Lifting the lid. Or not.

Blimey, what a day - work was uncharacteristically busy which was really annoying as I had something I was keen to blog about: toilets. Or rather: the lids thereon. I have realised that I am in possession of what may be an irrational fear of toilets with the lid down. When I go into the WC at work and find a cubicle containing a loo with the lid down, I automatically about-turn and choose another one. Of course, there are obvious bodily emissions that any sane individual may fear that they'll discover when they lift the lid, but my reality is actually slightly darker. I have no idea where these things come from, but I genuinely panic that I'll lift a lid and find items such as: a severed head; a really really big, mean lizard; a dead baby; a pulsating mass of spiders, desperate to overflow over the seat, onto the floor, up my body and into my mouth... Anyway, so I was going to write about that, and then I was going to recount my internal deliberations re. using toilet vs. loo, but I had no time because I spent all morning updating the work's intranet portal and all afternoon in PowerPoint hell and then I had to go to the gym and then hopped over to Russell Square for the most amaaaazing fifth week of my politics course, and then I rushed home and stressed en route about getting a bunion (current fear), and now I'm back on my sofa, crying in front of a grandfather and a granddaughter singing together on Britain's Got Talent. Variety really is the spice of life and things for me seem to be fairly spicy at present. Am sincerely grateful.