Dismaland

A ticket to Dismaland: £5
Train to get there from London: £57.60
Art that inspired both glee and fear: Priceless.

I’ve never been to Disnyland and I don’t know very much about Banksy, but Dismaland intrigued me. The pictures of burnt out castles and distorted mermaids appealed to my love of contradictions and the slightly morbid. So off I went not really knowing what to expect.

Weston Supermare is a sort of typical English seaside town. It’s got a pier and lots of shops selling colourful beach toys and ice cream. I had been hoping for gloomy weather to fit the mood of my adventure, but the day was beautifully sunny with barely a cloud in sight. I was probably the only person disappointed by this.

Dismaland begins with the universal theme park experience: queuing. All of those of us who had been lucky enough to get advance tickets waited across the street from the park for our timed entry at 2 o’clock. Once we made it to the front and had our bags checked by the real (not too dismal) security guard we were taken across the street in groups by the (also not too dismal) lollypop man.


Entering Dismaland we had to go through ‘security’ with lots of grumpy guards hanging about giving us grief. I got pulled aside and scanned by one of them because I looked too happy. She told me that my rainbow socks were an “interesting wardrobe choice” and finally let me in, wishing me “a dismal day.”

Inside the park the spires of the burnt out castle rose ahead just as promised. Despite the earlier queues it wasn’t too crowded… busy but not suffocating.

I started by going through a series of galleries. Directly inside the entrance were signs with flashing messages that would have been perfect for slightly subversive fortune cookies:

It is better to be naïve than jaded.  

 You are clueless in your dreams.  

 Abuse of power comes as no surprise.   

Push yourself to the limit. 

Don’t place too much trust in experts. 

Confusing yourself is a way to stay honest.

As I wandered round the corner I came across a sign by some seemingly out of use bumper cars: Dance of Death: On the hour and every 15 minutes thereafter. My timing was apparently impeccable, because just then the lights popped on and a hooded figure with a scythe rode out on one of the cars. After cruising slowly around crashing into things disco lights popped on and he (I don’t know why I assume it was a he) zoomed around laughing hysterically while “Stayin alive” blared in the background. Then it all shut down and we were back to the dark room.

The rest of the gallery contained some potted plants made from ready meal boxes  and a fetus covered in corporate logos in a vending machine.


The next gallery was mostly paintings and photographs, most with a very blatant global warming message. A few favorites:

There was also a car with cross-stitch embroidery on the bonnet.

The third room had a vast model village with blinking lights (mostly from police cars) throughout ... The sort of thing you might find at a post-apocalyptic model railway show: "Jimmy Cauty’s hand crafted miniature world will delight and amaze (and potentially cause seizures in persons sensitive to strobe lighting)."

Emerging from the gallery it took a few moments to re-adjust to the sunlight. I came out right next to the pond with the refugee boats. For a pound you can take a turn to steer them towards the white cliffs of Dover, though they don't always do what you expect them to. There were a few bodies floating in the murky water as well. This was the most dissonant thing for me. How far removed (by time or geography) do you have to be from an experience to make it feel comfortable to parody? What role does intention play in that?

In an interview about the park Banksy said:

"I feel like my generation was the first to deal with the mass media beaming the world’s problems to us in real time... Mostly we’ve chosen to deal with this by cocooning ourselves, that we can live with the guilt. But why should children be immune from the idea that to maintain our standard of living other children have to die trapped in the hulls of boats in the bottom of the Mediterranean? The grown-ups might have convinced themselves small incremental change and buying organic tomatoes is enough, but passing that mindset onto the next generation doesn’t feel like good parenting."

I couldn’t go to the park without trying a ride, so I hopped on the carousel. It was mostly pretty normal, except for one horse that had been strung up. Next to him was the figure of a butcher sitting on a box that said “lasagna.” The carousel went slightly faster than most I have been on… or perhaps that was my imagination.

Around the other side of the park were a lot of booths and tents handing out pamphlets. I wasn’t entirely clear whether they were for actual causes and organizations or if they were parodies. Where does art end and real life begin? Can you have one without the other?

I went through the Pocket Money Loans shop put together by Darren Cullen of spellingmistakescostlives.com. The room offered adverts for children from aging cream (to get rid of the symptoms of youth) to my personal favorite: rent-to-own gobstoppers: “everlasting payment plans! Dissolve your finances today!”

