To me, the bathroom is a refuge, a place where I can read the paper, or shave, in peace, still nearby and available should there be an emergency, yet apart and seperate in a space of my own.

Of course, there’s always an emergency so someone is always talking to me when I’m in the bathroom. If I’m lucky they leave the door closed when they do it. Even my mother-in-law got in on the act last night.

So when my wife leaves for a week on business, as she did yesterday, this is the silver lining, the single only good thing about her being gone – otherwise I miss her terribly. But, eh, 30% more peace in the bathroom.

So this morning, I was standing there taking a leak and my cell phone rang. Etc etc.

The title of this post refers not to any of this, but rather to the best review of Macbeth I’ve ever read, by Francis S. up in Sweden.