Seinfeld

Sometimes you read a book, watch a movie or program and think “That’s exactly the idea I had!” Most of the time it is benign circumstance, only rarely is it because someone has drugged, kidnapped and wired you up to a machine which reads and processes your thoughts, stealing the very essence of your obvious genius right from the source. This post is more about the former. As far as I am aware no one has been drilling in my brain trying to get at it’s sweet sweet juices and suck away all my cleverest plans. Though that might explain my occasional inability to put on knickers without practically knocking myself out falling towards our precariously solid bed frame.

When  I told a friend I wanted to write a blog, a way to practice writing until someone thought me good enough to publish, she asked what it would be about. “Toilets!” I said.

“I always know the best place to find a bathroom when I am in need. Mainly because my anxiety causes said need all too often.”

“So just like George Costanza in that episode of Seinfeld? Remember that one?” She sent me a link, see below.

I have always felt a strong bond with George; his NYC intellectual neuroses spoke to my own over-read, over-stimulated mind but now we had a real connection.

Magnificent Facilities.

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