James Griffin: In defence of masculinity

It has come time to right a wrong.

Or to wrong a right, I guess, depending on your point of view. Certainly there will be those who feel that to write about this is, in many ways, wrong. And I imagine there will also be a fair few who will fall into the "did you really have to go there?" camp. To which the answer is, most emphatically, "yes" because for too long now men have had their good names sullied by accusations that are, on one hand, true - in that they are 100 per cent correct - but on the other hand, cruel and hurtful.

These accusations will have been keenly felt by the males in any household/flatting situation in which they must share a bathroom with those of the female variety. To be precise, these accusations take the form of blame and finger-pointing when and if mysterious little puddles appear on the bathroom floor in and around the vicinity of the toilet bowl.

Ladies, it is easy to point the finger at the males of the house in this situation and to suggest they point something else a little more accurately. But what is not so easy is understanding - and through understanding, to find forgiveness and acceptance, which is all any male wants here. Blame is easy, but the thing we are being blamed for, well that is not as easy as it seems.

Yes, obviously, the simple solution to this problem is for the man to sit down whilst doing the business - even we understand that. But except on those occasions where there is more than one thing going on at a time down there, this ain't going to happen ladies. Why not? Because it is not manly, that is why not. We were designed to go standing up (presumably to keep an eye out for predators or something evolutionary like that) so standing and delivering is what we will do. Sorry, but that's the way it is always gonna be. So what you womenfolk need to grasp here is that: (a) what the men-folk are grasping is not some high-tech, laser-guided missile launcher, but that (b) like high-tech military technology, there will inevitably be an element of what might be called "friendly fire".

For starters, sisters, let us consider the physiology here. We are standing on only two legs (when three would be much more stable - thank you, evolution), aiming at a deceptively small target the best part of almost a whole metre away. You people, with your stable, sitting, launch position, you have it easy, just remember that, eh?

There are many factors that inhibit male accuracy, starting with the whole issue of rate of flow. This is not a simple on/off situation. There are some complex issues of pressure management, involving initial stream establishment, stream maintenance, then holding and clenching, then re-streaming, with dwindling pressure, leading eventually to dribble management, every time a man goes about his business. There are many opportunities for inaccuracies within this fiendishly difficult process, is all I'm saying here. Understand before you criticise, please.

Then there are many external factors that also impinge upon 100 per cent accuracy. The ease with which men can be distracted during the task by, say, catching sight of a cobweb in the corner of the bathroom ceiling or by a stray thought or by the sudden need to send a text message with the free hand - all of these things can compromise target acquisition. The shivering phenomenon known to grandmothers everywhere as "someone walking over your grave" is also surprisingly prevalent whilst men are doing their stuff. Sometimes if we miss, we don't know we've missed, is what I'm saying here.

Then there is a natural male tendency towards competitiveness, even when one is alone in the bathroom competing only with oneself. If you know you have a powerful flow up there, brought on by many beers, waiting to be unleashed, what better time to see how far back you can stand from the bowl?

Remember also that males are traditionally playful and inquisitive when it comes to stuff no one else cares about, so seeing what your stream looks like when it bounces off the toilet-freshening doo-hicky hanging off the rim is a valid scientific experiment. Hey, sorry if we can have fun while we're peeing and you can't, but that is still no reason to blame us.

"That's all very well and good," I hear the womenfolk say, "but how come you never blimmin' wipe it up, then?"

A very good question, I agree, and one with a set of answers as complex as the act of getting the mess on the floor in the first place.

Alas, however, we have reached the end of the page, which means it is a question we'll have to tidy up later.