Finally I went through the enchanted castle. 

"Step inside a fairytale and see how it feels to be a real princess. Souvenir photos available" 

It was the only thing in the park that I had to queue to get into, but it moved pretty quickly. Inside we went through a dark hallway and then came through to a room of flashing lights. 

Being a princess isn't all bluebirds and balls. Cinderella’s carriage was overturned in the middle, and she was hanging limp out the window. The only light was provided by the strobe-like flashing of the paparazzi’s cameras. A grim tribute to Princess Diana.


On the way out I played knock the anvil off the pedestal. The silent attendant handed me three pingpong balls and loomed over me, rolling his eyes as I threw them. Even though I failed to hit the anvil, let alone knock it down he gave me a pin that said “strive for excellence”

Dismaland is to be experienced rather than written about. Banksey says art can be loud and obvious, and critics tend not to like this because it leaves nothing for them to do.

"Fundamentally I disagree with the charge that art is bad if it’s too easy to understand [...] I think there’s space for art to be loud, crass and obvious. If it looks like the rantings of an angry adolescent what’s wrong with that? [...] As far as I’m concerned there are too many things we need to discuss in the actual world before I start making abstract art." 

Maybe it was the influence of Dismaland that lead to the lively debates with a stranger on the train home about immigration and the role of the economy. There are so many things so obviously wrong with society. The sacred place of the economy and our fear of breaking it.

Angelina's: Another Good Loo

On my last morning in Paris I had one final piece of business to attend to. A friend had recommended the Chocolate Chaud at Angelina's, and it also happened to be one of Jonathan Routh's 3-star loos of Paris. 

Angelina's (Tea Room), 226 Rue de Rivoli 

"Hommes is through a mirror-door at the back of the ground floor which also leads to the kitchens. There are two toilets here, one marked Personnel which contains a stoop for the staff, the other marked Hommes which has in it one of the prettiest lavatory bowls in Paris – a Puritas that is patterned in a very delicate wild flower motif. This is a clean simple room which perfectly sets off this rare collector's item. 

"Dames too should not be omitted from the toileteer's itinerary. Up the red-carpetted stairs to a pretty room with a good view of the Rue outside. Of especial note: The full length mirrors and polished brass liquid soap dispensers. And in the loos themselves, the elegant wooden containers for loo paper (I suspect them of being the handiwork of Lachasse Fils)."

For the most part the loos did not disappoint. The upstairs ladies did indeed have a view, full length mirrors and wooden containers (painted in white and gold.) The gents downstairs, however, though pretty enough had a normal boring toilet and not a floral Puritas. For all I know it is still back there somewhere but my French, alas, is not strong enough to explain to the waitstaff why it is important that I see a particular vintage toilet (which they may or may not know about to begin with.)

Both levels actually have accommodation for both genders. I think the Dames come out slightly ahead as the upstairs gents lack the view and the full-length mirrors (apparently gents don't need to spend as long checking themselves head to toe?)

The hot chocolate and cakes were both delicious. In fact, I have accomplished the unthinkable on this trip... eaten so much cake and pastry that the thought of any more makes me a tad queasy. Thank goodness for being back in England!

Musée des Égouts: An adventure in the Paris Sewers

The Musée des Égouts is about as visceral a sewer experience as you can get without literally plunging in. Constructed in a functioning sewer you can see the effluent of Paris flowing past under your feet. My favorite thing were the bits of toilet paper, which look like ghostly jellyfish.

It doesn't actually smell that bad. It does smell of sewer, but sewer smell not the same as being in a porta-potty that hadn't been cleaned for a week, or a music festival urinal. It's more of a musty cave smell. Organic?

Paris's overarching narrative is much the same as London's: Things got crowded, disease spread, sewers were constructed.

I'm writing this post in a bit of a hurry (hopefully will get a chance to add more later) so for now I'll let the photos do the talking!

Paris Porcelain: On the path of Jonathan Routh

One of the most significant changes Parisian loos seem to have undergone since the 1960’s (and indeed, probably in the last decade) is that they are mostly free. At least I only encountered one 0.80€ (in a lovely 19^th century building in the gardens) in my wanderings. Why this is I am not sure, but it would be interesting to investigate!

I didn’t get to many of Routh's recommendations, but made a point of paying a call at a couple of note.

