The Joy of Compost Toilets

Funny how the mention of compost toilets quickly generates comments, something about the Brits and all matters bottom. So by popular demand, gentle reader, here is one of several Erraid compost toilets located near the cottages.

This is not my compost toilet I hasten to add, as mine for some reason has two toilet seats inside, so if one feels the urge to share and chat on mattets scatological with fellow Erraidian, then mine is the one you want.

Not sure yet if I feel that close to Ian from Newcastle or Orlando from the Tyrol. but let's see how the week unfurls.

For those of you unused to compost toilets and of the gentler Shanks or avocado suite disposition, then know that a light scattering of sawdust at the end of duty is essential for that perfect finish to a meal of pulses or spotted dick & custard.

Apparently over time the oldest remains of communal lunches and dinners degenerate to a fine dust that gets removed to the local forest.

I have named this forest "The Forest of a Thousand Shits" and the title has got my creative juices flowing about how this could develop into an interesting poem or story.

On related matters, I am told that occupants of the two retreat cottages might feel too lazy to fumble their way through the night and thorny breyers instead preferring the walls of the cottage. Now my cottage has side walls obstructed by a rainwater tank and reserve slates, so most practical would be the one opposite.