Well, folks, it seems our beloved York has become the epicentre of a rather unsavoury controversy - the closure of the M&S toilets on Parliament Street.
Ah, the M&S toilets are closed for refurbishment, and the masses are in uproar. Again. It’s as if the good people of our city are incapable of finding alternative loos, so they’re back to moaning to the council. And let me tell you, from my brief stint in local politics, I’ve come to realise that the concerns of the public boil down to two things: driving and weeing. Oh, and let’s not forget the ever-looming specter of dog poo.
Just the other day, I stumbled upon a group of disgruntled locals protesting the closure of the M&S toilets. "It's an outrage!" they cried. "We have rights!" they proclaimed. Rights? Really? Because last time I checked, having a place to tinkle while you shopped for your ready-meals wasn't exactly a human right.
And anyway, the toilets in question have certainly gained a reputation over the years. And I'm not talking about their award-winning design or innovative water-saving features. Oh no, these toilets have become notorious for their, shall we say, pungent aroma.
Imagine, if you will, a blend of week-old stilton, overripe brussels sprouts, and the faint hint of a dog that's been rolling in something it really shouldn't have. That, my friends, is the fragrance that greets unsuspecting shoppers as they venture towards the Marks and Spencer's loos. It's enough to make your eyes water. In fact, I'd go as far as saying that those toilets should be cordoned off with police tape and men in hazmat suits standing guard. A bit like Chernobyl.
But, unbelievably, the closure of these olfactory offenders has sparked outrage. Yes, the entitled mob has risen up, clutching their pitchforks and their toilet brushes, demanding that their sacred right to relieve themselves in a putrid pit be reinstated. I ask you, have we stooped so low that we'd rather wallow in our own filth than embrace progress?
Do I yearn for a time when public life was bursting with a sense of duty, when people were too bloody polite to whinge about every inconvenience? A time before dogs had iPhones and Piers Morgan was a television fixture? Yes, I think we all do. There must have been an era when the notion of closed toilets or a stray dog turd didn’t send the entire populace into a frenzy. But those days are long gone, swept away by the tidal wave of modern entitlement.
You see, this isn't just about toilets. It's about progress and our resistance to change. These so-called residents moan and groan about new cafes, shops, and housing developments, but the moment something shuts its doors, they're up in arms, demanding its resurrection.
It's 2024, and by the time some of us kick the bucket, we might actually be stepping into the 22nd Century. Imagine, if you will, that in the year 2107, we're still tottering up and down our Thatcher-era council estates, thanks to the beloved 'local residents' vetoing every attempt at regeneration and development. Meanwhile, China will be zipping around in their supersonic mag-lev trains, leaving us in their dust. And why? Because we’re terrified of progress.
But I refuse to stand idly by. Progress might be frightening, but it’s our only weapon against the looming threats of the future. We need to embrace change, however scary it might be, because the alternative is far worse. And if we can’t manage that, well, I suppose we deserve to be left behind.
On a serious note: perhaps we should finally hand over the reins to Mr. Piers and make him the President of Britain. After all, he seems to have an answer for everything, and his no-nonsense attitude might be just what we need to snap out of this stupor.
#BringBackOurToilets