Funny that it would take a Frenchman to describe it so well. I don’t know who this Cocteau chap was but he hit the nail on the head. There comes a time when one needs tact, let me explain.

The idea behind this blog is simple: during the last couple of weeks I have been wearing the leather out on the soles of my shoes going from interview to interview, coffee meeting to coffee meeting and lunch to lunch in the great city of London. Often my greatest challenge during the day was the moment that metabolism caught up with me and one needed a number 2. There are a number of different factors in selecting a poo-stop in public; cleanliness of bog, ambience, accessibility, quality of paper, likelihood of being questioned by pub or restaurant owner etc etc. And being a man of standards how I spend my time on the throne matters a great deal, it’s where I do my greatest thinking, it’s a bit of me time. Therefore only the finest will do. As you may have worked out, the finest exists in the hotels and gentlemen’s clubs of London – some of the finest in the world.

For too long I was self conscious. Scared to enter the marble atriums and ask where the Thomas Crapper was. So I adapted. I turned to my old friend audacity. Many times I have strolled calmly and confidently through endless corridors of labarynthine hotels, a turtle head milliseconds away from arrival, serene on the exterior like ‘I belong’ but with sheer primeval panic on the inside, trying desperately to spot the tell tale signs of the ablutions.  Sometimes one hesitates, the swagger on entry turns to chaos as one allows the panic to surface and in order to effectively pay for one’s dump, one is forced to order the cheapest thing on the menu…the cup of tea.

This blog is guide to some of the finest khazis in the world. To examine their quality and give direction on where to find them. The goal is to avoid having to buy the cup of tea but never having to settle for an unpleasant crap in a pret manger or (heaven forbid!) asking staff where the bathroom is.