pparently, lots of people have dreams about toilets. I, on the other hand, have nightmares about them. Worse still, my nightmares are recurring. From hyperactive -from-hell in a low-grade French ski hotel to an exploding privy at the Bellagio, Las Vegas – not to mention the just-watch-me-overflow-all-over-your-floor WC on the 26th floor of a swish Hong Kong hotel. I’ve suffered ‘em all, so I guess I shouldn’t have