The Sir WinstonChurchill Pub, corner of Rua La Perouse and Rue de Presbourg (facing the Arc from the Champs at about half past ten from the arc.)

"Here I think, and by a strange coincidence English in style and origin, are some of the best loos in Paris. Downstairs off the Dive Bar they are also the only ones in Paris marked simply, and intelligibly, ‘Ladies’, and ‘Gentlemen’. 

"I give absolutely full marks to this place for having had the foresight, the imagination and the money to design such loos that are so in keeping with the character of the establishment they grace – or, more truthfully, that is an appendage of them. Just as the pub is a Hollywood film version of an Olde Englishe Pubbe – everyone eating ‘Le Bangers and Mash’, ornate Victorian cut-glass mirroir signs inscribed with calumnies like ‘Porridge and Scotch’, so the style of the loos is Victorian-whimsy.

"In the Gents, green tiles of damask design, Victorian mirrors and brass lamps, basins of black marble set in a rich mahogany cabinet with phallic soap fitting and splendid gargoyle fish tap (do not, as I did, break a nail by trying to screw or unscrew the fish’s head or tail, or even any part of its anatomy to work it; water gushes from it as your hands enter the basin ­– induced by electronic beam set in the basin’s side: all very Jules Vernish) and splendid read Turkish toweling. Normal loos, but the urinoirs, flanking the basin, are fitted with red velvet arm rests: so as far as I am concerned the ultimate luxury for the toileteer.

"In the Ladies a similar array of richness. Green marble basins, great oval mirrors, brass door handles to the loos themselves in the shape of feathers.

"These loos, open 8 a.m. to 3 a.m., are an absolute must for the keen toileteer."

The Pub is still there in all its glory. A rather upscale version of an English Pub with touches a Tibetan flair in some of the décor and a leapord print carpet (perhaps both harkening back to the days of Ye Olde Britishe Imperialism when explorers brought back curiosities?)

The loos are almost exactly as advertised, except that the red Turkish towels have been replaced by a Dyson hand dryer. On first exploration the splendid gargoyle fish taps didn’t so much gush as drizzle for a brief moment, and then ceased to work altogether. My gentleman companion later informed me (after asking one of the staff) that there is a foot-operated button on the floor, which I must have fortuitously stood upon. So all my subsequent gesticulations in an attempt to make it get the soap off my hands were for naught.

Routh neglected to mentions the floor, which is a rather lovely black and white linoleum design (they may, of course, be from a later period… there’s a slight hint of 1970’s about them.)

There is also a rather sweet pub cat.

The Eiffel Tower

"For the toileteer this building is of little interest. Indeed I would council the male toileteer who finds himself in its vicinity to travel no further than the fine pissoir in the gardens below the tower; and his female companion to have attended her business at some loo of note elsewhere beforehand.

"However, though hardly deserving of an entry in this book, I would be shirking from my duty were I not to give some brief notes on the building’s appointments.
There are loos on each étage. Those on the Première are utterly unmemorable. At the main ones on the Deuxième there is a lady who is most anxious that you should patronise her toilets and cold water basins. She will tell you if you ask her that she does not know if there are other facilities in the tower. To use her toilet and basin it will cost you 0.20F and a further 0.10F if you borrow her bar of soap. I think for fear that you may slip it into your pocket and make off with it she watches every second that you put it to use. She also I suspect keeps the hot tap. At any rate, there's a hole for it on the basin, though I dread to think how much she might charge for its hire.

"Also on the Deuxième Ètage, if you are alarmed at this lady's attentions  , you will find a loo attached to the Salon de Thé. Its merit is that it is unattended.

"It is on the Troisième Ètage that we discover the most ridiculous feature concerning loos in the eiffel tower. However fantastic a feat of engineering it may have been to construct a loo 898 feet above ground level, and even though the first person to use it may have been King Edward VII at its inauguration in 1889, it seems absolutely mad and ridiculous that this loo, which could have the finest view of any in Europe, has frosted glass in its square port-hole of a window; and therefore no view at all. (Also it's closed from November to March.) After spending forty minutes making the ascent to it imagine my feelings on discovering this. So I do earnestly beseech the authorities, if they do not wish to have a falling-off in their trade with toileteers, to remedy this travesty.

