As regular Dollop listeners will know, during this tour I have frequently been recording from the toilet. This is not because I’ve got a weird fetish that involves people listening to me in toilets; or at least that’s not the only reason anyway. It’s often difficult to find a space where I can record in, away from other people.
Yesterday’s Dollop was an extra special treat for listeners as I recorded from two different toilets at the Bush Hall in London. The first bit was recorded in the main public disabled toilet. Don’t worry, the venue was closed to the public at that time, and so my Dollop recording wasn’t responsible for any bladder or bowel accidents, although I’m sure they would completely understand and in a way be happy that they had played a small part in the blog recording process, thanks to their nobel sacrifice.
Halfway through the recording, the venue doors opened, and people started filing in, so I relocated to our artist dressing room toilet. The public disabled toilet had a chair in it, but our artist toilet did not have a chair. There was also no lid on the toilet. I would either have to get a chair, or sit on the actual toilet seat. It was quite a walk from the public toilet to the artist one, and I didn’t really have time to take the chair out of the one toilet and transfer it to the other, or locate another chair. I would just have to sit on the toilet seat. I didn’t fancy the idea of sitting on the toilet seat with my trousers on, as the trousers would sag a bit when I sat down, and might come into contact with something. I therefore decided to sit on the toilet, as I would if I was using it for its more conventional purpose, producing dollops of a different kind.
So I sat on the toilet with my trousers around my ankles, and pulled my laptop onto my bare lap, and began to read and record. During the recording I got a bit hysterical and was struggling to stop myself from laughing, as I was suddenly hit by the sheer absurdity of what I was doing: sitting on a toilet, reading a fictitious tale about a crazy, obsessed elevator music composer.
The other reason I was laughing was because I realised that I was really desperate for the toilet, but I didn’t feel as if I could go, even though I was sitting on the toilet, and all I’d literally have to do is let go and wee. I was therefore a bit distracted when I was reading, as I considered whether I could get away with having a wee while reading the Dollop? Would anyone notice? If I timed it to coincide with one of the bits of dialogue where the lift music composer raises his voice, then maybe my voice would obscure the sound of the weeing. I also thought that maybe I could control the flow of wee, so that I could urinate in bursts, to coincide with the louder bits of dialogue. Whenever I raised my voice I could let out a bit of wee, and then curtail the flow when I reached a quieter passage. I was on stage in ten minutes, and really didn’t have time to stop the recording to go to the toilet, and I might not have time after the recording. Also my start and stop idea would have the extra bonus of exercise my pubococcygeus muscle, which apparently helps you to control and prolong the ejaculation process. So I’d be saving time and working on my sexual ability as well.
The only problem was that I didn’t know if the microphone would be able to still pick up the sound of me weeing. I didn’t know how metallic the bowl was and what noise the wee would make as it hit the bowl. If I aimed for the sides of the bowl rather than the middle it should have less of a direct impact and thus make less noise. The other problem was that it was becoming physically impossible to urinate, as I was finding the thought of this clandestine weeing ruse, and the idea of you all unknowingly listening to it, rather arousing, and I had biologically responded accordingly. Was that last bit a joke, or am I being honest? Did I decide to risk having a wee during the Dollop recording or not? You are welcome to listen and see if you can hear anything, and then listen again and again and again, you weirdoes. Did I exercise my pubococcygeus muscle or not? I will not divulge. But let’s just say the next girl who ends up in bed with me is in for a treat, as I provide her with at least two minutes of pleasure; although thirty seconds of that two minutes might be a few warm-up gags, by which I mean jokes, rather than bondage, although you never know.
Yesterday’s community event was a gig in London’s Healthy Living Club, for people with dementia. These afternoon things that we’re doing are for free, although I did get lots of kisses from old ladies, which, to be honest, is worth much more to me than money. They were only kisses on the cheek, but I’m in no position to be choosy, and I’ll take whatever I can get. Plus these ladies are from a different generation, where full-on passionate snogs are frowned upon on the first date. I am booked into a few solo gigs there later in the year though, so I’ll keep ploughing away. And I shall keep practising my pubococcygeus muscle exercises just in case. So all in all, I found yesterday to be highly arousing.
Sorry, I know this Dollop has maybe been a bit of a disturbing read. However, as it’s the ~Queen’s birthday, I thought it would be fitting to spend the majority of today’s Dollop talking about sitting on the thrown. Happy birthday mam (as in jam) if you’re reading, or perhaps you prefer to listen to the audio version, hoping to hear the sounds of me having a wee, you saucy devil you.
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