My old granny had a small rectangular window above the door to her bathroom. Not a particularly rare phenomenon as I believe this is a fairly common feature in bathrooms up and down the country.
What I find odd about it is just why would one have a window all the way up there? In the case of my my old granny's bungalow it was certainly not to let in any light from the gloomy corridor onto which the door opened.
Insofar as my own life experience has been influenced by such vitreous installations, I can only deduce that their sole purpose is to encourage the Peeping Tom that lurks within us all.
Indeed, the fact that one needs a step ladder to lay eyes on whatever's going on through the window had me looking at the laburnum tree in next door's front garden in a completely new light altogether. Though I never really recovered from being party to old Mrs Knee experimenting with her health aids one moonlit summer's evening.
Anyway, I was mindful of all this the other day when Malc and I were enjoying a mid winter break on a rail tour of Pakistan. We were in a restaurant and I needed to avail myself of the facilities after having imbibed a rancid mango lassi the previous evening. Now, I won't go into detail but I walked into the cloakroom and was immediately whisked back to my youth when I noticed that the door to the cubicle contained a window. Not atop the door but about half way up - in other words, at about eye level for the toilet wallah who was skulking about nearby. Not wishing to be observed in this most private of moments, I flicked off the light switch and felt my way over to the installation and closed the door. And at the very moment of unpleasantness, the scene was flooded with brilliant light as the wallah flicked the switch, presses his face against the glass and enquired about my well being.
A traumatising experience I can assure you. These subcontinental fellows really have no concept of personal space.
Though not as bad as the time I got caught out by one of those lavatories that use a timer. To chivvy people along, the owner of the establishment had reworked the wiring so that, instead of the light going out after a fixed period of time, the door sprang open instead. And this was in a country where there was no requirement about having an intermediate door between the dining area and the lavatory.
What I find odd about it is just why would one have a window all the way up there? In the case of my my old granny's bungalow it was certainly not to let in any light from the gloomy corridor onto which the door opened.
Insofar as my own life experience has been influenced by such vitreous installations, I can only deduce that their sole purpose is to encourage the Peeping Tom that lurks within us all.
Indeed, the fact that one needs a step ladder to lay eyes on whatever's going on through the window had me looking at the laburnum tree in next door's front garden in a completely new light altogether. Though I never really recovered from being party to old Mrs Knee experimenting with her health aids one moonlit summer's evening.
Anyway, I was mindful of all this the other day when Malc and I were enjoying a mid winter break on a rail tour of Pakistan. We were in a restaurant and I needed to avail myself of the facilities after having imbibed a rancid mango lassi the previous evening. Now, I won't go into detail but I walked into the cloakroom and was immediately whisked back to my youth when I noticed that the door to the cubicle contained a window. Not atop the door but about half way up - in other words, at about eye level for the toilet wallah who was skulking about nearby. Not wishing to be observed in this most private of moments, I flicked off the light switch and felt my way over to the installation and closed the door. And at the very moment of unpleasantness, the scene was flooded with brilliant light as the wallah flicked the switch, presses his face against the glass and enquired about my well being.
A traumatising experience I can assure you. These subcontinental fellows really have no concept of personal space.
Though not as bad as the time I got caught out by one of those lavatories that use a timer. To chivvy people along, the owner of the establishment had reworked the wiring so that, instead of the light going out after a fixed period of time, the door sprang open instead. And this was in a country where there was no requirement about having an intermediate door between the dining area and the lavatory.
)
seriously?
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