"The loo itself is very tiny, two toilets and one basin. But a very nice lady in charge who greets and bids farewell to her clients. 

"How sad to relate that this building, one of the most famous in Europe, should have such disappointing loos. Someone has told me of a notice near the top which says, 'it is forbidden to relieve yourself over the side.' I would add that in a high wind it is also extremely unwise." 

For toileteers making the sojourn today, I would advise going early in the journey. The loos of the Première Ètage are clean and pleasant. And very red. The sinks for both ladies and gents are open plan with nice views. There is also a small lounge area with instructions not to picnic. These may well be the former free loos to which Routh referred, as they were directly above the café. 

The loos of the deuxième étage had much more of a queue, and so I didn't end up going in. They are very blue, and have welcoming messages in a huge number of languages.

The yellow loos at the top have a disappointing lack of view, and are small and smelly. Two stalls for women, and you have to battle your way past a cleaning lady going in and a hoard of foreign toileteers going out.

Let's return to a moment to that statement about the "feat of engineering" required to build a toilet 898 feet above the ground. Since there's very little enclosed space to hide pipes in the tower they must be pretty subtle... we did spot them, though had no way to tell which ones corresponded to what. My attempts to find out more about the engineering behind them have so far been futile, though I did discover that there is a record-holder for the tallest Eiffel Tower made of toilet roll.
With 250 million visitors since its opening it must have carried a fair load!

The other highlight of the day was at the opposite extreme, down in the sewers of Paris. But that is a story for another day.

Le Loovre. Adventures in Paris

I have been trying for about a year to get tickets for the Brighton sewer tour, but they were all sold out before I left the country last year. So this year when I finally bagged a ticket I was extremely excited... until two days later I received notice that all tours for the rest of the year had been canceled due to storm damage.

What was I to do? I looked about for the next closest sewer tour. Paris. Of course. Why not?

So here I am. I took the Euro star over this afternoon with a friend, and we made our way to the hostel. Mostly saving big adventures for tomorrow (tonight involved a lot of walking, eating a pretty decent burger and navigating the Metro.)

I have not come un-prepared. My french may be rusty to the point of uselessness, but I have in my possession the 1967 edition of le Guide Porcelain: the Loos of Paris by the inimitable Jonathan Routh.

Like the London guide, I suspect much of it is now a ghost tour, but I have made note of a few of his particular recommendations that I will try to hunt down. Additionally, he includes some useful vocabulary for the English visitor:

"Donez-moi les ordres simples pour atteindre le pissoir le plus pres d'ici; et s'il vous plait, sans les gesticulations sauvages et tumultueuses."  

Please direct me to the nearest loo in simple terms and without waving your hands in to dangerous a manner. 

"Madame, j'ai besoin d'une cabine toute equippé, aussi un cuvette toute equippé. (Mon camarade a besoin seulment de l'urinoir.)" 

"Madame, I wish a toilet with paper; and a hand basin with hot water, soap and a towel. (My companion requires a urinoir only)."  

"Au secours! Je suis (enfermé, metté au vilon, submergé)."

"Help! I am (locked in, locked out, drowning)."

 So far I've not seen anything remarkable, but Paris seems pretty functional. There are a lot of plastic urinals and portacabins, especially along the river. There are also a fair few Sanisettes (self cleaning toilets) most of which appear to be free (so much for practicing those french phrases on the Madame Pipi's of Paris!) They are managed by JC Deceaux, and there is an interactive map and some history here: http://www.paris.fr/services-et-infos-pratiques/environnement-et-espaces-verts/proprete/les-sanisettes-2396 According to the website there are approximately 400, with 108 of those open until 1am and 20 open for 24 hours.

Underground Manchester: A Pitstop

Through a bit of poking around on National Rail I discovered it's often cheaper to break a train journey up than buy a direct ticket. It's a win win for me because there are so many places in the UK I want to visit. So heading back down from Edinburgh today I had a 2 hour stop-over in Manchester which I had arranged with the express purpose if visiting the sewer section of the Museum of Science and Industry.

Between slightly delayed trains and the museum being farther from the station than I had estimated I ended up with less time than I had planned, so I spent my 20 minutes dashing frantically through the exhibit pushing small children ruthlessly out of the way to take pictures of as many of the signs as I could. One more place added to the "must re-visit" list. For now, here is a regurgitation of some of the things I picked up on my visit.

