Alek Popov - Mission London

There still remains the question of why the use of this device was not more widespread during the medieval Kingdom of Bulgaria. According to Mr Panchev, one explanation might be the invasion of the Turkish tribes at the end of the fourteenth century, who then set about demolishing all such cultural devices as a symbolic gesture of their victory. He does not exclude the possibility of more such artefacts being found within the territory of Bulgaria.

Elena Papadopoulos, an archaeologist from Oxford University, holds an entirely different opinion. According to her theories, the WC is of Byzantine origin. The lack of other such artefacts is explained in her thesis as being the result of their systematic destruction during the seventh century, at the hands of the invading Bulgars, who thought them to be Christian sacred sites. Her thesis lacks an explanation of the lack of any such artefacts in any other part of the former Byzantine/Roman Empire.

An original opinion comes from Professor Michael Callaghan, of the University of Glasgow. He is of the opinion that this ancient WC is a leftover from the time when the Celtic tribes populated those lands. Obviously that Celtic tradition was far separated from the traditions of the Western Celts, especially those occupying the British Isles.

The origins of the Provadian Water Closet remain shrouded in mystery for the moment. The exhibition is expected to be visited in person by Her Majesty Queen, Elizabeth II.

The Guardian mentions that the dig and the conservation of the unique artefact were carried out thanks to the enthusiasm of the local people, though sponsored by a Dutch Foundation. The Bulgarian Minister for Culture had denied funds to the project under the budget cutbacks.

Editorial of the European Post : “Was it actually being used?”

The Ancient Installation stands out, tragically alone, from the prevailing darkness of Balkan history. Attempts to classify it under any one cultural tradition have so far been of no avail. It seems that the first ever WC was the creation of some former-day Leonardo da Vinci, which unfortunately remained an oddity in the eyes of his contemporaries. The hypothesis is supported by archaeologists’ suspicions that the device has never been used. If that proves to be the case we will be witness to a cultural paradox that could well explain the Balkans as we see them today. And even if we accept that Sir John Harrington was not the first to create a Water Closet, we are left secure in the knowledge that he was the first to put one to use.

Photos and technical diagrams, accompanied by short explanatory notes were published in Liberation and The Endeavour , the latter including a picture of the Mayor of Provadia alongside the title: “The Herald of Progress”.

The Sun carries the story under the headline VULGAR BULGARS WOULD RATHER SQUAT THAN SIT ON THE POT. The fusty world of archaeologists is going potty over the ancient Bulgarian khazi currently on show at the British museum. They can’t make out why the world’s first flush loo was never used.

SO WHAT DID THE BULGARS USE THEIR TOILET FOR? THE SUN OFFERS A WEEK IN SUNNY BEACH FOR THE READER WHO COMES UP WITH THE BEST ANSWER!

The other major headlines involve the continuing Balkan Crisis

***

“And what’s that all about?” spat Devorina Pezantova in peeved tones, throwing the print-out onto the table amidst the remains of her breakfast. “How come no one is writing about me?”

Varadin looked at her with deep sorrow. A ‘good night’s sleep’ had left deep, dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a man returned from purgatory, carrying with him the secret of the end of the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that? What did I say?” she asked irritably.

“There was that small condition, if you remember…” he replied quietly. “This is an informal event and they do not want publicity.”

“How could you accept such a stupid condition!” she burst out. “What use is this meeting if no one knows about it?”

Varadin said nothing. He had not actually had a good night. The ladies had occupied all the bedrooms in the residence and he had been left to sleep on the sofa in the hall. But the aches and pains of his body were nothing compared to those in his head. The empty streets of his subconscious were filled with roaming questions, as frightening as gangs of street-dogs during a harsh winter. They attacked him on the corners, barked wildly at his presence, howled at the sky. But he had nothing to feed them with, no answers at all, not even the skeleton of a plan for them to gnaw its bones. And his particular winter was getting harsher still.

The window was slightly open and a fresh breeze blew in, the thick curtain waved slightly as a result.

“So, She’s going to go and see that bloody toilet, and that’s all over the damn press,” started Pezantova, with renewed fury. “And the fact that She’s coming to my concert? Oh, no, not allowed!! And what’s the upshot? That some stupid toilet is more important than I am!! How could you accept such idiocies!?”

“The exhibition is nothing to do with us,” Varadin muttered.

“So who is it to do with, then?” she screeched.

“It’s nothing to do with anybody in particular,” he replied. “The initiative came purely from the British Museum and the Local Council of Provadia.”

“But that’s stupid!” complained the now famous Mitche. “Can’t we invite the BBC to do a documentary? It might not be too late? You do have contacts with the BBC, yes?” she asked turning to the Ambassador.

“What?” he frowned.

“The B-B-C,” she repeated. “To call out a team for this evening.”

Varadin smiled contemptuously. “This isn’t Sofia in case you hadn’t realised. Apart from that, allowing anyone to attend who is not on the guest list means that the whole engagement will be cancelled.”

“What, even at the last moment?” Mitche’s eyes opened wide.

“Are you willing to accept that responsibility?” he was almost daring her.

There followed an icy silence.

“Wouldn’t it be easier,” started the second lady-in-waiting, “if Mrs Pezantova went to open the famous WC herself? They could hardly object to that. Then she would be all over the press as well.”

“How could you say that Veronika!?!” Mitche raised her voice spitefully. “Mrs Pezantova only associates with eternal spiritual values! She could never be linked to something so V…Bulgar.”

Veronika Dishlieva, a lady of no small repute amongst the Sofia High Society, turned to look at her patroness, Just look how she’s always whingeing said her look. She was on the point of voicing her thoughts on the matter, but realised in time that she would find no sympathy where she was looking. Pezantova looked very serious, almost as though she was thinking of something important.

“Listen,” she said suddenly. “No one can stop us from sending an article to the press as soon as the concert is over. We won’t be taking any risks. Let them be peeved as much as they like, what’s done is done. Do you think it’s a good idea?” she turned to Varadin for an answer.

A sunbeam danced triumphantly on her tip of her toffee-nose.

He looked through her and nodded, “Absolutely.”

There were less than ten hours until the official proceedings began.

The seconds counted down, scrolling on a huge screen in the back of his skull.

Pezantova looked at him worriedly. What was wrong with the man? Yesterday he had been perfectly all right, and today he looked like a three-day corpse. He probably had various things to worry about, but that was none of her affair. As long as he does not cock everything up at the last moment, that is, she thought with her usual ruthlessness.