Word up
Word of the week is perissodactyl, which refers to odd-toed ungulates, of which the white rhino is the largest living one. Thought you should know.