The Hoarchive

A visceral rumble betrays what you have feared all morning. That you’re on the fourth floor of the library, ten miles from Leam, and in need of laying an undersea cable. Though in ordering your notes, hiding your valuables, and picking up some quality browntime reading (would shiterature be too profane?) — the fearful truth sinks in. The truth being that, after a short amble to an appropriately gendered floor you’ll relive the trauma of the library faeces depository.

You’ll burst through water queue to be met by the heavy air of hand driers fanning the foggy haze of a million shitters as it meanders its way up your nostrils and weighs heavily into your very being. This is no place to drop the kids off at the pool. Finding perhaps the sole free cubicle; wedged neatly between a poor soul fighting the liquid revenge of an unhygienic kebab — and that rare species, the grunting bomber of agent brown — you wipe off the pissy remains of the previous occupier, as inconsiderate as they are inaccurate, and set up base camp amongst the suspicious puddles, and amongst the sighs of the self-relieving army surrounding you.

You wait for the silence to be broken by the hum of the fans, and pray that the whole experience is over quickly.

But in this game of thrones, placing a brown trout into a porcelain fishbowl needn’t be an experience to fear. Over the last few weeks, The Hoar has plopped Keith, our premium judge of taste and culture, into the hidden wonders of Warwick’s evacuation centres. As is expected, Keith has logged a lot of paperwork, tested the plumbing, and negotiated the release of countless chocolate hostages. With the caveat that, legally speaking, the gents and gender neutral toilets (well, disabled, this was a grey area for us) were the only options open to him, we’ve constructed a top ten talent puddle of Campus Pidgeon holes to drop off your homework: a Captain’s log, if you will.

Appreciating that, when it comes to matters of bodily expulsion, everyone has their preferences, we’d love to hear your favourites.

1. SUHQ (First Floor)

A real sanctuary, just across from the restaurant that no one has actually ever visited (something beginning with an X). Not only is this cannery row private, peaceful, clean and comfortable — but each drop site is twinned with a toilet in some faraway land, all for some good cause that I haven’t quite worked out.

2. Law

To have your own depository room, that is the dream. Bringing the homely experience to the hardened traveller, the law toilets let you forget the humdrum buzz of students filing through the corridors of future power, and instead let you indulge in some true me time. Take some music, take a good book, and most importantly, take your time as you make good with yesterday’s dinner. Equality under law, but privilege to the posterior.

3. Philosophy (Second Floor, Social Sciences)

In the corridors in which the best minds in continental philosophy eek away the hours you’ll find a true gem, a little patch of heaven. It is not the toilet aesthetic that wins you over to this hideaway, but the undisturbed air of peace. With the intended occupants far too busy buried in their books, and let’s face it, not on campus — you can be forgiven for passing hours as you pass body matter. Waving your arms to reactivate the lights every once in a while isn’t the annoyance you’d expect, but a nice reminder of how undisturbed you have been. It makes you wonder, in an environment so conducive to deep thought; depth charges can’t be the only things being born here, how many advances in modern thought took root within these four walls?

4. WBS

Money never sleeps, but it surely shits. Even amongst affluence you’ll find effluence, perhaps especially so. As is expected, the chic ‘no place’ feel to the corporate monstrosity of a building gives rise to that clean airport-style texture to your functions. It has the feel of infiltrating the enemy nest. I wouldn’t recommend taking a withdrawal from the Warwick city hounds, but I can certainly endorse making a deposit.

5. Bluebell

How better to make use of that term 1 fresher Pop ‘connection’ you made — than to turn up at their doorstep with a rose your teeth — only to dive for their generous facilities the moment you’re through the door? It really highlights the age old saying — there’s no place like home, to poop.

6. A Plop in Pop

Wading through the adhesive purple meniscus that lines a 10m exclusion zone around the Pop toilets — you might be surprised at this recommendation. Certainly it ticks no boxes on cleanliness, discretion or peace. However, when drowned out and coked up — head leaning against the sticky wall, and having been immobile for a period that simply doesn’t fit to our standard model of time, you find the peace that resides in deep suffering; freedom from thought, motion, desires or goals. Everything is warm, everything.

7. Milburn House (Disabled)

Apparently this place is great for taking a nap — as one of our readers relates:

The classic blue and white tiles seemed to wink at me, seductively beckoning my throbbing head towards them. As I lay on the floor, I couldn’t help but be glad that I lay on a floor with no stray pubes in sight to bring about the vomiting I was certainly capable of. Instead, I was lulled into a gentle sleep by the little waves drawn on the walls.

8. University house

Like WBS, Uni house has that clean airport feel. Only with the added bonus of fewer insufferable Machiavellian market heads.

9. Engineering (Second Floor)

Students of The Arts, ever wondered where your £9k a year goes? Look no further than the engineering department. Not content to just have the biggest baddest machinery on campus (this writer excluded), they also have some of the neatest dispatch boxes to be found anywhere. Note of course that this refers to the second floor — not the ill put together monstrosity on F block first floor.

10. Bar Fusion on any day that isn’t Wednesday

If the woody panelled vibe of the busy ground floor grid water closets doesn’t quite sink your ship, then take the march upstairs and find the cavernous expanses of the Bar Fusion beauties. When not filled with circling hooligans, you can easily find yourself lost into the neat nooks and crannies of the clean, quiet acreage of defined toilet space.

(main image via)