Claire Black: I don’t care how men urinate. Sitting. Standing. On one leg. Help yourselves…

I COULD feign indignation, but I reckon you’d see right through it. I could try really hard to rant and rave, but it’d be second rate. A sham. A put-on.

Maybe it’s because I’m not a man, but the fact is when anyone – in this instance a Taiwanese politician called Stephen Shen – steps up to say that men should sit down while urinating all I can think to do is agree. Yes, indeed, they should.

Why?

For the simple reason that pee on the floor, on the rim of the toilet or on the toilet seat is so deeply unpleasant that any action that ensures it can be avoided is just fine by me.

Micturate while seated and everyone is happy. Easy. That’s why Mr Shen wants to put a stop to stand and spray. He says that sitting on the toilet in the way that women do (and he does, apparently) creates a cleaner environment. Honestly – I repeat, honestly – who could argue?

The other question that springs to mind, though, is why wouldn’t you want to sit down? I mean, why wouldn’t you enjoy a wee seat (boom boom), leaving your hands free to check your Twitter stream (sorry, I will run out of steam with this soon. Oops, I’ve done it again. Sorry.) or push down your cuticles, or whatever you fancy, while you’re relieving yourself? It’s basically an opportunity to multi-task, isn’t it?

And yet, I know, already there will be splutters and gasps, shrieks and shock at my blasé acceptance of this attack on the very cornerstone of masculinity. Oh puh-lease. That hoary old defence only reveals how unusual it is for men to have their bodies and bodily behaviours the subject of disapproving discussion. Toughen up, lads, this is nothing in a world where there are products designed specifically to dye your genitals a more appealing colour. (This is a product aimed at women, obviously.)

Ultimately, I don’t care how men urinate. Sitting. Standing. On one leg. Singing “I’ll build a stairway to paradise”. Help yourselves, my friends. Do it your way. Any way. Just one thing: if a drop, a teeny-tiny sploosh or splash goes anywhere other than in the bowl, clean it up. Immediately. Without hesitation and with a good grace. And of course I hope I don’t have to say anything about the toilet seat…

YOU SEE, this does makes me angry. Lego take the ridiculous decision to target their building blocks 
at girls by making them pink (boak) and instead of parents up and down the land responding with the utter disdain such pandering to outmoded gender stereotypes deserves, what happens?

The company’s half-year profits rise by 35 per cent. Oh come on people. Surely girls (and boys for that matter) deserve better than Mia (slimmer than your average square chunk of a Lego ‘man’, of course) with her puppy house accessorised with flowers and a pet grooming kit? Grim.

I’D HAVE a steak. Or maybe macaroni cheese. Or roast beef and all the trimmings. I’m pondering my last meal should I find myself on death row awaiting execution. I’m not just being morbid, I am thinking of this because researchers at Cornell University have 
just released their findings from studying 193 last 
meals. It’s pretty predictable stuff – lots of comfort food for people in the most uncomfortable of situations. And then there’s the request that’s got me completely baffled: a single pitted olive. Oh my.

• Last week Claire... watched, for the umpteenth time, a collection of Judy Garland Duets from her TV show in the 1950s including a very young Jack Jones looking petrified. Brilliant