Posted by Jonathan Healey
Ah, Samuel Pepys.
Our greatest diarist, Restoration man about town, zero-times winner of Husband of the Year.
He’s someone who celebrated the date of his bladder-stone removal
like clockwork, but once forgot his wedding anniversary. He’s probably
the first known Englishman to record in detail the time he bought
pornography (from a bookshop on the Strand, in case you need to know for
a friend).
But if there’s one thing you probably didn’t know about our Sammy, it’s that he was
obsessed with bodily functions.
He chronicles the Plague and Great Fire of London, the Second Dutch
War, and the ins and outs of Restoration politics; but then mixes it all
with accounts of his flatulence, his piles, and some exceedingly French
activities with his ‘thing’.
So, here, for your utterly delectable disgust, is a panoply of
potties, a Pandemonium of plopping. A Seething Lane smorgasbord of
Stuart-Age shite.
Here, ladies and gentlemen, are Pepys’s Poops…