But really what I want to talk about are the strange rituals involved visiting the khazi in a bar. Women, as everyone knows, go in flocks. I'm sure there are good reasons for this, including security and social ones, but really we blokes know that you go together so you can talk about us.
Oddly enough, the male of the species has a strong aversion to going to the loo with another guy. The lone stride towards the door seems a more natural way of doing things. Once inside things can be scary enough without having a friend to hold your hand, as it were. Stagefright can be a terrible thing, and communal troughs are the worst for this.
Still, for all the perils and pitfalls, I've seen some funny moments.
The best was when a man, clearly in an advanced state of refreshment, entered. He was an older man, dressed in slacks and a zipped up cardigan and he swayed past me as I was washing my hands. I watched in mixed horror and delight as he proceeded to unzip his cardigan, pull out his tie and, with a satisfied sigh, let nature take its course. Upon finishing, he tucked in his tie and wandered out of the bar, never even noticing that the front of his trousers were now wetter than an Auckland summer.