Because this is a sophisticated, intellectual site, today’s topic is British toilets.
To start with, the variety of flushing mechanisms is astonishing. There are buttons on adjacent walls that require the finger strength of King Kong to adequately push. There are double buttons on top of the tank, one side for “number one” and the other side apparently for “elephant emission”. Neither are marked in any way. There are pull levers, pull chains, and (rarely) a push handle. Many are accompanied by the helpful tip “do not stand on the toilet seat”. (And yes, I’m aware this is because many visitors come from places where squatting toilets are the norm, but I still find it incredibly funny.)
No matter which handle, button or pull you use, however, the resulting Niagra-like deluge is enough to give Noah PTSD flashbacks. Seriously, it’s like unleashing a miniature Charybdis intent on escaping its porcelain confines and not really all that bothered about taking prisoners along with it, if you know what I mean. The roar, the raging torrent, the frothy spray are often just a lot of sound and fury, signifying nothing except than that the sad, frightened occupant is left with little choice other than to push the damn button again.