The museum gives a comprehensive overview of everything from the Romans through modern day Manchester.

The Northwest of England was not one of the wealthier parts of the Roman Empire, and consequently has fewer bathhouses, but a fair few have still been discovered... at least 18 according to the museum's map. Aqueducts carried water into towns and forts, where it was distributed through lead and wooden pipes. Sewers carried it away after it had been used, and some still function to this day!

Of course no exhibition on the Romans would be complete without a bit about their toilets, and this exhibit even has a small reconstruction. Note the channel in the floor, which would have held the water to wash the infamous sponges on a stick.

Fast forward through 1066 and all that to the Medieval period. Though few houses had public latrines standards of cleanliness were rising somewhat, and a towns were starting to build public latrines. The

best place to go however was probably the monastery where the Roman system was still used (though without the sponges as far as we can gather.) Germ theory was still a distant dream, but there was enough awareness of waterborne disease that the lining of cesspits was required, and carting of night soil was regulated to night time hours.

By the 17th century, though regulations were in place, councils had not taken over the running of sanitary services, so it was up to households to make their own arrangements when it came to disposing of Night Soil. This meant Nightsoil Men might promote themselves with beautiful cards like the one below:

In the early 19th Century Manchester faced an even more rapid expansion than London with the population quadrupling in the first half of the century. "By the 1840's Manchester stood firm as a miracle of the industrial age and a wonder of the modern world. Yet it faces a health crisis that might have rocked its foundations."

Manchester was hit by a Cholera epidemic in 1832 which killed 674 people. Manchester was home to Edwin Chadwick (one of my favorite sanitary reformers) who authored the 1842 report on The Sanitary Condition of the Labouring Population and spearheaded public health reforms. The Manchester and Saliford Sanitary Association was formed in 1852.

In 1847 egg shaped clay sewer pipes were introduced. These were easier and cheaper to install than the Georgian brick ones which had been installed from the 1790's. They were still draining directly into the river... with an increasing number of domestic water closets, along with refuse from slaughterhouses and industrial waste.

Toilets themselves were another story. For the first have of the century the most common toileting facilities were middens: simply a privy over a pit. These generally allowed liquids to seep into the soil, while the solids were collected periodically by nightsoil men every few months. By 1868 Manchester had approximately 10,000 flushing toilets, but the majority of people were starting to use the pail closet system... with a pail placed below the toilet seat which was emptied once a week. Other people had "Improved middens" which didn't allow for leakage, and therefore had to be emptied every few weeks. The complete transition to water closets came around 1914.

Apparently Manchester had its share of sewer scandals. Building standards were very poor. When bricklayers learned that the inspector (the Clerk of Works) was coming they would quickly increase the brickwork along that section of sewer. In 1890 an investigation was carried out, and legal action was taken (though the posters didn't specify against whom)

In the 1940's the benefits of sewage farming were well appreciated. Effluent that was allowed to flow through the soil improved its fertility. Muck-spreading had been appreciated since the middle ages, when gongfarmers would collect the contents of privies in their carts, and sell it on to farmers. The council saw this as a potential business opportunity, and when when the population got too large they started sending Manchester's night soil throughout Yorkshire, Lancaster and Cheshire... and sometimes as far away as Jamaica for agricultural use.

But as the population grew the amount of land required to successfully process the sewage became to vast. Neither night soil men nor microbial processes could keep up with the demand. "Dilution is the solution to pollution" doesn't work in densely populated areas. So new methods had to be found.

In the 1890's a chemical process involving coke was used to separate sludge and liquid. Sludge was either pressed into cakes as landfill or taken out to sea and dumped. Liquid was put back into the canal. These processes were generally considered to be "expensive and inefficient."

In 1914 two scientists working at Davyhulm developed a the 'activated sludge' process which used a combination of air and bacteria to purify waste water. This system forms the basis for much modern sewage treatment.

Today Davyhulm serves a population of approximately 1.2 million and treats 88 million gallons of water per day.

En route back to the train station I had just enough time to make a flying visit to the Temple (of convenience), one of those underground toilets turned bar. It's been a bar for about 17 years, so must have been one of the first (before toilet bars were cool!) A bit more grunge than most of the ones I know in London, but nice all the same, and you can't argue with a nice cup of tea for £1!